“A useless task, I fancy. Too many generations of dependent blood run in his veins. His liveliest sense seems to be gratitude for some little acts of kindness on your part.”
“I wonder what he did with the money he and his mother saved last summer,” said Margaret reflectively.
Elsie laughed. “I asked him one day, and he hung his head as sheepishly as a boy who is caught stealing apples. Finally after much coaxing I got the information—’Deed, missy, specs you think I’s nuffin but a po’ fool niggah; but I’s listened to you’uns playin’ music till I’s most dead, and I buyed a ’cawdion wid my part ob de cash and mammy she buyed a hat fur meetin’. I’s larned to play on it too, Missy Elsie!’ You see, Margaret, your idea of ‘culchah’ has taken deep root in unexpected soil.”
“Is Aunt Liza’s hat an outgrowth?”
“As an artistic idea I imagine it is; for more intensified reds and yellows never gleamed above a smiling black face. The poor old creature was so delighted with her ‘speriment,’ as she called it, in saving money for such an artistic triumph, that I hadn’t the heart to do more than enjoy it with her.”
“After all,” said Margaret thoughtfully, “my ‘speriment’ was not a failure, even if it missed its objective point. I have aroused ambition in their apathetic breasts. See if it does not bear good fruit.”
CHAPTER IX.
One afternoon as Elsie and Antoine were filling the little house with the notes of a Hungarian battle song, in which violin, organ, voice, and whistle played prominent parts, Margaret was startled by the sudden opening of the outer door, and the appearance on the threshold of a richly-dressed lady, who with a deprecating gesture which the carnival of sound alone permitted, undertook to explain her unannounced presence. Margaret stepped feebly across the room and hushed the players as the lady said laughingly:
“I rapped several times, but was unable to make myself heard, and venturing upon the freedom of long acquaintance, I opened the door. I think I must have made a mistake. I thought I was in the house of Lizzette Minaud.”
“You are,” said Margaret. “Be seated and we will call her.”