Breakfast over in the little cottage, and it was a breakfast fit for a king, Mammy began issuing her orders like a general, and Charles lived only to obey.
“Now hike in dar an’ git de furnace a-goin’ good, an’ den go ’long ter de gre’t house an’ have it good an’ warm befo’ dem chillern wakes up. I cyant have em’ ketchin’ cold, an’ de mawnin’s right snappy,” she said, as dish-towel in hand she looked out of her kitchen door at the glistening world, for a heavy hoar frost covered lawn and foliage, prophesying a storm before many days.
“Here, put on yo’ coat! What’s de use ob my rubbin’ yo’ shoulder wid linnimint ef yo’ gwine right spang out dis here warm kitchen inter de chill ob de mawnin’ widout wroppin’ up? Laws-a-massy, it tek mos’ de whole endurin’ time ter keep you from doin’ foolishnesses, I clar it do.”
Charles chuckled delightedly. It was, on the whole, rather flattering to be so cherished and looked after as he had been during the last three years. Poor old soul, those he had spent alone had been barren enough of care or comforts.
“You needn’t ter snort dat-a-way,” protested his dominating wife. “I’s only jes’ a-watchin’ out fer my own sake. I’se got a sight ter do ’sides nussin’ rheumatics an’ tekin’ keer sick folks wid a misery in dey backs.”
“Honey, yo’s a wonder. Yas, yo’ is,” was Charles’ parting rejoinder, as he toddled off to the duties, which to him, as well as to Mammy, were labors of love. Before many minutes had passed the little candy kitchen was snug and warm for its mistress, and then the old man made his way to the “gre’t house,” as he and Mammy, true to earlier customs, always called the home which sheltered their white folks. Mammy had already finished her own household tasks and met him at the door. Together they entered the silent house, their key making not the slightest sound, lest they disturb the sleeping inmates. The maids now in Mrs. Carruth’s service did not sleep in the house, but came at seven each morning, and woe betide the tardy one! Mammy was always on hand, and her greeting was governed by the moment of the said damsel’s arrival. There were a few duties, however, which Mammy would permit no other than herself to perform. She must see that the breakfast table was properly laid, the breakfast under way and the rooms dusted, aired and warmed before she stole softly upstairs to call her “chillern.” Then she turned all over to her dusky satellites, and at once became grand high potentate and autocrat.
It was a few minutes past seven when she entered Mrs. Carruth’s room with a cheery “Mawnin’, honey. ’Spose ef I lets yo’ sleep any longer yo’ gwine give me sumpin’ I ain’t cravin’ fer ter git. Cyant fer de life er me see why yo’ boun’ ter git up dese mawnin’s. Why won’ yo’ let me bring up yo’ tray, honey?” said the good old soul, moving softly about the room, raising the window shades and turning on the valve of the radiator.
“Because I have all I can do as it is to keep you and the girls from spoiling me completely,” returned Mrs. Carruth, as she rose from her bed and stepped into the adjoining bathroom, where Mammy already had her bath prepared.
“Well, it’s de biggest job we-all ever is tackled,” insisted the old woman, as she placed a chair before the dressing table and took from the closet the garments Mrs. Carruth would need for the day. Since sunnier times had come to this home Mammy had fallen back into old habits. The “chillern,” as she called Eleanor, Constance and Jean, were called before their mother was awakened, but “Miss Jinny” claimed her undivided attention, and it would have nearly broken Mammy’s loving old heart had Mrs. Carruth denied her this privilege, so long made impossible by the strenuous days and manifold duties following upon the misfortunes which succeeded Mr. Carruth’s death.
The delight of Mammy’s life was to assist at her “Miss Jinny’s” toilet, as she had done in her mistress’ girlhood days—to brush and arrange the still abundant hair, and to hand her a fresh handkerchief and say, as she had said to the young girl years ago: