Not being very bright, Vine replied with a grim, “Dun know, miss.”
Taking her seat next to her son, Mrs. Nichols said when offered a plate of soup, “I don’t often eat broth, besides that, I ain’t much hungry, as I’ve just been takin’ a bite with Miss Atherton?”
“With whom?” asked Mr. Livingstone, John Jr., Carrie, and Anna, in the same breath.
“With Miss Polly Atherton, that nice old colored lady in the kitchen,” said Mrs. Nichols.
The scowl on Mrs. Livingstone’s face darkened visibly, while her husband, thinking it time to speak, said, “It is my wish, mother, that you keep away from the kitchen. It does the negroes no good to be meddled with, and besides that, when you are hungry the servants will take you something.”
“Accustomed to eat in the kitchen, probably,” muttered Carrie, with all the air of a young lady of twenty.
“Hold on to your nose, Cad,” whispered John Jr., thereby attracting his sister’s attention to himself.
By this time the soup was removed, and a fine large turkey appeared.
“What a noble great feller. Gobbler, ain’t it?” asked Mrs. Nichols, touching the turkey with the knife.
John Jr., roared, and was ordered from the table by his father, while ’Lena, who stepped on her grandmother’s toes to keep her from talking, was told by that lady “to keep her feet still.” Along with the desert came ice-cream, which Mrs. Nichols had never before tasted, and now fancying that she was dreadfully burned, she quickly deposited her first mouthful upon her plate.