“I don’t keer,” she would say, “if the cakes is all dough and the ’sarves all froth.  They’s good enough for her, any day.”  Then she would call out, “Get along you, Jack, pokin’ your fingers into the ’lasses cup; make yourself scarce in this kitchen, or I’ll crack your head mighty nigh as hard as the new Miss will.”  Then she would scold Leffie, who, she said, “was of no more account than a burnt stick, now she was spectin’ Rondeau.  Pity but the boat he come on wouldn’t blow up and let ’em all into perdition together.”

Leffie knew her mother didn’t mean more than half what she said, but she chose to keep silent, hoping each morning that the close of the day would bring the long absent Rondeau.  Thus, between scolding and fretting, cooking and sweating, Aunt Dilsey passed the time until the day arrived on which, as she said, “they’d come if they ever did.”

Mrs. Lacey, whose husband had not yet received his son’s letter announcing the catastrophe, came out to superintend affairs and receive her new daughter.  In the large, handsome dining room, the supper table was neatly spread, while Aunt Dilsey bustled about with the air of one who felt her time was short, but was determined to contest every inch of ground ere yielding it to another.  She had condescended to put on her new calico gown (the one she proposed taking with her in a “handkerchief”) and had even washed the grease and molasses from Jack’s and the baby’s face, telling the former that “he needn’t mind about making up faces at the lady that night.”

Claib had gone to the landing, and now Mrs. Lacey and the servants were gathered upon the upper piazza, waiting his return.  Suddenly Dilsey, whose eyesight seemed wonderfully sharpened, exclaimed, “Thar, that’s Claib.  I could tell my old man if I should meet him at a camp meeting!”

Mrs. Lacey looked in the direction of the city and saw the carriage which Dilsey had pointed out.  It proved to be Claib; and Leffie, who was rather near-sighted, strained her eyes to see if Rondeau, too, was on the box.

“Thar’s nobody in that ar,” said Dilsey.  “Reckon the boat has run into the ground, or bust her riggin’; so, Leffie, you’ve put on your pink dress for nothin’.”

The elder Mr. Lacey, was, however, in the carriage, and alighting, he advanced toward his wife and gave her the letter he had just received from his son.  Mrs. Lacey read it, while the blacks crowded around Claib asking him scores of foolish questions, such as, “Was Marster George in the boat?  And why wasn’t he thar?  And when would he be thar?”

When Mrs. Lacey finished reading the letter she said to Leffie, who was still standing near, “Rondeau is well, and will be home in a few days.”

“When’s the new miss a comin’?” asked Aunt Dilsey.

“Not at all,” was Mrs. Lacey’s reply.

“Glad on’t,” said Dilsey, “for now Jack can spit as fur and as big spits as he wants to.”