"Massa, I ain't never gwine to quit yer. I'm gittin' ole an' feeble,
an' my days is few in dis heah lan' o' sorrow an' sin. All I axes is a
li'le co'ner whar I kin set down an' wait peaceful fu de en'."
Monsieur and Madame were very much touched at this mark of affection
and fidelity from Aunt Peggy. So, in the general reconstruction of the
plantation which immediately followed the surrender, a nice cabin,
pleasantly appointed, was set apart for the old woman. Madame did not
even forget the very comfortable rocking-chair in which Aunt Peggy
might "set down," as she herself feelingly expressed it, "an' wait fu
de en'."
She has been rocking ever since.
At intervals of about two years Aunt Peggy hobbles up to the house, and
delivers the stereotyped address which has become more than familiar:--
"Mist'ess, I's come to take a las' look at you all. Le' me look at
you good. Le' me look at de chillun,--de big chillun an' de li'le
chillun. Le' me look at de picters an' de photygraphts an' de pianny,
an' eve'ything 'fo' it's too late. One eye is done gone, an' de udder's
a-gwine fas'. Any mo'nin' yo' po' ole Aunt Peggy gwine wake up an' fin'
herse'f stone-bline."
After such a visit Aunt Peggy invariably returns to her cabin with a
generously filled apron.
The scruple which Monsieur one time felt in supporting a woman for so
many years in idleness has entirely disappeared. Of late his attitude
towards Aunt Peggy is simply one of profound astonishment,--wonder at
the surprising age which an old black woman may attain when she sets
her mind to it, for Aunt Peggy is a hundred and twenty-five, so she
says.
It may not be true, however. Possibly she is older.