“Think I dun’no’ nuffin ’bout babies, when I nussed dat berry Cely, wid all de airs she gibs herse’f, right here in dis cradle. Heap er use she got wid er baby, an’ she hain’t hardly er ’oman yit, an’ Ole Miss an’ Little Miss myratin’ so.
“Cely got some putty whi’ clo’es wid lace on, an’ some blue beads too, dat Little Miss tek offen her big doll fur de baby; an’ Cindy got nuffin but er blue chany mug, an’ sumpen ter eat fum de Big House. Cindy sech er hog; allus ax Ole Miss fur sumpen ter eat when she down. If hit wa’n’t fur Cely, Cindy’d er got all dem beads an’ things, ’case dey’s de two littlest babies, but dey’s des lack es two peas.” Maumer had taken Cindy’s feverish child in her arms again; then moving with a sudden impulse, she laid it in the cradle beside Cely’s baby. “Es lack es peas in one pod,” she whispered. “If hit wa’n’t fur Cely’s, Ole Miss would mighty much dis’n, ’case he de putties’ in de Nursery, ’cep’in’ Cely’s, an’ he de onlies’ gran’chile dat I got.” Cindy’s baby moaned as if in pain, and Maumer took him up again.
“I dun’no’ what ail him—hain’t time fur ’is teef ter mek trouble, but his mouf pester me mightily. I’s tired er de whi’ folkses’ physic; I gwine fix my own truck. If he do git worser—if he do—” Maumer looked at the blue beads around the neck of Cely’s sleeping baby, and then into the face of the little sufferer before her, with a leer of latent cunning.
In the olden time of slavery days, the mother of a new baby was the subject of especial envy.
As a consequence, there were many privileges that attached, many immunities, both before and after it came. Ole Miss always went to the Quarters personally upon such occasions; the children followed with gifts, and put in their claims to the little black baby with many excited arguments.
Upon the self-same day, the two little new faces peeped into the Quarters; the one, the child of stalwart Henry’s girl-wife, had been chosen to be fought over and cried over; the other had been accorded only ordinary honors, for Cindy was not a favorite among the children, and hence old Maumer’s jealousy was aroused.
Through the long day Maumer sat and brooded, neglecting the toddlers who had strayed onto forbidden ground; and stirring the cradles roughly with her foot,—Old Maumer, who had been trusted and revered for so long,—but she had not a grandchild then.
Ma’y Ann, the young assistant, played with acorn cups and bits of china under the old oak, unmolested, for Maumer was wrestling with a problem, and all of the latent, unsuspected savagery was rising.
Then by-and-by the little wooden cradles were empty, for the work-day was done; the mothers had taken their babies to their own cabins, and Maumer laid Cindy’s child on her shoulder and closed the door.