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One of the visitors distrusts me.

The next morning, after breakfast, Boss and old Master Jack went out to view the grounds.  They took me along so that if anything was wanted I could do it.  Boss would have me drive a stake in some place to mark where he desired to put something, perhaps some flowers, or a tree.  He went on through the grounds, showing his father how everything was to be arranged.  The old man shook his head, and said:  “Well, it’s good, but I am afraid you’ll spoil these niggers-niggers.  Keep you eye on that boy Lou, (meaning me) he is slippery-slippery, too smart-art.”  “Oh!  I’ll manage that, Father,” said Boss.  “Well, see that you do-oo, for I see running away in his eyes.”  One of the things that interested old Master Jack was the ringing of the dinner bell.  “Well, I do think,” said the old man, “that boy can ring a bell better than anybody I ever heard.  Why, its got a regular tune.”  I used to try to see how near I could come to making it say, come to dinner.

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The madam in A rage.

The four days soon passed, and all the company gone, we were once more at our regular work.  Delia, the cook, seemingly had not pleased the madam in her cooking while the company were there; so, the morning after they left, she went toward the kitchen, calling:  “Delia, Delia.”  Delia said:  “Dah!  I wonder what she wants now.”  By this time she was in the kitchen, confronting Delia.  Her face was flushed as she screamed out:  “What kind of biscuits were those you baked this week?” “I think they were all right, Mis Sarh.”  “Hush!” screamed out the madam, stamping her foot to make it more emphatic.  “You did not half cook them,” said she; “they were not beat enough.  Those waffles were ridiculous,” said the madam.  “Well, Mis Sarh, I tried.”  “Stop!” cried Madam in a rage, “I’ll give you thunder if you dictate to me.”  Not a very elegant display in language or manner for a great lady!  Old Aunt Delia, who was used to these occurrences, said:  “My Lord! dat woman dunno what she wants.  Ah!  Lou, there is nothing but the devil up here, (meaning the new home); can’t do nothin to please her up here in dis fine house.  I tell you Satan neber git his own til he git her.”  They did not use baking powder, as we do now, but the biscuits were beaten until light enough.  Twenty minutes was the time allotted for this work; but when company came there was so much to be done—­so many more dishes to prepare, that Delia would, perhaps, not have so much time for each meal.  But there was no allowance made.  It was never thought reasonable that a servant should make a mistake—­things must always be the same.  I was listening to this quarrel between madam and Delia, supposing my time would come next; but for that once she said nothing to me.

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