"Good morning, missis," and Chloe's turbaned head followed the
salutation. "Didn't I tell you dat Massa Charley be born wid a silver
spoon in his mouf? His dish right side up when it rains, for certain.
"See here, missis," and she handed Rose a small package, containing a
pair of coral and gold sleeve-ties for Charley's dimpled shoulders.
"Didn't I tell you dat missis couldn't lose sight of him? and she sent
me here for him to come ride in de carriage wid her again to-day, and
eat dinner at de big house, and all dat," and Chloe rubbed her hands
together, and looked the very incarnation of delight.
"Well," said Rose, "Charley has nothing fine to wear; only a simple
white frock, Chloe."
"All de same, missis; he handsome enuff widout any ting. Missis must
take powerful liking to give him dese; dey are Massa Vincent's gold
sleeve-ties _he_ wore when _he_ little piccaninny like Charley dare."
Rose took them in her hand, and was lost in thought.
"Jess as good, for all dat, missis," said Chloe, thinking Rose objected
to them because they were secondhand. "Missis wouldn't gib dem away to
every body, but she say Charley so like young Massa Vincent, dat she
couldn't talk of nuffing else de whole bressed time. Hope you won't tink
of sending them back, missis," said Chloe, apologetically; "she is old
and childish, you know."
"No," said Rose, sadly; "Charley may wear them;" and she looped them up
over his little white shoulders, with a prayer that his manhood might
better fulfill the promise of _his_ youth.
"Ki!" exclaimed Chloe, as she held him off at arm's length. "Won't ole
missis' servants--Betty, and Nancy, and Dolly, and John, and de
coachman, and all dat white trash, tink dey nebber see de like of dis
before? And won't Massa Charley make 'em all step round, one of dese
days, wid dem big black eyes of his?"
Chloe's soliloquies were very suggestive, and Rose sat a long while
after her departure analyzing Charley's disposition, and wondering if
the seeds of _such_ a spirit lay dormant in her child, waiting only the
sun of prosperity to quicken them into life. How many mothers, as they
rocked their babes, have pondered these things in their hearts; and how
many more, alas! have reaped the bitter harvest of those who take no
thought for the soul's morrow!