"Yes, Aunt Frances?"
"Missus, de flour bar'l done gone plum', clean em'ty; de side meat goes dis mawnin' foh breakfus', 'n' de meal bar'l ain' much bettuh. I done kotch a chick'n foh dinner yistiddy, but de Massa lub his biscuit breakfus', dinner, en suppuh!"
"You are right to tell me when things get low," she answered bravely, but in a peculiarly low voice. "I'll send Uncle Peter into town with an order this morning. Be careful not to let the flour run out completely again."
"Bress dat chile!" exclaimed Aunt Frances, lifting the corner of her apron to her eye as Julia disappeared. "I wonduh ef she t'inks she's foolin' her ol' mammy? Hain't I lived heah always, 'n' hain't I seen dis house go down 'n' down 'twell now hit mos' tech rock bottom? Some'in's gwi' drap, sho! But me 'n' Peter'll be hyar w'en it comes!"
She tossed her turbaned head, and, stanch old Methodist that she was, began crooning a "'vival" tune, wherewith to bolster up her sinking courage.
Julia came to a standstill in the smoke-house doorway. Within, with his back to her, stood Peter. A curry-comb was in one hand, and a brush in the other. He had evidently come to a halt while making The Prince's morning toilet, to spend a few moments in silent contemplation and admiration. He had withdrawn several feet from the satin-sleek form of the young colt, and reposed in an attitude of adoration, his skinny, ridged neck stretched towards the object of his devotion. Julia was compelled to speak his name twice before he heard her. Then he turned with his customary profound bow, and greeted her deferentially.
"Uncle Peter, I want The Prince this morning," she said, coming straight to the point, for she knew too well the old fellow's garrulousness to attempt circumlocution. He would have kept her there till noonday.
Now this was the first time Julia had ever said she would ride The Prince, and the wilfully deafened ears of Peter refused to recognize this first declaration.
"Mom—missus—mom?" he ejaculated, bending slightly from the waist and looking up at her keenly and suspiciously. "D'ye say de Prince look well dis mawnin'? 'Deed he do! He's had he breakfus' 'n' a good rub down—not quite finished, though. I's tekkin' a breathin' spell w'en you come. Hahd wuk foh an' ol' nigguh gittin' de duht 'n' stuff off'n a hoss w'en he's slep' in it. 'Scuse me, missus, 'n' I'll finish wid 'im now!"
Peter was sly and Peter was jealous. He heard plainly enough what his mistress had said, but he could not bear to think of the colt leaving his sight, even for a short time. His subsequent harangue was given simply to cause his mistress to forget her idea, or to forego its execution. He now approached the colt and began a vigorous attack upon its flank and hind legs, where there was no particle of dirt, and no hair out of place.