“I did not say that I knew any harm of her; and, moreover, if it will give you any satisfaction, auntie, I can tell you that I love Miss de la Vera very much, very much more than any one else in the world, I am afraid.”
“Den I’m glad yer does. But what make yer say yer don’t know no good o’ she?” inquired the woman, doubtfully.
“Oh, I was jesting, you see, only jesting; for I have as much respect for Miss de la Vera as I have for myself.”
“Den yer mus’ know her right well?”
“No, I’m sure I don’t, not half as well as I would like to know her. But now—you say you belong to the estate. How comes it then that you are here as stewardess on this steamboat?”
“Hi, honey, ’cause dere ain’t been no use for me at de house since de ’stablishment was broked up, arter old Marse Cappin La Compte died, an’ de young ladies went to Washington to lib long o’ deir gardeen. Dat was about twenty years ago, honey. And all we young women servants what belonged to de house was hired out at warious places, and only two or free old grannies left to look arter it, dough all de men—field hands and fishermen and blacksmiths and carpenters, yer know, honey—was left on de ’state, ’cause deir work was to be done, whedder or no, fambily or no fambily.”
“And have you been twenty years in this service?”
“No, honey, not quite. Only ’bout seben, I reckon. I was hired out at private service before that.”
“Do you like this life?”
“I used to, honey, but I’s gettin’ tired of it. An’ I’s wishin’ for the time to come when my young mist’ess, Miss Delia Werry, will come ob age or get married, so as to come and lib at home, an’ hab her colored people about her like oder ladies, I do.”