The heavy riding-habit was entirely too cumbersome for indoor wear, and Rachel put on instead one of Aunt Debby's “linsey” gowns, that hung from a peg, and laughed at the prim, demure mountain girl she saw in the glass. After a good breakfast had still farther raised her spirits she ventured upon a little pleasantry about the dramatic possibilities of a young lady who couls assume different characters with such facility.
The day passed quietly, with Rachel studying such of the Christmas festivities as were visible from the window, and from time to time exchanging personal history with Aunt Debby. She learned that the latter had left her home in Rockcastle Mountains with the Union Army in the previous Spring, and gone on to Chattanooga, to assist her nephew, Fortner, in obtaining the required information when Mitchell's army advanced against that place in the Summer. When the army retreated to the Ohio, in September, she had come as far back as Murfreesboro, and there stopped to await the army's return, which she was confident would not be long delayed.
“How brave and devoted you have been,” said Rachel warmly, as Aunt Debby concluded her modestly-told story. “No man could have done better.”
“No, honey,” replied the elder woman, with her wan face coloring faintly, “I've done nothin' but my plain duty, ez I seed hit. I've done nothin' ter what THEY would've done had n't they been taken from me afore they had a chance. Like one who speaks ter us in the Book, I've been in journeyin's often, in peril of robbers, in perils of mine own countrymen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in weariness an' painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger an' thirst, in fastings often, in cold an' nakedness, but he warns us not ter glory in these things, but in those which consarn our infirmities.”
“Don't speak of reward. I only want my freedom when I've 'arned hit--the freedom ter leave an 'arth on which I've been left behind, an' go whar my husband an' son are waitin' fur me.”
She rose and paced the floor, with her face and eyes shining.
“Have you no fear of death whatever?” asked Rachel in amazement.
“Fear of death! Child, why should I fear death? Why should I fear death, more than the unborn child fears birth? Both are the same. Hit can't be fur ter thet other world whar THEY wait fur me. Hit is not even ez a journey ter the next town--hit's only one little step though the curtain o' green grass an' violets on a sunny hillside--only one little step.”