“What is this drawer for, Dinah?” she said.

“It’s handy for most anything, Missis,” said Dinah.  So it appeared to be.  From the variety it contained, Miss Ophelia pulled out first a fine damask table-cloth stained with blood, having evidently been used to envelop some raw meat.

“What’s this, Dinah?  You don’t wrap up meat in your mistress’ best table-cloths?”

“O Lor, Missis, no; the towels was all a missin’—­so I jest did it.  I laid out to wash that a,—­that’s why I put it thar.”

“Shif’less!” said Miss Ophelia to herself, proceeding to tumble over the drawer, where she found a nutmeg-grater and two or three nutmegs, a Methodist hymn-book, a couple of soiled Madras handkerchiefs, some yarn and knitting-work, a paper of tobacco and a pipe, a few crackers, one or two gilded china-saucers with some pomade in them, one or two thin old shoes, a piece of flannel carefully pinned up enclosing some small white onions, several damask table-napkins, some coarse crash towels, some twine and darning-needles, and several broken papers, from which sundry sweet herbs were sifting into the drawer.

“Where do you keep your nutmegs, Dinah?” said Miss Ophelia, with the air of one who prayed for patience.

“Most anywhar, Missis; there’s some in that cracked tea-cup, up there, and there’s some over in that ar cupboard.”

“Here are some in the grater,” said Miss Ophelia, holding them up.

“Laws, yes, I put ’em there this morning,—­I likes to keep my things handy,” said Dinah.  “You, Jake! what are you stopping for!  You’ll cotch it!  Be still, thar!” she added, with a dive of her stick at the criminal.

“What’s this?” said Miss Ophelia, holding up the saucer of pomade.

“Laws, it’s my har grease;—­I put it thar to have it handy.”

“Do you use your mistress’ best saucers for that?”

“Law! it was cause I was driv, and in sich a hurry;—­I was gwine to change it this very day.”

“Here are two damask table-napkins.”

“Them table-napkins I put thar, to get ’em washed out, some day.”

“Don’t you have some place here on purpose for things to be washed?”

“Well, Mas’r St. Clare got dat ar chest, he said, for dat; but I likes to mix up biscuit and hev my things on it some days, and then it an’t handy a liftin’ up the lid.”

“Why don’t you mix your biscuits on the pastry-table, there?”

“Law, Missis, it gets sot so full of dishes, and one thing and another, der an’t no room, noway—­”

“But you should wash your dishes, and clear them away.”

“Wash my dishes!” said Dinah, in a high key, as her wrath began to rise over her habitual respect of manner; “what does ladies know ’bout work, I want to know?  When ’d Mas’r ever get his dinner, if I vas to spend all my time a washin’ and a puttin’ up dishes?  Miss Marie never telled me so, nohow.”