So the morning, and much of the afternoon also, passed most
pleasantly, and not unprofitably either. A walk toward sundown, and
afterward a delightful moonlight ride with Harry Carrington and
Winthrop Lansing, the son of a neighboring planter, finished the
day, and Elsie retired to her own room at her usual early hour. Lucy
followed and kept her chatting quite a while, for which Elsie's tender
conscience reproached her somewhat; yet she was not long in falling
asleep after her head had once touched her pillow.

The next day was passed in a similar manner, still more time being
given to the reading, as they were able to begin it earlier: yet the
book was not finished; but on the morning of the next day, which was
Friday, Lucy proposed that, if the plan was agreeable to Elsie, they
should spend an hour or two in a new amusement; which was no other
than going into the dominions of Aunt Viney, the cook, and assisting
in beating eggs and making cake.

Elsie was charmed with the idea, and it was immediately carried out,
to the great astonishment of Chloe, Aunt Viney, and all her sable
tribe.

"Sho, Miss Lucy! what fo' you go for to fotch de company right yere
into dis yere ole dirty kitchen?" cried Aunt Viney, dropping a hasty
courtesy to Elsie, then hurrying hither and thither in the vain effort
to set everything to rights in a moment of time. "Clar out o' yere,
you, Han an' Scip," she cried, addressing two small urchins of dusky
hue and driving them before her as she spoke, "dere aint no room yere
fo' you, an' kitchens aint no place for darkies o' your size or sect.
I'll fling de dishcloth at yo' brack faces ef yo' comes in agin fo'