DINAH’S TOILET IN THE GARRET.
But Dinah was quite unable to sleep until she had looked somewhat to the
preparations necessary for her journey. So when she left Martha’s room,
armed with a flaring candle, she betook herself to the garret, where
stood the chest in which the treasured odds and ends of her life had
been heaped together. A huge padlock secured this miscellaneous wealth
from Lizzy’s prying eyes; and when Dinah unlocked it she looked sharply
round in fear that the girl might have been dodging her footsteps.
Very incongruous were the articles displayed by the opening of the
chest. Old dresses and cloaks, garments which Martha had worn when a
baby, a black tea-pot without a nose, and a Britannia cream-jug that had
lost its handle, masses of artificial flowers, and a collection of old
shoes, for Dinah was a perfect martyr to her feet and a monomaniac on
the subject of saving worn-out slippers. All these things were carefully
taken out and held to the light for closer inspection. Dinah’s heart
sunk within her when she reflected that, probably, she might not be
allowed to take the chest on her intended advent into the fashionable
world, and the very idea of leaving it behind gave her a cramp at the
heart.
“Now,” says Dinah, dropping into a gentle train of calculation, “s’posin
Mister Hart, or the young un, turn up their noses at dis ’spectable
chist, what is I to ’pend on—a band-box, a bundle, or one ob dem kivered
baskets? Not none of dem, nohow. If Miss wants a waitin’ maid, as she
can ’pend one in all ’spects for her manners and ’spectability, dis
chist es got to go long jes as sartin as I stan’ here. But s’posing she
sots her foot down and says, ‘Dinah, I’s willin’ to take you wid a
band-box or bundle, but not the chist.’ Then what’ll yer do, Dinah? Will
yer stay hum and make Liz pay for it all, or guv in an’ go anyhow? Make
up your mind in dis ’spect, Dinah, ’cause there’s gwine to be a tussel,
and yer’d as well be ready, Dinah, yer had.”
After this soliloquy, Dinah rested her head on one hand and an elbow on
her knee, evidently making up her mind.
“Well,” she said, at last, “if I mus’ guv up, I mus’—no ’stake about
dat; for I’se bound to make dem York niggers stan’ ’bout afore I’se done
wid ’em. Jest tink how arkard that poor chil’d be widout a ’sperienced
person to ’tend to her manners. So s’posin’ dey stands out, what is de
least as I can get long wid?”
Here Dinah plunged her hand into the open chest, and drew forth a quilt
of marvellous pattern, which she partially unfolded on her lap.
“Dis is a gwoin’ anyhow,” she muttered; “I’se ’quainted wid der stuck-up
houses in York, partly by ’sperience, an’ partly ’cause I’se be’n told.
Dey is whitened sepulchurs in de parlor; but when yer gits up-stairs
toward the roof, look out! Ain’t a gwine to catch the rhumetes for none
of ’em—that kiver’s boun’ to go!”
Here Dinah laid the quilt down and drew forth a small cotton shawl, so
gay in its original red, green and yellow, that time had left it a gaudy
article still. The chief desire of Dinah’s heart had always been a
turban, such as she had heard of among the better class of Southern
negresses—heard of, but never seen—for, with all her self-consequence,
Dinah had no knowledge of any town larger than the little port at which
Mr. Bentley and Gillian had landed; but imagination ran so far ahead of
her memory, that she really began to believe that all the books she had
heard her young ladies read, and all the places she had heard described
by the females of the household, were absolutely a part of her own
experience.
“Now,” said Dinah, eying the shawl, “if I only knew how dem niggers
twisted ’em up, it’d be ebery ting. I’se got dem ear-rings Miss Sarah
guv me when she was married; but how to pucker dis consarn into a turban
beats me.”
While she was speaking, Dinah began to fold the shawl diagonally and lay
it in broad plaits, which she prepared to bind over her silvered wool.
“Now,” she said, laying the folds across her lap, and fishing up a
little cracked looking-glass from the depths of her chest, which she
fastened between the rafters that sloped over her—“now if I kin only get
the kink on it, the chil’ ’ill have a waitin’-maid such as ain’t found
every day. Golly, them’s um! them’s um!”
