THE NEW SALLY
When Sally went to the attic, having it in her mind to fix herself up a
little, she had a feeling of anxiety she did not understand. But you
see, it was the new Sally, beginning, just beginning, to spring into
life.
And the first thing she was learning was her own ignorance, her own
needs, and her own wants.
"My head is like a scarecrow!" she said; "where can I find a comb?"
She crept down to Mistress Cory Ann's room and found a coarse,
half-broken comb. Alas! she could do nothing with it. Her ruddy hair
curled around it, across it, along it, but through it the matted mass
would not go.
It had taken a few moments to make the attempt, and time was precious.
So the tangled mop was smoothed over, the old dress pressed down, and
off ran Sally for her secret, rocky seat by the wall.
Not long had she waited when a merry company came trooping over to the
arbor and young voices filled the air. Sally knew the voice of the Fairy
Prince, of his sister Lucretia, and his cousin Rosamond. And when the
names of "Reginald" and "Irene" reached her, she knew that young
Reginald Bromfeld and Mistress Irene Westwood, besides two or three
others, had rustled over to the airy summer-house.
Much it pleased her for awhile to hear the bright and witty speeches
that were bandied to and fro; then Sam Spruce, a colored boy of about
twenty years, in white short sack, black cotton trousers, and white
apron, came gliding over the side lawn, tray in hand, and on it were
small glasses, a crystal pitcher, a silver cake dish, delicate plates,
and very small, snowy napkins.
"Well, Sam," exclaimed Lionel, in the free and easy speech often used
toward the blacks, "what have you brought for our refreshment?"
Sam, who had been born in the colonies and felt pride in his niceness of
speech, replied:
"There 'r' jujube paste patties, macaroons, and sangaree, Mars' Li'nel."
"Very good, Sam. Set the tray on yonder bench; we will see to passing
things ourselves."
There was a cheerful chinking of glasses, much laughter, and the sound
of gay spirits, while, her sharp imagination at work, Maid Sally fancied
herself one of the group above her head; "and yet," she said to herself,
"should my Fairy Prince indeed sit beside me, and hand me fine delicate
food and a sweet drink, I think I might die of delight, I do indeed!"
In a few minutes more, the poor child's pleasure became disturbed, for
Corniel, the colored butler, came shuffling over to the arbor and said,
in a manner dignified and respectful:
"Mars' Lion, dar have mor' comp'ny come over to de house, and Mars'
Gran'son he send his comperalmunts, and would like fo' to have de young
people come up to de drawin'-room and make some music on de peranna and
de wiolin."
"Very well, Corniel, we will come directly," answered Lionel, and away
trooped the high-born lads and young mistresses, leaving Corniel to
gather up the dishes, and leaving poor disappointed little Sally to
wander off from the spot that all at once had become quiet and lonely.
As it would be daylight for the space of two hours more, Sally roamed
about, amusing herself at seeing what else was going on round and about
the place.
Peeping through the garden fence, she watched a colored man, who,
kneeling before the flower-beds, plucked up the weeds, tossing them
aside, and trolling a light song as he worked.
"I too, would sing, could I but live at Ingleside," murmured Maid Sally.
But an inner voice replied: "You would not wish to be a servant
anywhere."
Then across she went to the bars that formed the far boundary of the
wide garden.
Well back of the house in the direction of the stables, old Uncle Gambo
was cutting grass with a winding scythe, that had a handle so long it
reached way above the old man's head.
Uncle Gambo declared he was "a hun'erd an' ten yeah ole," and as no one
could very well dispute it, no one tried to. But as year after year
rolled away, Uncle Gambo would still say, "I'se a hun'erd and ten yeah
ole."
"Yes, but the same story you told me two years ago, Uncle Gambo," Lionel
once said to him. "You must be a hundred and twelve now."
The old negro shook his white, woolly head. "No, no! I'se a hun'erd and
ten yeah ole; I allurs was, I allurs shell be."
That settled it. But as the white people knew that the colored men and
women usually became seventy-five or a hundred years old very rapidly
with their way of reckoning, no one so much wondered at Uncle Gambo's
age.
Sally watched the old man reaping, for it fascinated her to see the
rich, ripe grass lie smooth and evenly shorn wherever the scythe's keen
blade swept over it. Then she strolled still farther along, trotting
down and down until she stood near the stables.
A groom was trying to comb a splendid black hunter,--a fine saddle
horse,--that champed as though a bit were in its mouth, and stepped and
curved around, until Bill, the groom, was out of patience and exclaimed:
"Come now, Hotspur, you crazy coot, stan' still, cain't you! Be a
genl'man fo' once, Hotspur, and I'll comb you with a bran' fire new
brush, Mars' gib me las' night."
At that a queer, wiry brush, partly worn out, was thrown over the bars,
falling so near Sally's head, it was well it missed hitting her. But no
one saw the little girl beyond the strip fence, and immediately Bill was
combing Hotspur's glossy sides with strokes so strong and even that the
great horse stood stock still.
Sally looked at the brush Bill had tossed away.
