“Cabell, it is true; you have noticed the change!”
“What? I have no doubt I have.” He glanced at his wife to see if she had on a new dress or had changed the mode of wearing her hair, then gazed about him rather uneasily to see if the furniture had been shifted about, or if the pictures had been changed; points on which his wife was inclined to be particular.
“The change in Mammy! Why, I should never know her for the same person.”
“Of course, I have. I have noticed nothing else. Why, she is dressed as fine as a fiddle. She is 'taking notice.' She 'll be giving Old Caesar a successor. Then what will you do? I thought that fat darky I have seen going in at the back gate with a silk hat and a long-tailed coat looked like a preacher. You 'd better look out for him. You know she was always stuck on preachers. He is a preacher, sure.”
“He is,” observed the small boy on the floor. “That 's the Reverend Mr. Johnson. And, oh! He certainly can blow beautiful smoke-rings. He can blow a whole dozen and make 'em go through each other. You just ought to see him, papa.”
His father glanced casually at the cigar box on the table.
“I think I will some day,” said he, half grimly.
“I never would know her for the same person. Why, she is so changed!” pursued Mrs. Graeme. “She goes out half the time, and this morning she was so cross! She says she is as good as I am if she is black. She is getting like these others up here.”
Mr. Graeme flung down the paper he was reading.
“It is these Northern negroes who have upset her, and the fools like the editor of that paper who have upset them.”