The Galers lived on the summit of a long hill sloping down to the brink of the Chattahoochee River, and nearly opposite the small town of Roswell. Above the house and below it stretched the fertile acres of a fine plantation worked by many slaves; for old Jabez Galer was rich in land and negroes, besides owning a large interest in a wool factory over the river. Roswell was really the most important manufacturing town in Georgia before the War, though it was scattered so picturesquely over the river hills with no railroad market nearer than Atlanta.

But it does not enter the province of this short sketch to give a history of the old town with its factories scattered along short canals, fed from the river, its traditions reaching back into the early days of the settling of Georgia—its "lover's leap" on the brink of a wide creek, a cliff of gray rocks with lovely maidenhair ferns growing thickly around its base—but of the Galers living across the river from it in the midst of their small kingdom, surrounded by their black retainers, and of an old love story.

The house was big and white and squarely built, with the piazzas—without which no Southern house would have seemed complete—wide halls and large rooms belonging to a certain period of colonial architecture. The lower hall was ornamented with the antlers of a stag or two, some leopard-skin rugs, and with a stuffed owl perched above the door. The rooms wrere sparely furnished after the stiff fashion of the day, but linen closets and clothes-presses were full and overflowing; for there wrere swift spinners and skillful weavers among the negro women on the place, and a careful mistress to look after them. In the rear of the main dwelling were the negro quarters, and off at one side the barns and stables. The grassy lawn was shaded with fine old oaks and mimosa trees. In the back yard the little negroes disported, and a dozen hounds had their kennels; for Mr. Jabez Galer was fond of riding forth over the river hills in the early dawn, with dogs and gun and hunting-horn. His family consisted of himself, his meek, gentle sister, Miss Jane, and his grand-daughter, fair Pamela.

Mr. Jabez Galer was a character in his day and generation. He was impulsive and could be generous, but had a most tyrannical will and a violent temper. He ruled his household like an autocrat. There was something domineering in his very tread, the roll of his keen eye, the fit of the white linen arraying his portly person. He was a rather fine-looking old man, gray-haired and blue-eyed, and with evidences of good living in every line of his clean-shaven face. No man could be more genial than he when in a good humor, or appreciate a story or a joke more keenly; and he was kind to his negroes. True, they did not dare disobey him without expecting and receiving punishment, and they worked hard; but they were well clothed, housed and fed, and enjoyed their regular holidays and merrymakings.

Mr. Galer's doors were always open to the wandering prospector, the trader, the itinerant preacher, or, indeed, to any one who claimed his hospitality and seemed worthy of it, and his sister and granddaughter were free to entertain or be entertained by the society of Roswell; but his guests sometimes came in contact with his imperious will or his temper. To show what manner of man he was one experience is herein given:

A Kentucky horse-trader stopped at the house one night, and long after the other members of the family had retired he sat in the dining-room with his host drinking wine and telling stories. They both grew somewhat excited as the mellow vintage warmed their fancies. They told adventures of youthful gallantry. Mr. Galer had, in his time, figured prominently in society as a beau, dancing and paying compliments; and the Kentuckian admitted that he had also once felt proud of his nimble-footedness in treading the cotillon. He was invited to give an example of his skill, but declined. His host insisted, but he laughed contemptuously at the idea. Old Jabez Galer's choler rose. He went to the dining-room door and shouted for his own special servant, Elbert.

"Elbert, hey there! Elbert, you rascal, bring down your fiddle!"

An old negro man stumbled down the back stairway and into the room, rubbing open his sleepy eyes, a much abused and battered violin under his arm. He looked older than his master, his woolly head quite white, a complex tracery of wrinkles covering his shrewd black face; but he seemed active and strong, and betrayed not the slightest surprise at the midnight summons.

"Mars Galer up tu some mischief, sho'," he muttered, sitting down, with his feet drawn up under him, and beginning to tune the violin. He gave a few preparatory scrapes across the strings, and then began to play the old inspiring tunes his dusky people had danced to round many a brightly blazing bonfire, or in the light of the full moon. Mr. Galer turned the key in the door, reached down the gun resting in a rack above it, and deliberately leveled it at his astonished guest.

"Now dance, or I'll put a bullet through your head."

The Kentuckian was not a coward, but he had no weapon—how he longed for the pistols in his saddle-bags!—and realized that his host might do him mischief if not humored.

It was a curious scene, an extremely ludicrous one. The candles, set in tall, brass candlesticks, sputtered and flared, the tallow melting down in a little gutter on one side. They cast only an uncertain, flickering light over the room, and the tall, awkward Kentuckian, in creaking boots, shuffled over the bare floor until the house fairly trembled, and Miss Jane turned on her high feather bed in a chamber above, wondering what unseemly sport could be going on. But the victim of Mr. Galer's whims was a wary man and given to dissimulation when occasion required. He appeared to find such humor in the situation that his host was thrown entirely off guard and allowed the gun to rest negligently on the table in front of him. In a twinkling it was snatched from his loosened grasp, and the Kentuckian stood between him and the door.

"Now you try your skill awhile, Mr. Galer, or you may play best man at the funeral," he said, grimly.

