I scarcely have acquaintances of my own age. Aunt thinks young girls
should be kept out of society until the proper time, and that time
seems no nearer now than ever. If uncle and aunt loved me, it would
be different, but they have just got a stiff set of ideas about
their duty to me and another set about my duty to them. Why, uncle
laughed at a kitten the other day because it was kittenish, but he
has always wanted me to behave with the solemnity of an old cat. Oh,
dear! I'm SO tired. I wish something WOULD happen."

"Hit brokes me all up ter year you talk so, honey, en I bless de
Lawd 'tain' likely any ting gwinter hap'n in dese yere parts. De wah
am ragin' way off fum heah, nobody comin' wid news, en bimeby you
gits mo' settle down. Some day you know de valley ob peace en
quietness."

"See here, Aun' Jinkey," said the girl, with a flash of her eyes,
"you know the little pond off in the woods. That's more peaceful
than the run, isn't it? Well, it's stagnant, too, and full of
snakes. I'd like to know what's going on in the world, but uncle of
late does not even let me read the county paper. I know things are
not going to suit him, for he often frowns and throws the paper into
the fire. That's what provokes me--the whole world must go just to
suit him, or else he is angry."

"Well, now, honey, you hab 'lieve yo' min', en I specs you feel
bettah. You mus' des promis yo' ole mammy dat you be keerful en not
rile up ole mars'r, kase hit'll ony be harder fer you. I'se ole, en
I knows tings do hap'n dough dey of'un come slowlike. You des gwine
troo de woods now, en kyant see fur; bimeby you come ter a clearin'.
Dat boy ob mine be comin' soon fer his pone en bacon. I'se gwinter