When Moses saw Mr. Laine hurrying from one side of his bedroom to the
other, opening bureau drawers and closet doors and throwing things on
floor and bed in an excited haste never seen before, he was convinced
that something was the matter with his master's mind. It had
happened very suddenly. He had eaten his dinner, but eaten so little
that Caddie, the cook, was in angry tears. For days her finest
efforts had been ignored, and temptation after temptation, triumphs
of skill on her part, had come back barely tasted, and, what was
worse, with no comment made upon them. Praise had hitherto never
been withheld, and to please him no labor was too great, no time too
precious to be expended; but if this was what she was to get-- Caddie
was Irish, and she threw birds and sweetbreads in the slop-can and
slammed the door in Moses's face.
"No, siree! I ain't a-goin' to let white folks' eatin's go in black
folks' stomachs, that I ain't!" she said, and shook both fists up at
the ceiling. "Pigs can have it first; there's some reason for pigs,
but that nigger man Moses!" Her nose went up, her head went back,
and she wept aloud. The work of her hands was as naught. She would
die and be buried before Moses should have it!
At his coffee Laine had asked for his mail, asked it to get Moses out
of the room. A creature who smiled always was not always to be
endured, and to-night he was in no mood for smiles.
Moses brought two letters. "These is all," he said.
Laine waved him out and opened the top one, which was from Dorothea.
What a queer propensity the child had for writing! Elbow on the
table and cigar in hand, he began to read indifferently; but in a
moment his hand stiffened and his face whitened to the lips, and,
half aloud, he read it again.
DEAR UNCLE WINTHROP,--I forgot to tell you something the other night.
I told you once that Cousin Claudia's sweetheart was that Washington
man. He isn't. I asked her and she said he wasn't. I asked her if
she was going to marry him and she said she was not. I don't like to
say things that aren't true and that's why I'm telling you. Miss
Robin French thinks she knows everything. We are going away
to-morrow.
Your loving niece,
DOROTHEA.
P. S.--When a lady gets married she has to go away with a man, don't
she? That's why she isn't going to get married. She says she loves
Elmwood better than any kind of man she's seen yet. I'm so glad,
aren't you?