She was an interesting figure as she stood in the doorway, and snapped out her question, although her old face, surmounted by its gay bandanna turban was the personification of kindliness, and her keen eyes held only love for her “white folks.”
She was decidedly corpulent and her light print gown and beautifully ironed white apron stood out from her figure until they completely filled the doorway.
Mrs. Carruth turned toward her and asked with a quizzical smile;
“What is spoiling, Mammy?”
“Huh! Ain’t nuffin spilin’s I knows on, but dat Miss Nornie done say she ain’t had no co’n cakes ’n ’bout ’n age an’ if she want ’em so turrible she’d better come and eat ’em,”—and with a decisive nod Mammy stalked off toward the dining-room.
“Come, girls, unless you want to evoke the displeasure of the presiding genius of the household,” said Mrs. Carruth smiling, as she led the way in Mammy’s wake.
It was a pleasant meal, for Mammy would not countenance the least lapse from the customs of earlier days, and the same pains were taken for the simple meals now served as had been taken with the more elaborate ones during Mr. Carruth’s lifetime. The linen must be ironed with the same care; the silver must shine as brightly, and the glass sparkle as it had always done. Miss Jinny must not miss any of the luxuries to which she had been born if Mammy could help it.
“Isn’t he splendid, mother?” asked Jean, as she buttered her third corn cake. “He was so good to Baltie and to me.”
“I am very glad to know him, dear, for Lyman was much attached to him.”
“Where has he been all these years, mother, that we have never met him in Riveredge?” asked Eleanor.