CHAPTER XII

The letter that was not delivered

The next morning, Rondeau waited for a long time for his master’s usual orders that he should go to the post office, but no such commands came, and as Dr. Lacey had not been heard moving in his room yet, Rondeau concluded to go at all events.

“I know,”, said he, “that’ll be the first thing he’ll tell me to do, and I may as well go on my own hook, as to wait and be sent.”

Accordingly he again started for the post office, thinking to himself, “I hope that marster’ll get a letter this time, for he don’t seem no more like the wide-awake chap he did when he first come from Kentuck, than nothin’.  I don’t want him to have Miss Mabel nohow; for their niggers say she’s awful spunky.”

By the time this soliloquy was ended, he had reached the office.  The clerk handed him two letters, both of which Rondeau eyed sharply.  On looking at the second, the cavity between the ears widened to an enormous extent, and he gave vent to his joy by uttering aloud, “Crackee, this is just the thing!”

“What’s the matter, Rondeau?  Can you read writing?” asked the clerk in some surprise.

“No, sir, not but a little,” said Rondeau; “but I know this hand write, I reckon.”

In a twinkling, he was in the street.  “This is a fine morning,” thought he.  “I’ve got the right letter this time, so I won’t hurry home, for marster ain’t goin’ to find any fault if I don’t git thar till noon.”

So the next hour was spent in gossiping with all the blacks which could be found lounging round the streets.  Suddenly one of the negroes called out, “Ho, Rondeau!  Thar’s yer old marster Lace comin’.  You’d better cut stick for home, or he’ll be in yer har.”

Rondeau instantly started for home, where he was greeted by Aunt Dilsey with a torrent of abuse, that good lady rating him soundly for being gone too long.  “Warn’t he ‘shamed to be foolin’ away his time?  ’Twan’t his time nuther, ‘twas marster’s time.  Was that ar fulfillin’ of Scripter, which says, ‘we must be all eye sarvants,’ which means ye must all keep clus where yer marsters can see you?”

How long Aunt Dilsey might have gone expounding Scripture is not known, for Rondeau interrupted her by saying, “Don’t scold so, old lady.  Marster ain’t a-goin’ to care for I’ve got him something this time better than victuals or drink.”

“What is it?” said Leffie, coming forward.  “Have you got him a letter from Kentuck?”

“I hain’t got nothin’ else, Miss Leffie Lacey, if you please,” said Rondeau, snapping his fingers in her face, and giving Aunt Dilsey’s elbow a slight jostle, just enough to spill the oil, with which she was filling a lamp.

“Rondeau, I ‘clar’ for’t,” said Aunt Dilsey, setting down her oil can.  “If marster don’t crack your head, my old man Claib shall, if he ever gits up agin.  Thar he is in his bunk, snorin’ like he was a steamboat; and marster’s asleep upstairs, I reckon.  Well, ’tain’t no way to live.  Things would go to rack and ruin if I didn’t sweat and work to keep ’em right end up, sartin.”