“What’s the matter, grandma? Can’t you eat it?” asked Anna.
“Yes, I kin eat it, but I don’t hanker arter it,” answered her grandmother, pushing the plate aside.
Dinner being over, Mrs. Nichols returned to her room, but soon growing weary, she started out to view the premises. Coming suddenly upon a group of young negroes, she discovered her bellows, the water dripping from the nose, while a little farther on she espied ’Lena’s bonnet, which the negroes had at last succeeded in catching, and which, wet as it was, now adorned the head of Thomas Jefferson! In a trice the old lady’s principles were forgotten, and she cuffed the negroes with a right good will, hitting Jeff, the hardest, and, as a matter of course, making him yell the loudest. Out came Aunt Milly, scolding and muttering about “white folks tendin’ to thar own business,” and reversing her decision with regard to Mrs. Nichols’ position in the next world. Cuff, the watch-dog, whose kennell was close by, set up a tremendous howling, while John Jr., always on hand, danced a jig to the sound of the direful music.
“For heaven’s sake, husband, go out and see what’s the matter,” said Mrs. Livingstone, slightly alarmed at the unusual noise.
John complied, and reached the spot just in time to catch a glimpse of John Jr.’s heels as he gave the finishing touch to his exploit, while Mrs. Nichols, highly incensed, marched from the field of battle with the bonnet and bellows, thinking “if them niggers was only her’n they’d catch it!”
CHAPTER VII.
MALCOLM EVERETT.
It would be tiresome both to ourselves and our readers, were we to enumerate the many mortifications which both Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone were compelled to endure from their mother, who gradually came to understand her true position in the family. One by one her ideas of teaching them economy were given up, as was also all hopes of ever being at all familiar with her daughter, whom, at her son’s request, she had ceased to call “’Tilda.”
“Mebby you want me to say Miss Livingstone,” said she, “but I shan’t. I’ll call her Miss Nichols, or Matilda, just which she chooses.”
Of course Mrs. Livingstone chose the latter, wincing, though, every time she heard it. Dreading a scene which he knew was sure to follow a disclosure of his engagement with Miss Nancy, Mr. Livingstone had requested his mother to keep it from his wife, and she, appreciating his motive, promised secrecy, lamenting the while the ill-fortune which had prevented Nancy from being her daughter-in-law, and dwelling frequently upon the comfort she should take were Nancy there in Matilda’s place. On the whole, however, she was tolerably contented; the novelty of Kentucky life pleased her, and at last, like most northern people, she fell in with the habits of those around her. Still her Massachusetts friends were not forgotten, and many a letter, wonderful for its composition and orthography, found its way to Nancy Scovandyke, who wrote in return that “some time or other she should surely visit Kentucky,” asking further if the “big bugs” didn’t prefer eastern teachers for their children, and hinting at her desire to engage in that capacity when she came south!
“Now, that’s the very thing,” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, folding the letter (directed wrong side up) and resuming her knitting. “Nancy’s larnin’ is plenty good enough to teach Caroline and Anny, and I mean to speak to John about it right away.”