Memoir of plantation childhood: formal supper, Dad's storytelling, and the affection of the household

play down stairs — and never allowed in the kitchen.

If there was formal company we had our meals in the nursery. I know all of this was made possible by having a nurse. But I felt sorry for the children of today — who have to be always under foot — and be constantly told to stop — and be quiet.

In the late afternoon our faces were washed — hair brushed. A clean pinafore put on — and we went down to the living room until supper time. Mauma Mim read to us or played games. Dad generally sat in his arm chair by the fire — always ready to joke with us. He loved to tease — and loved to laugh — and children adored him. He called me “Gabey”. I wish I could put into words what he was — and what I felt for him. His wonderful wisdom of people — and relative matters. Gentle and understanding at all times. Soo generous. And with high standards of living that he never deviated from. I never knew a more beloved person — always doing for other people — and never letting it be known. The negroes came to him in all their troubles — and he looked after them if they were sick and when they were well. The day of his funeral the yard was filled with his