“Why don’t you mix your biscuits on the pastry-table, there?”
“Law, Missis, it gets sot so full of dishes, and one thing and another, der an’t no room, noway—”
“But you should wash your dishes, and clear them away.”
“Wash my dishes!” said Dinah, in a high key, as her wrath began to rise over her habitual respect of manner; “what does ladies know ’bout work, I want to know? When ’d Mas’r ever get his dinner, if I vas to spend all my time a washin’ and a puttin’ up dishes? Miss Marie never telled me so, nohow.”
“Well, here are these onions.”
“Laws, yes!” said Dinah; “thar is whar I put ’em, now. I couldn’t ’member. Them ’s particular onions I was a savin’ for dis yer very stew. I’d forgot they was in dat ar old flannel.”
Miss Ophelia lifted out the sifting papers of sweet herbs.
“I wish Missis wouldn’t touch dem ar. I likes to keep my things where I knows whar to go to ’em,” said Dinah, rather decidedly.
“But you don’t want these holes in the papers.”
“Them ’s handy for siftin’ on ’t out,” said Dinah.