that "de Lord willin' " she would "be on han' Monday, time
to make de mornin' coffee." Which assurance had afforded Melicent a
Sunday free of disturbing doubts concerning the future of her
undertaking. But who may know what the morrow will bring forth? Cynthy
had been "tuck sick in de night." So ran the statement of the wee
pickaninny who appeared at Melicent's gate many hours later than
morning coffee time: delivering his message in a high voice of
complaint, and disappearing like a vision without further word.

Uncle Hiram, then called to the breach, had staked his patriarchal
honor on the appearance of his niece Suze on Tuesday. Melicent and
Therese meeting Suze some days later in a field path, asked the cause
of her bad faith. The girl showed them all the white teeth which
nature had lavished on her, saying with the best natured laugh in the
world: "I don' know how come I didn' git dere Chewsday like I
promise."

If the ladies were not disposed to consider that an all-sufficient
reason, so much the worse, for Suze had no other to offer.

From Mose's wife, Minervy, better things might have been expected. But
after a solemn engagement to take charge of Melicent's kitchen on
Wednesday, the dusky matron suddenly awoke to the need of "holpin'
Mose hoe out dat co'n in the stiff lan."

Therese, seeing that the girl was really eager to play in the brief
role of housekeeper had used her powers, persuasive and authoritative,
to procure servants for her, but without avail. She herself was not
without an abundance of them, from the white-haired Hiram, whose
position on the place had long been a sinecure, down to the little
brown legged tot Mandy, much given to falling asleep in the sun, when
not chasing venturesome poultry off forbidden ground, or stirring
gentle breezes with an enormous palm leaf fan about her mistress
during that lady's after dinner nap.

When pressed to give a reason for this apparent disinclination of the
negroes to work for the Hosmers, Nathan, who was at the moment being
interviewed on the front veranda by Therese and Melicent, spoke out.

"Dey 'low 'roun' yere, dat you's mean to de black folks, ma'am: dat
what dey says--I don' know me."

"Mean," cried Melicent, amazed, "in what way, pray?"

"Oh, all sort o' ways," he admitted, with a certain shy brazenness;
determined to go through with the ordeal.

"Dey 'low you wants to cut de little gals' plaits off, an' sich--I
don' know me."

"Do you s