“Jean is about right, I think, Mr. Stuyvesant,” said Constance, as she shook hands good-bye. “She is peppery and impulsive, I know, but it would be a hard matter to make her tell an untruth, or go against what she considered her duty.”
“I’m sure of it, Miss Constance,” was the hearty answer. “And now good-bye. You will let me come again, Mrs. Carruth?”
“We will be very pleased to welcome you,” was the cordial reply.
“Good! I’ll come.”
[CHAPTER V—A New Member of the Family]
“Has you-all done ’cided to do wid out yo’ suppers dis yer night? ’Cause if you is I ’spec’s I kin clar away,” was the autocratic inquiry of Mammy Melviny as she stood in the doorway of the living-room, her ample proportions very nearly filling it.
Hadyn Stuyvesant’s call had been of longer duration than Mammy approved, for her hot corn cakes were being rapidly ruined by the delayed meal, and this was an outrage upon her skill in cooking. Mammy had been Mrs. Carruth’s nurse “down souf” and still regarded that dignified lady as her “chile,” and subject to her dictation. She was the only servant which Mrs. Carruth now kept, the others having been what Mammy stigmatized as “po’ northern no ’count niggers” who gave the minimum of work for the maximum of pay, and were prompt to take their departure when adversity overtook their employer.
Not so Mammy. When the crisis came Mrs. Carruth stated the case to her and advised her to seek another situation where she would receive the wages her ability commanded, and which Mrs. Carruth, in her reduced circumstances, could no longer afford to pay her. The storm which the suggestion produced was both alarming and amusing. Placing her arms upon her hips, and raising her head like a war-horse scenting battle, Mammy stamped her foot and cried:
“Step down an’ out? Get out ’en de fambly? Go wo’k fer some o’ dese hyer strange folks what aint keer a cent fo’ me, an’ aint know who I is? Me? a Blairsdale! Huh! What sort o’ fool talk is dat, Baby? Yo’ cyant git me out. Yo’ need ’n ter try, kase ’taint gwine be no good ter. I’s hyer and hyer I’s gwine stay, no matter what come. ’Taint no use fer ter talk ter me ’bout money and wages an’ sich truck. What I kerrin’ fer dem? I’se got ’nough, an’ ter spare. What yo’ t’ink I’se been doin’ all dese years o’ freedom? Flingin’ my earnin’s ’way? Huh! You know I aint done no sich foolishness. I’se got a pile—yis, an’ a good pile too,—put ’way. I need n’t ter ever do a stroke mo’ work long ’s I live if I don’t wantter. I’se rich, I is. But I gwine ter work jist ’s long’s I’se mind ter. Ain’t I free? Who gwine ter say I cyant wo’k? Now go long an’ tend ter yo’ business and lemme lone ter tend ter mine, and dat’s right down wid de pots and de kettles, and de stew pans, an’ de wash biler and de wash tubs, an’ I reckon I kin do more ’n six o’ dese yer Norf niggers put togedder when I set out ter good an’ hard if I is most sixty years old. Hush yo’ talk chile, an’ don’t let me ketch you a interferin’ wid my doin’s agin. You heah me?” And at the end of this tirade, Mammy turned sharply about and marched off like a grenadier. Mrs. Carruth was deeply touched by the old woman’s loyalty, but knowing the antebellum negro as she did, she realized how wounded Mammy had been by the suggestion that she seek a more lucrative situation among strangers. Mammy had been born and raised a slave on Mrs. Carruth’s father’s plantation in North Carolina, and would always consider herself a member of Mrs. Carruth’s family. Alas for the days of such ties and such devotion!
So Mammy was now the autocrat of the household and ruled with an iron hand, although woe to anyone who dared to overstep the bounds she had established as her “Miss Jinny’s” rights, or the “chillen’s” privileges as “old marster’s gran’-chillern.” “Old Marster” was Mammy’s ideal of what a gentleman should be, and “de days befo’ de gre’t turmoil” were the only days “fitten for folks (always to be written in italics) to live in.”