THE REASON WHY
THAT was a very merry breakfast. From my kitchen fastness I could hear
the peals of laughter as Mary pretended to be a field hand, brought into
the dining-room for the first time, to wait on the table. I even left my
waffles for a moment to peep in the door. Dee, who was helping with the
waiting, spied me and gave the assembled company the tip, and before I
could get away they grabbed me and pulled me into the room where I had
to listen to three rousing cheers for the cook. A batch of waffles burnt
up in consequence, although I ran down the covered way like Cinderella
when the clock struck twelve. A warning smell of something burning gave
me to understand my time was up.
Baking waffles is a very exciting pastime. The metamorphosis that batter
undergoes in almost a twinkling of an eye into beautiful crisp brown
beauties is a never ending delight and joy to the cook. With irons just
hot enough (and that is very hot indeed) and batter smooth and thin,
smooth from much beating and thin from much milk and many eggs, I
believe a baker of waffles can extract as much pure pleasure from her
profession as a great musician can from drawing his bow across a choice
Cremona; or a poet can from turning out successful verse; or a painter
from watching his picture grow under his skilled hands.
The house-party was full up at last, and then the cook and waitress must
be seated in the places of honor and be waited on by the whole crowd.
Not quite all of the crowd, I should have said, as Jessie was superior
to waiting on anybody. She seemed quite scornful of us for being able to
help Miss Maria.
"I have never been an adept at the domestic arts," she said somewhat
stiffly. "I could not cook or wash dishes if my life depended on it."
"Humph!" sniffed Dum, "I reckon you could if you got good and hungry.
Of course you couldn't do it well, that is, not as well as Page, for she
can't be equalled. As for washing dishes,--you can take your first
lesson after Page and Mary and Dee finish breakfast. All of these dishes
have to be washed and there is no one to do it but the house-party."
"Well, I guess not!" and Jessie looked at her pretty soft, beringed
hands.
"Very well then, you can do the upstairs work! Beds must be made, you
know!"
"Absurd! Do you take me for a housemaid?"
"No, I wouldn't have you for one, but you might get a job for a few
hours before the folks found out about you."
Dum's tone was rollicking and good-natured. She seemed to have no idea
that she was insulting the pretty Jessie. It never entered Dum's head
that anyone would shirk a duty that was so apparent as taking the work
of Maxton in hand.
I enjoyed that breakfast very much. Harvie baked waffles for us and Wink
White brought them in. The young men from Kentucky ran back and forth
waiting on us, all of them making more noise and having more collisions
than would have been the case had a regiment been feeding.
Shorty had already begun to grease the buck-saw preparatory to sawing up
wood for Miss Maria. He and Rags had volunteered to supply the fuel.
Then the cows must be milked; the horses curried and fed; in fact, all
the farm work must be done.
I never saw nicer, more considerate boys than were on that party. They
vied with one another in briskness and efficiency. They wanted to help
us with dishwashing and housework, but there was enough outside work to
keep them busy, and with all good intentions in the world, most
men-folks are a hindrance rather than a help when it comes to so-called
woman's work.
How we did fly around! Miss Maria got real gay and giddy in the general
whirlwind that ensued. Dum and Mary undertook to be housemaids, and such
a spreading up of beds and flicking of dusters was never known. The beds
did look a little bumpy, but what difference did it make? The dust they
swished off with the feather dusters settled quietly back on the things,
but why not? Maxton was beautifully kept and very clean but there is
always dust on furniture in the morning, no matter how well it has been
cleaned the day before. Jessie's bed they left unmade, declaring that
she could sleep in the same hole for a month before they would even
spread it up for her.
"Lazy piece!" cried Dum. "I actually believe she does not mean to turn a
hair."
That young lady had taken herself off to the parlor where she was
singing in the most operatic manner with a very well-trained strong
voice with about as much sweetness to it as cut glass. The accompaniment
she was rendering on the piano was brilliantly executed, so much so that
I thought for a moment she had in a pianola record. I peeped in the
parlor and smiled at her, fearing somehow that she must feel herself to
be an outsider and that was why she was not entering into the fun of
helping. I got no answering smile but something of a cold stare, so I
beat a hasty retreat and hastened off to consult with Miss Maria about
future meals.
I found that lady sitting on a bench in the covered passage leading to
the kitchen. Her spirit was willing but her flesh was too much for her.
She must rest. I sank by her, not sorry at all to indulge in a little
sly resting of my own. Cooking is great fun but certainly exhausting.
"What for dinner, Miss Maria?"
"Oh, my dear, I can't contemplate your helping about dinner, too!"
I couldn't help having a little inward fun with myself over her speaking
of my helping. I had certainly cooked breakfast myself, but since she
fooled herself into thinking that I had only helped to cook it, it made
no difference to me.
