“Is it anything confidential?” demanded Miss Sibby, who was full of curiosity.
“No. I will read it all to you as soon as ever I have spelled it out myself. I never was good at reading writing, particularly fine hand, and, if I must say it, the ole ’oman do write the scrimble-scramblest fine hand as ever I see,” said Mrs. Anglesea, peering at the letter, and turning it this way and that, and almost upside down.
Presently she began to read, making comments between the words and phrases of the letter.
“Well, it’s ‘Washington City, P Street, N. W., and February 8th.’ Why, it’s been four days coming. Here you, Jake! When did you get this letter out’n the post office?” She paused to call the negro messenger, who stood, hat in hand, at the door.
“W’y, dis mornin’, in course, ole mist’ess,” replied the man.
“Don’t ‘ole mist’ess’ me, you scalawag! Are you sartain you didn’t get it Saturday, and forget all about it, and leave it in your pocket until to-day?”
“Hi, ole—young—mist’ess, how I gwine to forget w’en you always ax me? No, ’deed. I took it out’n de pos’ office dis blessed mornin’, ole—young mist’ess.”
“How dare you call me young mist’ess, you——”
“What mus’ I call you, den?” inquired the puzzled negro.
“Ma’am. Call me ma’am.”