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Updated: May 13, 2025
"No, sah; Massa Vetch t'ink de proper bufday be Friday, and he hab told all de black people dey shall get drunk Saturday, 'cos dere will be wedding in de house." There was confirmation of the suspicion my jailors' talk had bred in me. I lost no time now in imparting my plan to the negro. He gave a low groan when I had finished. "What's the matter?" I said. "Are you afraid?"
"Missy keep bufday one day after proper time, sah, cos her muvver die on proper bufday, and Massa and Missy too sorry to be jolly dat day, sah." "Does Mr. Vetch know that?" I asked, with no little anxiety, for 'twas Tuesday night, and if Vetch knew that Lucy came of age on Thursday the time was perilously short.
This bright June morning she stood in the door with a basket of fresh eggs in her hand, looking anxiously across the fields to the gables of Rosehaven, and grumbling to herself. "Heah I done promise Miss Hallie these fresh aigs for her bufday cake, an' no way to get 'em to her.
That was good news, at any rate, for I supposed him to have returned to Spanish Town, perhaps to make preparations for his wedding, and it must be four or five days at earliest before he could be back. "And when is Mistress Lucy's birthday?" I asked. "Missy's bufday Friday, Massa, but oughter be Fursday." "What do you mean?"
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