June 24th, 1865.—Mid-summer day. I long to go to the woods, down to the “Fairy Dell,” where the wonderful spring is bubbling musically and little Mabel is filling her pitcher with the sparkling waters. I seem to hear my sweet sister’s voice again as she pressed me to her side and repeated,
“ ‘Tis good to make all duty sweet,
To be alert and kind,
‘Tis good, like little Mabel,
To have a willing mind.”
I cannot go to the Fairy Spring, however, it is a full half mile from the house and even our own woods are no longer safe from intrusion. The negro soldiers are everywhere. We are spied upon by our own servants at every turn and so we do not feel safe to get out of hearing of the rest of the family, unattended.
Though the war is over we have not replenished our wardrobes; this for the good and sufficient reason that we have no money, something new to us. Never before have we known the lack of it. Indeed, in the days of the Southern Confederacy we had it in such quantities that it has been said by some wag: “In days gone by, the Southerner went to town with his pocket full of money and took along a wagon to take his purchases home; in these war times, he takes a wagon load of money to town and brings back his goods in his pocket.” Well, we will get used to it after a while.
But to go back to the scant wardrobe. When the Club meets we like to look as brother Junius says, “As pretty as pinks,” and, with that end in view, I have been hard at work remodeling a dress. It is of white Paris muslin, trimmed with baby ribbon in a pale shade of blue. Again Sister Mag has come to the rescue and has lent me a lovely white sash, edged with picots of blue, which exactly matches my ribbon. A lucky girl, am I not? Will I look pretty in it, little Diary?
