On Mr. Middleton's farm, and not far from the house, was a small yard
which had been enclosed as a burial place for the family. On this spot
Fanny had expended much time and labor. Roses and honeysuckles ever
bloomed there for a season, while the dark evergreen and weeping willow
waved their branches and beckoned the passer-by to rest beneath their
shadow. In one corner was a tall forest maple, where Julia and Fanny often
had played, and where Fanny once, when dangerously ill in childhood, had
asked to be laid. As yet no mound had rendered that spot dearer for the
sake of the lost one who slept there, but now in the scarcely frozen
ground the ringing of the spade was heard; shovelful after shovelful of
earth was thrown up, and into that cold, damp grave, as the sun was
setting, they lowered the remains of Julia, who once little thought that
she first of all would break the turf of the family graveyard.
That night was fast merging into the hours of morning ere the sound of
Uncle Joshua's footsteps ceased, as again and again he traversed the
length and breadth of his sleeping room, occasionally stopping before the
window and peering out in the darkness toward the spot where he knew lay
that newly-made grave. Memory was busily at work, and in the events which
marked Julia's short life, oh, how much he saw for which to blame himself.
Remorse mingled in the old man's cup of affliction, and while the hot
tears rolled down his cheeks he exclaimed, "If she could only come back
and I could do it over, I'd love her more, and maybe she'd be better. But
I treated her mean. I gin her only harsh words and cross looks." Then as
his wife's tears mingled with his, he took her hand, saying, "Don't take
on so, Nancy, you've nothin' to cry for. You's always good to her and kind
o' took up for her when I got sot ag'in her."
Mrs. Middleton could only answer by her tears to this touching attempt at
sympathy, but she finally succeeded in quieting her husband, and before
daybreak, he had forgotten in sleep the injustice done to Julia. All
thoughts of Fanny's marriage for the present were of course given up,
although Mr. Middleton promised that when the autumn came round again he
would surely give his treasure to the care of another.
Two weeks after Julia's burial, all of which time was passed at Mr.
Middleton's, Dr. Lacey went back to New Orleans, having first placed in
Mr. Middleton's care a sum of money for the benefit of Mrs. Dunn,
promising Fanny that with the spring he would come again. He bade her
adieu, praying that nothing might come between them again. Heavily now
dragged the days at Mr. Middleton's, until Uncle Joshua hit upon a plan
which would not only give pleasure to Fanny, but would also relieve the
tedium of his own life. It was nothing more nor less than the erection of
a new house on a grassy lawn, which Fanny had frequently pointed out as
being a good location. Long he revolved in his mind the for and against,
but the remembrance of Julia's wish to have the "old shell fixed up,"
finally decided him. "If 'twasn't good enough for her to be married in, it
surely wasn't good enough for Sunshine."