“Tank you, massa, now Scip got suthen to put on his head nex ’lection. Primus shan’t be king no longer. Scip king heself! He! he! he!”
The others withdrew, they having too much of the pride of the family to be willing to have it supposed they were expecting there was any thing for them. Scipio not being able to restrain his impatience to try on his new finery, pulled it on as he went into the kitchen, exclaiming—
“It fits dizackly!” and in his exultation at the favor shown himself, losing his awe of Vi’let, appealed to her, without her usual title of respect, “if it wasn’t mighty becoming?”
At which, with some indignation, she told him—“He looked like a black monkey with that red cap on his head, and that great thing jigging up and down behind,” betraying some of the infirmity of human nature, at the preference shown her rival.
Mrs. Wendell now pounced upon a package of some size, and opening it, cried—
“Oh, here’s my yellow calamanco; well, it’s really a beauty! Nobody could tell it from a rich satin! I’ll have it made up for Christmas—it’s full handsome enough, aunt, isn’t it? I’m sure, I am much obliged to you, George.”
“Stop, cousin,” said he, taking it from her, “upon second thoughts, I cannot let you have that—I remember now, I bought it for Aunt Vi’let.”
Aunt Vi’let was called in, the others following in her wake, and the present unfolded before her admiring eyes. Her usually grim features were softened into benignity at the sight.
“That aint for me, Misser George! Well, it is a parfec’ speck, I ’clare!”
She could say no more. Her vocabulary, rich in epithets of vituperation only, was soon exhausted, when drawn upon for expressions of satisfaction. Her pleasure was shown in silence. A gay Madras handkerchief for the head was given to Flora, who received it with a modest curtsey, and displaying a row of ivory, and a dimple which many a fairer belle might have envied. On Peter’s looking rather solemn at thinking himself forgotten, his young master told him that his present had not come up from the vessel yet, he had brought him a fine parrot, which could talk nearly as well as himself; at which Peter’s joy knew no bounds. He capered about the room, regardless where he was, and in whose presence, until brought to his senses by a smart rap upon the head by Vi’let, with—