MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
a row of white pickets separated me from the grapery and garden. The house itself was now only a few yards away, a magnificent specimen of old-time Southern architecture, with great pillars in front, square-roofed, the long windows golden with sunshine. No movement anywhere evidenced occupancy, but I could hear distant negro voices at the rear. A trellis of grapevines ran back the entire length of the building, offering protection; thinking thus to gain view of the negroes, I leaped the pickets, and crept forward in their shadow, my heart throbbing with the excitement of the adventure. There was no sound now, only the faint stir of the leaves, as the soft air touched them, and the song of a bird somewhere overhead. The trellis curved slightly as I advanced, walking now upright behind its security, and then I came to a sudden halt, staring at the fluttering of a white skirt.
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