“It’s de marster.  You has to answer de bell, honey, and he likes it done bery spry.”

Christie ran and admitted an impetuous, stout gentleman, who appeared to be incensed against the elements, for he burst in as if blown, shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and said all in one breath: 

“You’re the new girl, are you?  Well, take my umbrella and pull off my rubbers.”

“Sir?”

Mr. Stuart was struggling with his gloves, and, quite unconscious of the astonishment of his new maid, impatiently repeated his request.

“Take this wet thing away, and pull off my overshoes.  Don’t you see it’s raining like the very deuce!”

Christie folded her lips together in a peculiar manner as she knelt down and removed a pair of muddy overshoes, took the dripping umbrella, and was walking away with her agreeable burden when Mr. Stuart gave her another shock by calling over the banister: 

“I’m going out again; so clean those rubbers, and see that the boots I sent down this morning are in order.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Christie meekly, and immediately afterward startled Hepsey by casting overshoes and umbrella upon the kitchen floor, and indignantly demanding: 

“Am I expected to be a boot-jack to that man?”

“I ’spects you is, honey.”

“Am I also expected to clean his boots?”

“Yes, chile.  Katy did, and de work ain’t hard when you gits used to it.”

“It isn’t the work; it’s the degradation; and I won’t submit to it.”

Christie looked fiercely determined; but Hepsey shook her head, saying quietly as she went on garnishing a dish: 

“Dere’s more ‘gradin’ works dan dat, chile, and dem dat’s bin ’bliged to do um finds dis sort bery easy.  You’s paid for it, honey; and if you does it willin, it won’t hurt you more dan washin’ de marster’s dishes, or sweepin’ his rooms.”

“There ought to be a boy to do this sort of thing.  Do you think it’s right to ask it of me?” cried Christie, feeling that being servant was not as pleasant a task as she had thought it.

“Dunno, chile.  I’se shore I’d never ask it of any woman if I was a man, ’less I was sick or ole.  But folks don’t seem to ’member dat we’ve got feelin’s, and de best way is not to mind dese ere little trubbles.  You jes leave de boots to me; blackin’ can’t do dese ole hands no hurt, and dis ain’t no deggydation to me now; I’s a free woman.”

“Why, Hepsey, were you ever a slave?” asked the girl, forgetting her own small injury at this suggestion of the greatest of all wrongs.

“All my life, till I run away five year ago.  My ole folks, and eight brudders and sisters, is down dere in de pit now; waitin’ for the Lord to set ’em free.  And He’s gwine to do it soon, soon!” As she uttered the last words, a sudden light chased the tragic shadow from Hepsey’s face, and the solemn fervor of her voice thrilled Christie’s heart.  All her anger died out in a great pity, and she put her hand on the woman’s shoulder, saying earnestly: