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When Mary Louise had apparently finished and turned to her again, she smiled. "You ain' eveh see ouh house befo', is you?" Mary Louise admitted she never had. And then to disarm any suspicion that she might have come for social reasons only, she attacked the matter in hand with characteristic vigour: "Zeke's not home much, is he?" "Right smaht he ain', no'm." Zenie's face was all expectant smiles.
She put it like this to a friendly gossip: "I guess' Laddin O'Brien's 'bout smaht enough to go a long ways further than fine clothes and money and a genealogical past will carry a body. He writes sometimes six and eight big sides of paper up in a day, and if he ain't content with that he just tears it up and goes at it again.
"Honey," said Mam Daphne, pausing in her scrubbing as Claribel came into the kitchen for a hot iron, "I'se been studyin' ovah you-all's case right smaht, lately. You'se done had to move out'n de front o' de house, count o' de roof leakin', an' you shet up de west wing, so many windows was broke. Soon you-all will be movin' into de kitchen.
As the boys obeyed the summons the man inquired their names. "Clah to goodness, sah, dem chilluns is right smaht named!" said the old woman. "Ye see, mah daughteh done got 'ligion long ago, an' named dese hyah boys right out de Bible, sah. Dis hyah one's named Apostle Paul, an' de uddah's called Epistle Peter." More than Enough
Girls had to do something, and one of 'em got a place in a school out West smaht, all of 'em; the second one kind o' runs the fahm; and the youngest, here, 's been fittin' for a music-teacha. Why, I've got a piano for her in this cah that we picked up at Middlemount, now. Been two wintas at the Conservatory in Boston. Got talent enough, they tell me.
Shaking her head, she said: "Must be mighty smaht to write yuh every day. De pos'man brings it 'leven o'clock mos' always, sometimes twelve, and again sometimes tehn. Today he was late. But it comes, every day, don't it?" "I know," said Laura, with a faint smile. She disliked the negress, but reasons of policy prompted her always to appear cordial.
Atwell was showing the improvements, but he seemed harassed and impatient, as if he were anxious about his duties, and eager to get at them again. He was a handsome little fellow, with hair lighter than Clementina's and a sanguine complexion, and the color coming and going. "He's smaht," said Mrs. Atwell, when they had left him he held the dining-room door open for them, and bowed them out.
"Well, Mahstah Majah, Genevieve she cyahed a raght smaht fo' me, also, an' she mek it up fo' me t' come along t' town with huh. She sais Ah git a mewl an' a fahm an' thousan' dollehs money fum yo' Nawthen President an' we all live lahk th' quality.
His red face with its white fringe beamed kindly upon her under the old straw hat. "Wall, now, you're lookin' smaht, Sylvy," he said, as he paused. "Beginnin' to look real kind o' sassy and rosy. I guess they use ye pretty well here." His shrewd blue eyes twinkled at her, and he gave a sharp nod of satisfaction. "Shouldn't wonder if you'd be gittin' up in the mornin' some o' these days."
"De young missus used to beat me a right smaht," he recalled with an amused smile. "I b'longed to her, y'see. She was a couple o' years younger'n me. I mind I used to be hangin' 'round de kitchen, watchin 'em cook cakes an' otha good things. W'en dey be done, I'd beg for one, an' dey take 'em off in de otha room, so's I couldn't steal any.
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