Dick touched his hat, but did not take it off. "Yas, suh. I has de honor for to be Mister Grigsby's body-sarvant! At yo' sarvice, suh!"
The superior quality of his manners did not impress the white man. His tone was more offensive than before.
"You tell him he must come up to the house to-night. I want to see him on particular business. Do you hear?"
"Yas, suh!" Dick's roving gaze took in all the details of the forlorn figure, and he grew exasperatingly polite. "You been fall in de creek, 'ain' you, suh? Carn't I give you a lif' home, suh? You mought happen to meet somebody 'long de road. Miss Em'ly Duncombe, she done parss 'long hyur, jes now, a-lookin' fur you. It's more'n likely she'll tu'n back at de cross-roads. Lordy! dar's a moughty big dus' down yonder," arching his hand over his eyes to make sure they did not deceive him. "Hit looks mightily like dat's her now."
Flea had never heard the teacher swear until he flung a round and abusive oath at the negro and plunged back into the woods. Sly Dick had been morally certain that the fine gentleman would never in any circumstances demean himself to become a passenger in a tumbler-cart. He had not risked dampening his Chaney's "things" by the invitation, or it would never have been given. Flea, half dead with dread lest it might be accepted, felt the blood rush wildly from her heart to her head in the relief of the escape, sank back upon the feather bed, and fainted away.
Dick plodded along the highway too full of wicked glee to sing any more hymns. Twice he stopped in the middle of the road to laugh—a regular darky "Ki-yi!" enjoyed by every atom of his being. Mr. Tayloe was very unpopular with the Greenfield servants, and tales of his "high-handed, low-down ways," had been repeated throughout the colored community. The fall moon was high above the horizon when the tumbler-cart was driven up to the kitchen door. Chaney bustled out with importance, becoming an heiress in her own right, but with a decent show of indifference to her own interests where those of her employers were concerned.
"'Ain' no time fur to tech dem things now!" she declared. "Marster's sister done come from Philadelphy or Pennsylvany, or wharever 'tis. De big pot's got to be put in de little one, you better b'lieve. Did you git de baid [bed]?"
"Yas, an' a pyar o' blankets, an' a counterpin, an' a shawl, an' two linsey-woolsey coats Dorkis never had on her back—an' I don' know what else beside. Dars a chaney tea-pot an' sugar-dish. Jes you take a peep in dar!"—leading the way to the back of the cart. "Put yo' han' inter dat 'ar baid. Dem's fedders as is fedders!"
"The chamber" of the Grigsby house was ablaze with three candles and a great fire upon the hearth. To escape from the heat of this last the visitor, Mrs. McLaren, had drawn her chair to an open window. She was two years older than her brother, and had worn black for ten years for her only child, who had borne her name—Jean. Her husband, who had been an invalid for fifteen years, had died only six months before this, her first visit to Virginia. Her brother, of whom she was very fond, had been to Philadelphia for a few days every summer since her marriage. Against his wife's wish he had slipped "Jean" in after the high-sounding name bestowed by her upon their second child. Mrs. Grigsby considered her sister-in-law "right down hard favored," and indeed her reddish hair, high cheek-bones, and prominent mouth robbed her of all claim to beauty. She had, however, a sensible, kindly face, and looked and spoke like a refined lady. She had arrived from Norfolk at three o'clock that afternoon, and had seen all the children except her namesake.
"She had to stay for a while after school to do a sum, poor thing!" Bea explained, with amiable unwillingness.