“One day he is going to do me a service, a very great service, Rose.”

The hag continued looking at him with a stubborn expression.

“You know better than any one else, Rose, my dread of some—­some unmannerly death—­”

The old woman made a sound that might have meant anything.

“And Peter has promised to stay with me until—­until the end.”

The old negress considered this solemn speech, and then grunted out: 

“Which en’?”

“Which end?” The Captain was irritated.

“Yeah; yo’ en’ or Peter’s en’?”

“By every law of probability, Peter will outlive me.”

“Yeah, but Peter ‘ll come to a en’ wid you when he ma’ies dat stuck-up yellow fly-by-night, Cissie Dildine.”

“He’s not going to marry her,” said the Captain, comfortably.

“Huh!”

“Peter told me he didn’t intend to marry Cissie Dildine.”

“Shu!  Then whut fur dey go roun’ peepin’ at each other lak a couple o’ niggers roun’ a haystack?”

The old lawyer was annoyed.

“Peeping where?”

“Why, right in front o’ dis house, dat’s wha; ever’ day when dat hussy passes up to de Arkwrights’, wha she wucks.  She pokes along an’ walls her eyes roun’ at dis house lak a calf wid de splivins.”

“That going on now?”

“Ever’ day.”

A deep uneasiness went through the old man.  He moistened his lips.

“But Peter said—­”

“Good Gawd!  Mars’ Renfrew, whut diff’ence do it make whut Peter say?  Ain’t you foun’ out yit when a he-nigger an’ a she-nigger gits to peepin’ at each udder, whut dey says don’t lib in de same neighbo’hood wid whut dey does?”

This was delivered with such energy that it completely undermined the Captain’s faith in Peter, and the fact angered the old gentleman.

“That’ll do, Rose; that’ll do.  That’s all I need of you.”

The old crone puffed up again at this unexpected flare, and went out of the room, plopping her feet on floor and mumbling.  Among these ungracious sounds the Captain caught, “Blin’ ole fool!” But there was no need becoming offended and demanding what she meant.  Her explanation would have been vague and unsatisfactory.

The verjuice which old Rose had sprinkled over Peter and Cissie by calling them “he-nigger” and “she-nigger” somehow minimized them, animalized them in the old lawyer’s imagination.  Rose’s speech was charged with such contempt for her own color that it placed the mulatto and the octoroon down with apes and rabbits.

The lawyer fought against his feeling, for the sake of his secretary, who had come to occupy so wide a sector of his comfort and affection.  Yet the old virago evidently spoke from a broad background of experience.  She was at least half convincing.  While the Captain repelled her charge against his quiet, hard-working brown helper, he admitted it against Cissie Dildine, whom he did not know.  She was an animal, a female centaur, a wanton and a strumpet, as all negresses are wantons and strumpets.  All white men in the South firmly believe that.  They believe it with a peculiar detestation; and since they used these persons very profitably for a hundred and fifty years as breeding animals, one might say they believe it a trifle ungratefully.