Once I suggested that, if I were she, I would not feed Anne burned bread-crusts.
"Oh, but they say they're good for a baby; they say they're splendid for the digestion."
Useless to argue. She had always heard so. "They" said so.
So it is that knowledge comes to them, not laboriously, as does our own, but by easy rumor, floating hearsay; and wisdom is brought to them without effort of their own, as viands to a king. They are fed by ravens. Their gourd grows overnight. Messengers still come and go between heaven and earth to instruct them. There is not required of them, the laboring class, that slavish mental toil exacted of the world's great intellects. Angels and ministers of grace, however they may have abandoned the wise, do still, it seems, defend them. They have only to be of a listening mind and a believing heart, and they shall know what is good for digestion, and what will save their children from drowning.
Mamie, further, was able to maintain a remarkable equilibrium between respectful service as a servant and what might have been the gracious democracy of a ruler. She taught Anne to call me "Honey," and had it as a surprise for me one morning. I will not deny that it was a surprise. But if you think that so sweet an appellation in Anne's bird-like voice, her golden head leaning over into the sunshine as she heard my step, seemed to me to be lacking in dignity, then you and I are of contrary opinions.
One day, when Mamie was dusting where hung a Fra Lippo Madonna, Anne pointed a fat finger at it, demanding, "Honey?"
Mamie did not even pause.
"No," she said briskly, "that's not Honey. That's Lord and Lord's mawma."
V
THE LURE OF THE "CHIFFONEER"
One day, Mamie came to me, her face beaming.