Her only doll had been a "rag baby," and Gip, the dog, had demolished
that.

"Never mind," said her mother, "you are too big to play with dolls." But
the little girl in New York was almost a year older, and she had a large
wax doll with "truly" clothes that could be taken off and washed. If she
went to the city she might have one.

She piled up her patchwork with a sense of exultation. She was extremely
neat. There was a tiny, hair-covered trunk grandmother Van Kortland had
given her full of pretty chintz and calico pieces. She kept her baby
shoes of blue kid that were outgrown before they were half worn out, so
choice had her mother been of them. There were some gift-books and
mementos and a beautiful Shaker basket Stephen had given her at
Christmas. It was round, so she imagined you put something in it and
shook it, for she had no idea the Shakers were a community and made
dainty articles for sale, even if they discarded all personal vanities.

She went through to the next room, which was the kitchen in winter and
dining-room in summer. She took down her blue-and-white gingham
sun-bonnet, and skipped along a narrow path through the grass to the
summer kitchen. This was a short distance from the house, a big, square
room with a door at each side, and smoky rafters overhead. The brick and
stone chimney was built inside, very wide at the bottom and tapering up
to the peak in the roof. There was a great black crane across it, with
two sets of trammels suspended from it, on which you could hang two
kettles at the same time. If you have never seen one, get Longfellow's
beautiful illustrated poem, "The Hanging of the Crane." A great many old
country houses had them, and they were considered extremely handy.

The presiding genius of the kitchen was a fat old black woman, so old
that her hair was all grizzled. When she braided it up in little tails
on Saturday afternoon Hannah Ann watched with a kind of fascination. She
always wore a plaid Madras turban with a bow tied in front. She had been
grandmother Underhill's slave woman. I suppose very few of you know
there were slaves in New York State in the early part of the century.
Aunt Mary had sons married, and grandchildren doing well. They begged
her now and then to give up work, but she clung to her old home.

"Aunt Mary," inquired the little girl, "is the chicken feed mixed?"

"Laws, yaas, honey, lem me scoop it in de pail. You's got such little
claws o' han's. Don't see