"But someone will have to cook it unless the servants are miraculously
cured in time for it."
"That's so!" and she sighed a great sigh.
"I know you wish we would all of us go home, but please don't wish it.
We are having such a good time and don't want to leave one little bit."
"Oh, my dear! Don't think I could have such inhospitable sentiments. My
brother would be deeply distressed if he thought you thought I thought
such things."
Both of us laughed at her complicated thinks and then began the serious
matter of dinner.
"Thank goodness, I had those trifling creatures dress the chickens
yesterday. That, at least, is out of the way."
"Oh, good! Have you got them all dressed? Then let's have chicken gumbo.
If we make enough of it, it will be the dinner, with a great dish of
rice to help in each soup plate."
"Splendid!" declared Dee, pausing for a moment to listen to the proposed
menu. "And it will be such an economy in dishes, too. Just a plate and
spoon all around and no frills."
Dee had been as busy as possible washing dishes while Miss Maria wiped,
and I cleared the table.
"But, child, can you make a gumbo? It is very difficult, I am afraid."
"Not a bit of it. I have Mammy Susan's recipe tucked away somewhere in
my brain. I can get to work on it immediately and then it will be done
for dinner. It can't cook too long."
Dee and Wink undertook to gather the vegetables, but they took so long
that a relief and search party had to be sent to the garden after them.
They were so busy discussing the different kinds of bandages that they
had forgotten their mission. Wink had taken a leaf from
Adam's-and-Eve's-needle-and-thread and was demonstrating on Dee's arm
the reverse bandage. Her other arm was already decorated with the figure
eight style made from a long green corn leaf. How I wished Wink would
treat me as sensibly as he did Dee. They seemed to be having such a good
time as I, who was one of the search party, discovered them in the
tomato patch solemnly debating the values of the various styles. Now if
Wink had ever agreed to discuss such a thing as that with me he would
have felt compelled to say all kinds of silly things, and as for
bandaging my arm,--it would have been out of the question, as he would
have felt it necessary to ask to kiss my hand or some such stuff.
The right kind of gumbo must have tomatoes, okra, potatoes, onions and
corn in it, and anyone who has served apprenticeship under Mammy Susan
will make the right kind of gumbo. Miss Maria and I started in preparing
those vegetables at nine o'clock and it took us one solid hour to
finish, working as hard as we could go. I was beginning to be very fond
of the old lady. She was so gentle and sweet. I asked her many questions
about Maxton and its history, and since, like many gentlewomen of her
age, she lived in the past, she was most happy to recount to me tales of
the lovely old place and its aristocratic founders.
"Oh, yes, we have a ghost," she laughed, when I asked her to tell me if
there were any such inhabitants. "It is a lady ghost, too, and inhabits
your wing of the house, as is the way with all the ladies of Maxton. It
is the young sister of my great grandfather,--that makes her my great,
great aunt."
"Oh, please tell me about her!"
"Well, all right, if you promise not to get scared. The darkies keep
such tales going. They firmly believe in ghosts, and when they tell a
ghost story they always say either they themselves have seen the dread
shape or they know someone who has seen it. This ghost has not been seen
at Maxton in my generation, but Jasper and Milly have heard the tale
from their grandparents and they see that it is duly handed down to
their grandchildren. The appearance of this spectre is supposed to
presage dire calamity."
"Do you know anyone who has seen it?" I asked, testing the skillet to
see if it was hot enough to begin frying the chicken. Chicken for gumbo
must be fried before you start the soup, if anything so rich and thick
as gumbo could be called soup.
"I knew an old man who thought he had seen it. Well, to go on with my
tale:--this young great, great aunt of mine was engaged to be married to
a gentleman of high degree, much older than herself. This of course was
back in Colonial days. She had consented to the match in obedience to
her father's commands, but she evidently did not relish it very much.
The day came for the wedding and she was dressed in her white gown and
veil. The company had assembled from miles around. A boat load of guests
from Williamsburg had arrived and the feasting and dancing had begun.
Among them was a young blade from over the seas who had paid court to
the fair Elizabeth,--that was her name. It was whispered that she
returned his love and that was the real reason for her reluctance to
mating with the lord of high degree.