Here Dinah gave the shawl a twist, gathered the end in a knot over her
left temple, and really stumbled upon the very method of folding a
Madras kerchief into a turban, except that she left the corner behind
flying loose; and the shawl, being too voluminous, gave an enormous size
to her head, while the ends swept over her shoulders like a pair of
wings.
But this exaggeration only increased Dinah’s triumph. She gave a
satisfied glance into the glass, and drawing forth a gorgeous calico
dress from the chest, proceeded to array herself, as she muttered—“Like
de lilies ob de field dat Nebuchadnezzer talked ’bout.”
But just as Dinah had clasped the gown at her throat with a huge red
glass brooch that had all the brilliancy of twenty carbuncles to her,
and was fluttering around the broken glass, with her head on one side
and her hands expanded in solemn admiration, a suppressed giggle broke
from the stairs, followed by Lizzie’s voice, exclaiming— “Oh, golly! oh,
golly! ain’t we fine! Lor! lor! hi! hi!”
Whereupon old Dinah seized the flaring candle, stick and all, with both
hands, and would have sent it after the sound. But, recollecting the
open chest, she concluded to disrobe and lock up her treasures,
philosophically muttering that “she could lick that imp ob Satan any
time; but to leave that chist unlocked was a tempter to providence that
she couldn’t think on.”
The next morning, as soon as Martha’s various duties were performed to
her own satisfaction—by no means an easy task, for she was an orderly
little body—she took refuge in her chamber for the purpose of searching
her bureau-drawers and bringing to light any treasures they might
contain.
The strongest desire of her heart was to find something which might be
converted into a garment fit for Gillian’s grand party—it never
occurring to the innocent soul that she would be guilty of the
extravagance of purchasing a dress for that special purpose. She pulled
out a variety, of dresses which had belonged to her mother and her aunt,
originally of pretty material, but so faded from long years of
unfolding, and so old-fashioned in form, that there was little hope to
be found in them.
As she surveyed the scant skirts and contracted sleeves, Martha’s heart
rather sank within her, but still she did not quite despair. Laying the
incongruous pile aside for some farther consideration, she took out of
their hiding-places various little articles of jewellery which she
possessed, turning them over somewhat hopelessly when she remembered
Gillian’s wealth in that line.
A fashionable lady would have smiled at the care with which Martha
treasured her few valuables. But the old-fashioned brooch and quaint
necklace were almost sacred in her eyes, for they had belonged to her
aunt of whom she had heard so much, but who had died far away from that
quiet old homestead long before the young girl’s remembrance.
While she was thus engaged, she heard Dinah’s slipshod patter upon the
stairs, and hastened to call her in that she might consult with her upon
that all-important subject to every feminine heart.
The jewellery in Dinah’s eyes was every thing that could be desired; but
about the party dress she was not quite certain, and stood with her head
on one side doubtfully.
“As for the jew’lry, there isn’t no dubitation: but I isn’t quite so
sartin ’bout the dress. There’s that ar pink gown, I ’member Miss Sarah
brung that from York, but that’s sich a heap o’ years ago—least ways you
mought try it on.”
Martha acted upon the suggestion; she had gone through the operation a
hundred times in her childish days, but now the scant skirt and short
waist made her laugh till the tears came into her merry eyes.
“Why, Dinah, I look like an umbrella half-shut up,” she exclaimed,
ruefully; and for once Dinah had no answer to make.
Luckily for her feelings, she perceived at this instant that Liz had
crept into the room and was watching the operation with eyes and mouth
wide open. The unfortunate damsel betrayed her presence by an
involuntary exclamation which escaped her at the sight of her young
mistress’ grandeur.
“Oh, ki! Missy, ain’t you splenderiferous! Oh, you is—ki!”
Dinah made a dart at her grand daughter, but her stiff limbs were no
match for Lizzy’s powers of locomotion, and the “little limb” was safe
down-stairs by the time the irate Dinah reached the door.
