There were several servants standing near, one of them little Elsie's nurse, an old negress, Aunt Dinah, who, having lived in the family for more than twenty years, felt herself privileged to speak her mind upon occasion, particularly to its younger members.
"Now, Miss Lu," she said, "dat's not de propah way fo' you to talk 'bout dis t'ing; kase dat pony b'longs to Miss Rosie, an' co'se she hab de right to ride him befo' anybody else."
"You've no call to put in your word, and I'm not going to be lectured and reproved by a servant!" retorted Lulu passionately; and turning quickly away, she strode to the head of the short flight of steps leading down into the avenue, and stood there leaning against a pillar, with her back toward the other occupants of the veranda. Her left arm was round the pillar, and in her right hand she held her little riding-whip.
She was angry at Dinah, furiously angry at Rosie; and when the next minute something—Rosie's dog, she supposed—tugged at her skirts, she gave a vicious backward kick without turning her head.
Instantly a sound of something falling, accompanied by a faint, frightened little cry, and chorus of shrieks of dismay from older voices flashed upon her the terrible knowledge that she had sent her baby sister rolling down the steps to the hard gravel-walk below.
She clutched at her pillar, almost losing consciousness for one brief moment, in her dreadful fright.
Violet's agonized cry, as she came rushing from the open doorway, "My baby! oh, my baby! she's killed!" roused her: and she saw Dinah pick up the little creature from the ground, and place it in its mother's arms, where it lay limp and white, like a dead thing, without sense or motion; the whole household, young and old, black and white, gathering round in wild excitement and grief.
No one so much as glanced at her, or seemed to think of her at all: their attention was wholly occupied with the injured little one.
She shuddered as she caught a glimpse of its deathlike face, then put her hand over her eyes to shut out the fearful sight. She felt as if she were turning to stone with a sense of the awful thing she had done in her mad passion; then suddenly seized with an overwhelming desire to hide herself from all these eyes, that would presently be gazing accusingly and threateningly at her, she hurried away to her own room, and shut and locked herself in.
Her riding-whip was still in her hand. She tossed it on to the window-sill, tore off her gloves, hat, and habit, and threw them aside, then, dropping on her knees beside the bed, buried her face in the clothes, sobbing wildly, "Oh, I've killed my little sister! my own dear little baby sister! What shall I do? what shall I do?"