"After being clothed in the wedding gown, Elizabeth had sent the women
from her room on a plea that she must be alone to pray. She locked the
door the moment they were gone and rushed to the window which was open,
it being a warm moonlight night. Standing below the window was the
lover. He called up to her to come down to him. The ivy was thick on the
wall, as it is now, and for an agile young girl I fancy it was not such
a very difficult climb. It must have taken a brave soul though to make
the start. Many a time in my youth," and here Miss Maria blushed as red
as one of the tomatoes she was peeling, "I have sat in that window, it
is the room you are occupying, and tried how it would seem to climb down
that wall. I have never done more than poke my foot out about an inch,
though. Perhaps if the lover had been calling to me, it might have given
me courage. Elizabeth got about half-way down when her long satin dress
and veil got caught on a nail or snag of some sort, and no matter how
she pulled she could not get loose. Just think of it! There the poor
girl hung, with her lover frantically calling to her and the precious
moments flying. Already they were knocking on the door of her chamber
and crying out for admission. His steed was ready to fly with her if
only she could get the gown loose. Material in those days was stouter
than now. I'll wager anything that a piece of white satin could not be
found now that would not tear, or any other material, for that matter."
Remembering Mary's gown of the night before, I readily agreed with her.
"Before the miserable lover could mount to her side to cut the dress
loose, the plot was discovered and the poor girl had the agony of seeing
her true love killed by the infuriated bridegroom to be. She swooned and
it is said she never regained consciousness. Her poor little heart must
have snapped in two. And now it is said that sometimes her white figure
can be seen hanging from the ivied wall. Once in my youth the darkies
thought they saw it as they were coming home from church on a moonlight
night, but on investigation it turned out to be a towel that had blown
out of the window and hung, perhaps on the identical nail that was the
undoing of poor Elizabeth. I remember well," and she laughed like a girl
again, "how scared they all of them were. It was in slave days and they
were forced to come to work the next day, but nothing but being slaves
could have made them come."
"Oh, Miss Maria, Miss Maria!" I cried, dropping the potato I was
peeling, "I know now what is the matter with your servants. They are not
ill but they have seen the ghost!"
And I told her about Mary's ambition and her escapade of the night
before. The old lady almost rolled off her chair she laughed so. She was
not one bit shocked but vastly interested.
"To think of her doing it! No lover was calling her, either."
"I don't know about that. How about it, Mary?" I called to my friend who
had come down to help pick up chips now that the chamber work was
accomplished.
When I told Mary about the family ghost story and that she was no doubt
responsible for the non-appearance of the servants, she was overcome
with confusion. Miss Maria begged her to treat the matter as a joke.
"Why, my dear, I never would have known all you dear girls as I now do
if it had not happened. You would have come and gone as nothing but
Harvie's guests, and now you are my own true friends. I am glad the
reason why is unearthed, though, because now we can at least make those
good-for-nothings come and wash the dinner dishes." She drew Mary down
beside her on the bench.
"But, Mary, you didn't answer me," I teased. "I asked you if a lover was
calling you when you climbed down the wall."
"Yes! He is calling me all the time!" cried Mary, striking an attitude
of one being called by a lover. "His name is Douglas Fairbanks."
"Douglas Fairbanks? I don't know the family," said dear old puzzled Miss
Maria. "Who is Douglas Fairbanks?"
"Why, Miss Maria, he is a movie actor, the very best ever!" explained
Mary.
"Where did you get to know him, child? Who introduced you?"
"I don't know him, never saw him except on the screen!"
"Ah, I see, a hero of romantic fiction!"
"But he's not fiction--he's the realest flesh and blood person you ever
saw in your life."
Then Mary tried to tell our hostess of the wonders of the movie where
Douglas was the star. The old lady endeavored to take it all in, but not
having been to the city since the perfecting of the cineomatograph, it
was up-hill work. Of course she knew that movies existed, but she could
not grasp the joy of them, as she had nothing to go upon but the memory
of a magic lantern.
"Don't you like the theatre?" I asked.
"Yes, indeed, I like it very much. To be sure I have never seen but two
performances, but I got great enjoyment from them. You must remember, my
dears, that I am country bred and have had little chance to see the city
sights."
I never realized before how cut off from the world persons are who
depend on steamboats. Here was this dear lady, born and bred one of the
finest ladies of the land, but being of a naturally retiring disposition
and always having been occupied from her girlhood with keeping house she
had let the world pass her by.
"What were the two things you saw, Miss Maria?" asked Mary gently.
"Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch and the Old Homestead. I was quite
shocked at the latter, was really glad I was with a lady. I think I
would have sunk through the floor from mortification had there been a
gentleman with me."
"The Old Homestead shocking?" I asked wonderingly. "Not the Old
Homestead! It must have been something else."
"Oh, no, I remember the title distinctly. It was when they had that
scene with that naked statue in the parlor. It was terrible to me."
What a compliment to have paid the author and actor of that time-honored
play! Actually the statue of the Venus de Milo had shocked this simple
soul from the country just exactly as Denman Thompson had made it do the
old man in the melodrama. Mary and I didn't laugh, but we almost burst
from not doing so.
"And now I must send Harvie down to the quarters to make those
good-for-nothings return. Sick, indeed! I intend to make every last one
of them take a dose of castor oil and turpentine!"
And the intrepid lady was as good as her word.