Selma.”  “That is impossible; why, she has not walked even as far as the house for months.”  “Well, she dun gone, shuah; she make Elsie hitch up ole Whitey in de cart and dribe her ober.  One genplum he gwine gib her a mule for her own sef and forty acres ob groun’; so she dun gon’ ter see ’bout hit.”  “Did any one else go?” “Oh, yes, mistis, Uncle Albert and Aunt Alice dey go too, and dey want we all to go ’long, but I’s gwine ter wait untwill sees what Jack got ter say, ’cause I ain’t gwine nowha dragging all dem chillum along untwill I knows for sartin whar I’s gwine ter stop.”  Sick at heart, the lady turned away, slowly returning to the desolated house.  Her occupation was gone; order and system could not be restored.  There was nothing before the anxious woman but to watch and wait for news.  On the second day one of the negro men returned, bringing a tale almost too horrible for belief,—­Colonel M——­, whose defiant bearing had incensed his captors more and more, had been shot down for refusing to obey orders.  “Master was well, but looked mighty bad.”  The man also brought the first news of the surrender, a rumor which all refused to believe, although even the possibility filled all breasts with terrible forebodings. Could it be true?  No! a thousand times no!  And yet,—­oh, the dread, the anguish of waiting to know.

The bright sunlight, the waving trees, the joyous notes of the feathered songsters seemed a mockery.  Their stricken hearts cried out to all the beautiful things of nature,—­

  “How can ye bloom so fresh and fair? 
  How can ye sing, ye little birds, and I so weary, fu’ o’ care?”

Towards evening on the third day of suspense the master returned fresh from the prison, weary, ragged, dirty, and utterly woe-begone, for he had been set at liberty only to learn that liberty was but an empty sound.  Sadly he confirmed the story of the surrender.  The kindly eyes still strove to cheer, but their happy light was forever quenched.  The firm lip quivered not as he told to the sorrowing women the woful tale, but the iron had entered his soul and rankled there until its fatal work was accomplished.  Ah, many a noble spirit shrunk appalled from the “frowning Providence” which then and long afterwards utterly hid the face of a merciful and loving Father.  And yet, as mother Nature with tender hands and loving care soon effaces all traces of havoc and desolation, creating new beauties in lovely profusion to cover even the saddest ruins, so it is wisely ordered that time shall bring healing to wounded hearts.  The women who on that April evening long ago grieved so bitterly over the news of the surrender have since known deep sorrow, have wept over many graves.  But, like all the women of the South, they have taken up the burden of life bravely, and, God helping them, will not falter or fail until He shall release them.

By and by, the men and boys of the family, from distant Appomattox, from the Army of Tennessee, came straggling home.  All had walked interminable miles,—­all wore equally ragged, dirty, foot-sore, weary, dejected, despairing.  They had done their best and had failed.  Their labor was ended.