"That looks as if it would make my hair lay slick," she said. "I'll take
it home, carry it to the spring and wash it, and try it on my own
mane."
She laughed at her own funny words and put the brush in a hanging pocket
under her gown, that Mistress Brace had made for her to carry money in
safely, when she went on errands.
Then away and away she wandered until she had reached the quarters and
could peep at the cabins of the colored people through bushes and shrubs
that were far beyond the stone wall, but on the same side.
At a little distance she looked upon Mammy Leezer sitting against the
side of her cabin on a chair that had no back, her pipe in mouth, her
hands lying idly in her lap, the knitting for once laid aside.
Sally wished she dared go over and talk with the old woman. Yet again
that inner voice answered: "No, no! Mammy Leezer, though kind and
comforting betimes, could not be a fitting companion for you. Go not
after her, even though it be pleasant to meet her and hear her soft
voice when she speaks to thee."
"Perhaps it is because she is black," thought Sally.
"Oh no, no!" spoke the little uprising voice again. "It is because you
are different in every way from her and her race, and must not forget
it."
Then it was that Sally remembered that several times of late there had
seemed to be an inner voice that talked to her, and tried to teach her
things she had not known, or at least had not thought of before.
She gave a quick jump, clapped her hands, and exclaimed, in a soft but
jubilant voice:
"Oh, I know what I will do! I'll make believe there are two of me. One
shall be really me, Sally Dukeen, then there shall be another Sally, a
fine, new one, that has been taught by the Fairies, and knows all things
that are seemly and proper, even as the upper people do.
"Yes, and I will talk with her," Sally went on, the pleasant
imagination rapidly growing in her quick mind. "I will ask her what to
do and how to act, and listen I will to all she can teach."
The idea pleased her so much that she was in a mood to enjoy anything,
and she was feeling light-hearted and full of smiles, as a little
toddling pickaninny, or small black child, ran up to Mammy Leezer,
crying out:
"Trip! Trip! go trip, go trip!"
"Lordy sakes!" exclaimed Mammy, "if here isn't lil' Jule asting me fo'
to dance her. I ain't got de strength to dance yo' to-night, lil' honey,
de rheumatiz have ketched a holt of my back too bad, and got all de grit
outen me."
"Trip! trip!" cried the cute little Jule, running up to Sam Spruce, who
was on a rough chair made from tree branches.
"I cain't sing the jingle," said Sam.
"No matter," said Mammy, with a wide grin, "you dance de lil' cricket,
an' I'll do de singin'."
At that Sam crossed his knees, put little Jule on one foot, and bending
over, kept hold of the child's hands while Mammy crooned in a loud
singsong, chiefly to one note:
"Trip-a-trop-a-tronjes,
De-vorken-in-de-boonjes,
De-koejes-in-de-klaver,
De-Paarden-in-de-haver,
De-eenjes-in-de-waterplass,
So-pop! my-lil'-pick'ninny goes!"
As Mammy began the slow singsong, Sam began gently swinging the foot up
and down on which sat the tiny, laughing Jule, and as the jingle went
on, the foot swung faster and faster, until, as Mammy brought out the
words, "So pop! my lil' pick'ninny goes!" Sam tossed the shrieking child
into his lap, where she could only gasp with laughter, until able to
catch her breath.
Then it was one crying tease for "Anudder trip! Anudder trip!" until six
times had baby Jule been teetered on Sam's strong foot, and tossed into
Sam's strong arms, Mammy meantime beating the measure with both feet as
she trolled the song with its rapturous "pop!" for little Jule.
The sixth trip was ended as Corniel came leisurely over the grass.
"Mammy," he said, "Mars' Gran'son send word dat de capting and some
udders will have supper to-morr' night on de green over by de
summer-house. And he want you to make some porkapine marmalade, some
melon puff, some peach tart, and some sorghum foam to eat on pandowdy
with de salads."
Mammy immediately straightened up, put on a face of great importance,
and began:
"I ain't fit fo' to try cookin' fancy tings fo' gret suppers, but--"
"Oh, very well," said Corniel, interrupting her, "Jinny can do it if you
ain't able; Mars' said so."
But Mammy cried out, in a tone that made her soft voice seem very
shrill:
"Go 'way, you C'neel, talkin' 'bout Jinny doin' _my_ cook'ry. I'd like
to be seein' de porkapine marm'lade _she'd_ be makin'! And what do dat
Jinny know 'bout whipped sorghum or melon puff, I should like to
inquaire! Tote off, now, you C'neel, an' don't go talkin' 'bout dat
Jinny doin' my fancy cook'ry any mor', but jus' you tell Mars' Gran'son
I'll hev dat supper firs' class in eb'ry respeck."
Sally somehow liked the pride and scorn that rang out in Mammy's voice
at the idea of there being any one else who could do her cooking as well
as she could.
"She believes in herself," thought Sally, "and it is a good thing."
Mammy hobbled into her cabin as Corniel and Sam went toward the house,
little Jule tagging into the cabin after Mammy. And Sally went back
through the sweet air and green roads, and through Shady Path and
Lover's Lane, her mind and ears full of the merry laughter of happy
little Jule.