Doubtless they entertained the sentiment of a negro boy, who on being reproved by his master for having stolen and eaten a turkey, replied: “Well, massa, you see you got less turkey, but you got dat much more nigger!”
While we were once visiting at this plantation, the master of the house described to us a dairy just completed on a new plan, which for some weeks had been such a hobby with him, he had actually purchased a lock for it, saying he would keep the key himself—which he never did—and have the fresh mutton always put there.
“Come,” said he, as he finished describing it, “let us go down and look at it.”
“Bring me the key,” he said to a small African, who soon brought it, and we proceeded to the dairy.
Turning the key in the door, the old gentleman said: “Now see what an elegant piece of mutton I have here!”
But on entering and looking around no mutton was to be seen, and instead thereof buckets of custard, cream and blanc-mange. The old gentleman greatly disconcerted, called to one of the servants, “Florinda! Where is my mutton I had put here this morning?”
Florinda replied: “Nancy took it out, sir, and put it in de ole spring house. She say dat was cool enough place for mutton. And she gwine have a big party to-night, and want her jelly and custards to keep cool!”
At this the old gentleman was rapidly becoming provoked, when we laughed so much at Nancy’s “cool” proceeding, that his usual good nature was restored.
On another occasion we were one evening sitting with this gentleman in his front porch, when a poor woman from the neighboring village came in the yard, and stopping before the door, said to him: