“For de land’s sakes!” exclaimed that honest soul, as she poked her bandannaed head into the open doorway, and stood with her arms planted on her big hips, while she glanced around her at the change. “Befo’ de Lord, ef it doan look scrumpsush.”
“Needed it,” muttered Enoch, turning a furrowed brow upon her, as he bent to smell the roses.
“Dat it suttenly did, marser. ’Tain’t de fust time I tole Moses I’se been worryin’ over de looks of dis yere place. Ain’t had no fixin’ up like dis in y’ars. Dat’s sartin’. ’Spec’ youse ’spectin’ company, ain’t you?”
“That’s why I sent for you, Matilda—where’s Moses?”
“He’s a pokin’ of his fiah down in de cellar—ain’t yo felt de heat?”
She bent down on her knees, and opened the register between the bookcases, a puff of dust accompanied the hot air, sending her hand across her eyes, her voice choking.
“Gwine to strangle me, is yo? Keep yo mouf shut d’yer hear me, till I clean yo face so’s you kin open it ’thout insultin’ yo betters,” she commanded, snapping shut the register, and wiping it with her apron.
“Matilda,” said Enoch, as she rose to her feet, his eyes kindling with good-humor for the first time that morning, “I’ve invited a few friends this afternoon to tea.”
“Yas, suh——”
“It isn’t as easy as you think, Matilda. You and Moses will have to attend to it—cakes, sandwiches, teacups, and all.”