en 'um got
just so missus like, say--da he is!" mumbles the old negress in reply.
"Well, well--a little that side, now--" The negress moves the pillow a
little to the left. "That's too much, Rebecca--a slight touch the other
way. You are so stupid, I will have to sell you, and get Jewel to take
care of me. I would have done it before but for the noise of her
crutch--I would, Rebecca! You never think of me--you only think of how
much hominy you can eat." The old negress makes a motion to move the
pillow a little to the right, when Mrs. Swiggs settles her head and
shoulders into it, saying, "there!"

"Glad'um suit--fo'h true!" retorts the negress, her heavy lips and
sullen face giving out the very incarnation of hatred.

"Now don't make a noise when you go out." Rebecca in reply says she is
"gwine down to da kitchen to see Isaac," and toddles out of the room,
gently closing the door after her.

Resignedly Mrs. Swiggs closes her eyes, moderates her rocking, and
commences evolving and revolving the subject over in her mind. "I
haven't much of this world's goods--no, I haven't; but I'm of a good
family, and its name for hospitality must be kept up. Don't see that I
can keep it up better than by helping Sister Slocum and the _Tract
Society_ out," she muses. But the exact way to effect this has not yet
come clear to her mind. Times are rather hard, and, as we have said
before, she is in straightened circumstances, having, for something more
than ten years, had nothing but the earnings of eleven old negroes, five
of whom are cripples, to keep up the dignity of the house of the Swiggs.
"There's old Zeff," she says, "has took to drinking, and Flame, his
wife, ain't a bit better; and neither one of them have been worth
anything since I sold their two children--which I had to do, or let the
dignity of the family suffer. I don't like to do it, but I must. I must
send Zeff to the workhouse--have him nicely whipped, I only charge him
eighteen dollars a month for himself, and yet he will drink, and won't
pay over his wages. Yes!--he shall have it. The extent of the law, well
laid on, will learn him a lesson. There's old Cato pays me twenty
dollars a month, and Cato's seventy-four--four years older than Zeff. In
truth, my negro property is all getting careless about paying wages. Old
Trot runs away whenever he can get a chance; Brutus has forever got
something the matter with him; and Cicero has come to be a real skulk.
He don't care