alike; and you see them from here."

"I want to look in," — I said, moving down the slope.

"Daisy," said Preston, you are just as fond of having your own
way as —"

"As what? I do not think I am, Preston."

"I suppose nobody thinks he is," grumbled Preston, following
me, — "except the fellows who can't get it."

I had by this time almost forgotten Miss Pinshon. I had almost
come to think that Magnolia might be a pleasant place. In the
intervals, when the pony was out of sight, I had improved my
knowledge of the old coachman; and every look added to my
liking. There was something I could not read that more and
more drew me to him. A simplicity in his good manners, a
placid expression in his gravity, a staid reserve in his
humility, were all there; and more yet. Also the scene in the
dell was charming to me. The ground about the negro cottages
was kept neat; they were neatly built of stone and stood round
the sides of a quadrangle; while on each side and below the
wooded slopes of ground closed in the picture. Sunlight was
streaming through and brightening up the cottages and resting
on uncle Darry's swarth face. Down through the sunlight I went
to the cottages. The first door stood open, and I looked in.
At the next I was about to knock, but Preston pushed open the
door for me; and so he did for a third and a fourth. Nobody
was in them. I was a good deal disappointed. They were empty,