Part 7 (2/2)

”Jes' like Ma.s.sa Henry fur all de worl',” said Dinah, as she caught a glimpse of the child through the window.

”Wondah whose brat dat ar' dat missis bringin' home wid her?” said Jane, as she put the ice in the pitchers for dinner. ”I warrant it's some poor white n.i.g.g.e.r somebody bin givin' her.”

The child was white. What should be done to make it look like other negroes, was the question which Mrs. Miller asked herself. The callous-hearted old woman bit her nether lip, as she viewed that child, standing before her, with her long, dark ringlets cl.u.s.tering over her alabaster brow and neck.

”Take this little n.i.g.g.e.r and cut her hair close to her head,” said the mistress to Jane, as the latter answered the bell.

Clotelle screamed, as she felt the scissors grating over her head, and saw those curls that her mother thought so much of falling upon the floor.

A roar of laughter burst from the servants, as Jane led the child through the kitchen, with the hair cut so short that the naked scalp could be plainly seen.

”'Gins to look like n.i.g.g.e.r, now,” said Dinah, with her mouth upon a grin.

The mistress smiled, as the shorn child reentered the room; but there was something more needed. The child was white, and that was a great objection. However, she hit upon a plan to remedy this which seemed feasible. The day was excessively warm. Not a single cloud floated over the blue vault of heaven; not a breath of wind seemed moving, and the earth was parched by the broiling sun. Even the bees had stopped humming, and the b.u.t.terflies had hid themselves under the broad leaves of the burdock. Without a morsel of dinner, the poor child was put in the garden, and set to weeding it, her arms, neck, and head completely bare. Unaccustomed to toil, Clotelle wept as she exerted herself in pulling up the weeds. Old Dinah, the cook, was a unfeeling as her mistress, and she was pleased to see the child made to work in the hot sun.

”Dat white n.i.g.g.e.r'll soon be brack enuff if missis keeps her workin' out dar,” she said, as she wiped the perspiration from her sooty brow.

Dinah was the mother of thirteen children, all of whom bad been taken from her when young; and this, no doubt, did much to harden her feelings, and make her hate all white persons.

The burning sun poured its rays on the face of the friendless child until she sank down in the corner of the garden, and was actually broiled to sleep.

”Dat little n.i.g.g.e.r ain't workin' a bit, missus,” said Dinah to Mrs.

Miller, as the latter entered the kitchen.

”She's lying in the sun seasoning; she will work the better by and by,”

replied the mistress.

”Dese white n.i.g.g.e.rs always tink dey seff good as white folks,” said the cook.

”Yes; but we will teach them better, won't we, Dinah?” rejoined Mrs.

Miller.

”Yes, missus,” replied Dinah; ”I don't like dese merlatter n.i.g.g.e.rs, no how. Dey always want to set dey seff up for sumfin' big.” With this remark the old cook gave one of her coa.r.s.e laughs, and continued: ”Missis understands human nature, don't she? Ah! if she ain't a whole team and de ole gray mare to boot, den Dinah don't know nuffin'.”

Of course, the mistress was out of the kitchen before these last remarks were made.

It was with the deepest humiliation that Henry learned from one of his own slaves the treatment which his child was receiving at the hands of his relentless mother-in-law.

The scorching sun had the desired effect; for in less than a fortnight, Clotelle could scarcely have been recognized as the same child. Often was she seen to weep, and heard to call on her mother.

Mrs. Miller, when at church on Sabbath, usually, on warm days, took Nancy, one of her servants, in her pew, and this girl had to fan her mistress during service. Unaccustomed to such a soft and pleasant seat, the servant would very soon become sleepy and begin to nod. Sometimes she would go fast asleep, which annoyed the mistress exceedingly. But Mrs. Miller had nimble fingers, and on them sharp nails, and, with an energetic pinch upon the bare arms of the poor girl, she would arouse the daughter of Africa from her pleasant dreams. But there was no one of Mrs. Miller's servants who received so much punishment as old Uncle Tony.

Fond of her greenhouse, and often in the garden, she was ever at the old gardener's heels. Uncle Tony was very religious, and, whenever his mistress flogged him, he invariably gave her a religious exhortation.

Although unable to read, he, nevertheless, had on his tongue's end portions of Scripture which he could use at any moment. In one end of the greenhouse was Uncle Tony's sleeping room, and those who happened in that vicinity, between nine and ten at night, could hear the old man offering up his thanksgiving to G.o.d for his protection during the day.

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