“Why here is Aunt Chloe!” cried Kate, approaching the window. “She has come to see you, cousin; for it was but the other day she was asking when you would come home.” And she ran out into the porch.
“How is yer, honey?” said the old nurse. “’Pears to me yer gets more beautiful ebbery day, ‘deed yer does.” Kate blushed, as she answered—
“Ah, aunty, you know how to flatter. But you’ve heard, I suppose, that Cousin Charles has returned. And here he comes.”
“Glad to see yer, Marse Charles,” was the old creature’s greeting. “It does yer old mammy’s eyes good, ‘deed it does. I heerd yesterday dat yer was come; but dis ole rheumatiz kept me at home. Dey do say dat dar is sometin’ dey sell at de Forks dat’ll cure it, sartin sure. Yer hasn’t got a dollar, Marse Charles, or haf a crown, has yer, for poor ole aunty?”
Aylesford laughingly handed her the gratuity. After a few kind words from Kate, Aunt Chloe kept on to the kitchen, where, seated in the high-backed settle, within the ample fire-place, and with her short clay-pipe in her mouth, she prepared to have a gossip with the magnates of that apartment, about the fire in the woods, the new preacher, the return of Aylesford, and other current topics of interest.
CHAPTER XXVI.
POMP’S ADVENTURE
Did you ever see the devil,
With his iron-wooden shovel,
A scratching up the gravel.
With his night-cap on?
* * * *
Did you ever, ever, ever,
Ever, ever, ever, ever,
Ever, ever, ever, ever,
Catch a whale by the tail! —Comic Song.
The indigenous negro, as he used to exist in New Jersey, has long since disappeared before the inundation of new comers of the same race. Aunt Chloe, and her kitchen friends, belonged to the good old stock, however, such as our elder readers may remember to have met with in their youth. They had all, at one time, been slaves in the family, and, though now free, still regarded the Aylesfords as belonging to them, in a sense at least. Hence they freely canvassed the conduct of all, from Mrs. Warren down; and on this occasion, we may be sure, their criticisms were not withheld.
In this conversation Aunt Chloe maintained the principal part. Her auditors were the cook, a good-looking mulatto about forty years old, whose stout and comely person bespoke the excellent living at Sweetwater. A Madras handkerchief, tastefully wrapped about her head, and a new dress, gave Dinah quite an imposing air this evening. Her husband, who was at once overseer, gardener, and head ostler, a Guinea coast African, as black as midnight, sat in front of the fire; while her son, Pomp, a lad of eighteen, who officiated as stable boy, squatted on the floor in the background. Two other servants hovered in the distance, eager listeners, but not daring to join in the conversation with their superiors, especially with Aunt Chloe.
After the fire had been discussed, the return of Aylesford was brought up, and its effect on Major Gordon duly canvassed. Servants are more observant than is always thought, and the kitchen at Sweetwater had discovered the condition of our hero’s affections long before the parlor, or even himself, had suspected it. Aunt Chloe, in spite of having known Aylesford when an infant, leaned to the side of the Major, chiefly, it must be confessed, in consequence of the douceur the latter had bestowed upon her. For a similar reason, Pomp, who as stable-boy, had often received small gratuities, secretly favored the same cause. But, on the other hand, Dinah, as well as her husband, neither of whom had been in the way to be favored by our hero, were warm advocates of Aylesford.