“No, you don’t,” she shouted, snapping her fingers, bold from a sense of
security. “Mean old nigger, anyhow, if you is my granny. Ki!”
“You Liz,” shouted Dinah, “ef them dishes ain’t washed when I git
down-stairs, I’ll straighten your wool as if it’d been hackled a week,
mind dat now.”
“Woolly yourself,” retorted Liz; “old nigger!” but hearing Dinah on the
stairs, she took refuge in the pantry and began a great clatter among
the dishes, spattering the clean floor without the slightest remorse,
and pretending to sing, though there was a quiver in her voice and
desperation in her industry.
“Never seed such a limb of Satan,” ejaculated Dinah, as she returned to
the chamber; but Martha took the contest as a thing of course,
especially as she was quite certain that Liz could defend herself
without help; and that the old woman loved her grand child far too well
for fear of any real cruelty.
“I’se like to ask a question, young Misses,” said Dinah, solemnly.
“What do you call me that for?” Martha asked.
“I knows our sitistation better than you does, Miss Martha,” replied
Dinah, with dignity; “’tain’t likely a pusson like me is gwine to be
obstrusive down in York. But I wants to know what complacity I’m a gwine
in?”
“What capacity?” Martha asked, doubtfully.
“In course, Misses! Miss Gillian hab a lady’s maid, and I spect you ort
to be as good as she.”
Now the idea of Dinah’s setting up for a lady’s maid struck Martha as
very ludicrous, although her little feminine vanity contemplated the
idea with sufficient complacency.
“It would be more dignified,” she said, struggling between a smile and a
consciousness of her own importance. “Would you like to be my maid,
Dinah? Is that what you are aiming at?”
“Seems to me it would be more proper, Misses; I’se had a husband, in
course; he want much ’count, nohow, and ’tain’t no use letting our
little secrets out o’ de family; and widders make de best ladies’ maids
I ’spect on account of der ’sperience.”
“Of course,” Martha said, smiling, for Dinah’s husband had always been
regarded by her as a somewhat mythical personage.
Now the chest came into Dinah’s mind again, and she deemed it a proper
moment to drag that portion of her desires into the conversation.
“There ain’t nothin’ like havin’ ebery ting ready,” she remarked. “I’se
powerfully glad ’bout havin’ that chist of mine.”
“Oh, Dinah, you can’t take that horrid old thing!” exclaimed Martha,
aghast.
“I’se travelled, young Misses,” replied Dinah, sententiously, perceiving
her advantage, and determined to follow it up; “and I knows de
world—ain’t gwine to hav’ no stuck-up city niggers laffin’ cause we
hain’t got ’coutrements enough.”
Martha deemed it prudent to say no more, being well acquainted with the
old woman’s obstinacy, and trusting that her father’s influence would
dissuade her; while Dinah chuckled inwardly at the success of her
scheme, and rose to such a state of self-complacency that she
straightway seized the opportunity of giving her young mistress a short
lecture.
“Law, I knows dem fine folks! their airs’ll profound you, honey; but
I’ve seen Miss Sarah do it, and I can construct you. Now thar’s the
curchey—kind o’ this way.”
She pulled up her dress, revealing her trim ankles, and made a bobbing
salutation, which set Martha off into a fit of laughter that was loudly
echoed from the stairs—Miss Liz had gained courage enough to steal again
upon the scene of action.
“Dat cuss—darned free nigger!” cried the irate Dinah, not daring to vent
her wrath upon her mistress; and away she ran with astonishing agility
down-stairs and out of the house, just in time to see Miss Lizzy fly
across the cabbage-patch, and take refuge on the top of a wood-shed
where she could not reach her.
“I’ll fix you, sis, wait and see,” she gasped, while Liz, between fear
and exultation, was chattering like a monkey on her perch, “I’ll larn ye
de ’spects due yer olders!”
Lizzy turned one hand into a tube, and, putting it to her lips, shouted,
“Ki—ki!” at which Dinah seized a bean-pole and made various unsuccessful
pokes at her, but the damsel evaded them, and seemed to enjoy the sport
so much that the old woman was forced to give it up and retire in grim
ferocity.