’Liza had no more fits, but in spite of the charm her temper showed no signs of mending, and Maumer, though she kept all of Bithie’s treasures, gave up the case in despair.
“I cain’t wuk ’gin Unc’ Caspar,” she acknowledged, “fur he’s too strong. Unc’ Caspar er powerful hoodoo, but I is, too, an’ I wuk an’ he wuk, an’ de charm ole Maumer wuk des lock ho’ns wid his’n an’ stan’ dar grinnin’ at one nudder. I cain’t tek hit off, but es long es I wuks, Unc’ Caspar’s charm cain’t kill her; but you better let dat chile ’lone, Bithie, lessen you kin git Unc’ Caspar ter call back de cuss.”
So Bithie stifled her sorrow and tried to believe Ole Miss, and all of her spare time she spent in making dainty clothes for her seventh daughter, out of the things that Ole Miss had given her. The other six might go ragged, half clothed, and dirty, as far as she was concerned, but the child under the curse must be dressed like a “lady.”
The day that Ole Miss sent for ’Liza to come to the “Big House” was an event in Bithie’s cabin, for none of Bithie’s children had been so honored before, and ’Liza was now old enough to play with Ole Miss’s little ones.
’Liza’s round, black face shone with all the polish that hot water and soft-soap could give; her blue-checked pinafore was spotlessly neat, and the tight “wraps” of woolly hair that latticed the little round head actually bore a scarlet ribbon where they joined.
“Min’, ’Liza, dat you says ’Ma’am’ an’ ’Yas, Sar’ ter dem chillen, if dey is littler ’n you, ’case dey’s you’ little marster and mistiss,” said Bithie, bridling with importance.
But Bithie’s pride was short-lived, for ’Liza proved to be a marplot among the children, and, after less than half an hour of service, she was whisked away to the Quarters by Betty, the second nurse, who “’clared ter gracious, dat I’d druther tame er rattler ’n tame Bithie’s ’Liza!”
With the pickaninnies it was the same; bolder with those of her own color, there was always a wail when ’Liza was about, and at last old Maumer boxed her ears and sent her away from the nursery, so, as little as she was, there was nothing left for ’Liza but to go to the field. There she brewed mischief afresh, and the threat and whip of the overseer were as nothing to her, for toads and lizards would leap from her sack when the cotton came to be weighed, and she kept the Quarters always on the alert for some of her uglier pranks. It was even said that the lash of the overseer upon her back produced no welt, but that she laughed in his face while he sweated, for she was under a charm.
As the time passed, a comelier negro girl than ’Liza would have been hard to find, and Bithie, proud, though mourning, lavished her little all upon her; but her child was nobody’s friend, saving perhaps Unc’ Caspar’s and his son’s. To them alone she told her joys and her sorrows, and Bithie looked aghast at the duckling she had hovered.
“Hit wouldn’ erbeen so bad,” she confided to Maumer, whose charm had long ceased to even “lock horns” with Unc’ Caspar’s, “if she hadn’ er taken right ter dem what sot de cuss—an’—Unc’ Caspar des stan’ up an’ ’nies de truf, an’ say he nebber sot er cuss, an’ ax my ole man fur ’Liza fur his boy, ter probe hit,” said Bithie, with a sigh. “Do sumpen, Maumer, fur de lub er Gord—do sumpen, fur I des es lief dat ’Liza ’d mairey wid de debil!”