It was a neat revenge, and instead of trying to rouse the household to his protection Mr. Galer promptly began to keep time to the music with slow, old-fashioned steps. But he had lost the lightness and skill of his youth, and, soon exhausted, had to beg for mercy. Elbert's eyes twinkled in secret glee over his master's discomfiture, and he played a livelier strain than ever. Mr. Galer and the trader parted the next morning in the friendliest manner, and he told the story of his defeat with the keenest appreciation.

With such a disposition to override all opposition to his wishes and desires, it is not to be supposed that his family had an easy life of it when wills clashed. It was only by stratagem that they could ever outwit him; and it was by stratagem that Pamela married the man she loved. It happened in this wise:

Adjoining Mr. Galer's plantation was one even larger and richer, belonging to Mr. Josiah Williamson, a man who had abundance of money, and was amply able to take life easy. He went away annually on a trip to the principal Northern cities, and even talked of some time going abroad. He and old Jabez Galer were warm friends, and it had long been understood between them that Pamela should become Mrs. Josiah Williamson when she arrived at a suitable age. At the date of this story she had reached eighteen, and her grandfather's plans for her future began to take active shape. One morning he stamped into the hall, threw his hat and riding-whip on a table, shouting in thundering tones:

"Permely! Per*me*ly! hey, Perme*lee!*"

The little negroes rolling in the sand in the back yard scampered away behind the kitchen, Miss Jane dropped the fine linen she was mending in the dining-room, and Elbert muttered over a half-polished boot: "Mars Jabe in one o' his tantrums 'g'in, ez I live."

"What is it, grandpa?" inquired a youthful voice from the upper hall, and Pamela stepped lightly down the broad, shallow stairs.

"Come here to me," he said, but in a softer tone; for she held the tenderest place in his heart; and she was fair enough to disarm even greater anger than his. She was a tall young person, with a certain charming dignity of carriage, a rather pale but lovely face, fine, pale brown hair, and steel-gray eyes. There was no vivid coloring about her, though plenty of character lay under that soft, subdued beauty. She was gowned in thin muslin befitting the summer day, with a narrow lace collar turned down around her slender neck. Mr. Galer laid his hands heavily on her shoulders, looking sternly into her clear eyes.

"What's this I hear about you and Sim Black?"

She looked down, and the whiteness of her face and throat turned to rose.

"I would hang my head," giving her a slight shake. "What do you suppose that young beggar had the impudence to do this morning when I went over to Roswell? to ask me for you—you—old Jabez Galer's grand-daughter; declared that he had always loved you, and that it was with your consent he came to me."

"Yes sir," she said, in a low tone, tracing a seam in the floor with the toe of her neat little shoe.

He stamped the floor. "Well, he'll not get you, do you hear? Do you think I raised you, educated you, to marry a miserable little lawyer without a rood of land or a nigger to his name? No, sirrah!"

"I thought you always intended me to be happy, sir," paling again before his wrath, but firm.

"So I do, but you'll be happy in my way, marry the man I have selected for you, and his name is—Josiah Williamson."

She stared at him in a disconcertingly amazed, shocked way.

"Why, grandpa!"

"What's the matter, now?"

"He's as old as you are."

"He is not a year older than your aunt Jane."

"And I love Sim, dear grandpa," she pleaded.

"Don't you dare to think of him again! Williamson—"

"I will certainly not think of him," with a flash of her eyes.

"I have forbidden Black ever coming here again, and I'll wear him out with a cowhide if I ever hear of your speaking to him."

"Brother, brother," remonstrated Miss Jane's exasperatingly gentle voice from the dining-room door, her small person half hidden in an armful of mending.

"Don't 'brother' me! What have you been doing, not to look after this girl? But women are contrary creatures, all of them, and enough to drive a man distracted with their piety and sentimental foolishness!"

He went out upon the piazza, and sat down to let his vexation cool, while Pamela was folded in her grandaunt's comforting little arms, to the detriment of the linen, which received a copious shower of tears. But if she wept she was also determined. As old Elbert had once shrewdly said:

"Miss Pamely's er Galer, too, en got de Galer will, en de Galer temper, en things gwinter fly to pieces when she en ole Mars come tugether."

Mr. Galer sat on the piazza; but he waxed wroth every time he thought of young Black's presumption. Stretching afar before his eyes were his own cotton-fields, girdled on one side by the winding curves of the Chattahoochee, and on the other by deep, green forests, and through the palpitant air of the summer noon floated a field song, chanted by the joyous mellow voices of his slaves. His heart swelled with the pride of riches. Sim Black, indeed! when Pamela could have the pick and choice of the country, by right of her beauty and her dowry. What if the young lawyer did possess a brilliant mind and an eloquent tongue, and culture far beyond the average man in that region? he had sprung from obscure origin, and his future honors were as yet but empty promises, while Josiah Williamson's wealth and position were solid facts.

That afternoon, as Pamela sat in her room bending listlessly over some gay patchwork, Mammy Susannah came in, and from under the kerchief folded across her bosom, drew a little note.

"Honey, Elbert say, fo' de lub o' de Lawd not tu let old Mars know 'e fetch dis."

Pamela sprang up, flushing and trembling, to receive her first l............