"Fo' gates on de no'f, fo' gates on de souf,
An' yo' ken enter in at enny gate.
I-n-n-e-r my s-o-u-l, i-n-n-e-r my s-o-u-l,
De's a l'il' wheel er-turnin' in my soul.
"In er my s—o—u—l!"
"Margaret," said Mr. De Vere, "is supper nearly ready? We are almost starved."
"Law me, Massa John, been waiten' dis bressed ouah," she replied, bustling into the dining-room.
"What is your honest opinion of a blizzard, Margaret?" Mr. De Vere asked a few minutes later, as she appeared at the table with a platter of hash.
"De' jes' ain' no sayin' 'bout dat, Massa John," she answered with a toss of her head. "I'se t'inkin' 'bout dem po' chillen."
Margaret's philosophy was decidedly original and a source of great amusement to the family.
Night came on calm and beautiful, innumerable stars twinkling in the heavens above. "The Laurels" stood calm and silent in the
