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Updated: May 18, 2025
"The furnicher's ez fine ez the house," went on Mrs. Rogers. "Thar is a boughten cairpit in the parlor, an' mahog'ny sofy an' cheers. Lucindy, wipe yer knife on yer bread befoh he'pin' yo'se'f to buttah. Can't I nevah l'arn you no mannahs?"
There was no fault nor blemish in her little face; and when she had brought the dipper full of water, and stood rubbing one foot against its neighboring leg, Lucindy thought she had never seen anything so absolutely bewitching.
Gall live here?" "I do," said this person. "Is Cynthia at home?" The woman upon this raised her voice and directed it at an inner door. "Lucindy!" said she in a diversity of tones, "Lucindy! tell Cynthy here's somebody wants to see her." But no one answered, and throwing the work from her lap the woman muttered she would go and see, and left Fleda with a cold invitation to sit down. Dismal work!
The subject was abruptly changed by Mr. White. "Well, I guess I'll be moseyin' along home, Amos. That certainly did sound like thunder, didn't it? And that tree-toad has stopped signallin', that's a sure sign. Like as not I'll get caught in the rain if I don't, what say, Lucindy?" "Do you want an umberell, Steve?" "I should say not! What do you want me to do? Scare the rain off? No, sir!
"You're left well off, and I guess you could bring up a child, give you your way. We're as poor as poverty! You take her, if she'll go. Ellen, she's a nice lady; you better say 'yes." Lucindy was trembling all over. "You come, dear," she urged, piteously. "You come and live with me." Ellen thought a moment more. Then she nodded. "I'll come," said she. Lucindy could not wait.
She compounded liniment for his rheumatism, herb-sirup for his colds, presented him with a set of flannel shirts, and knit him a comforter; so that Israel expressed himself strongly in favor of "Miss Lucindy," and she said to herself he really was "quite good for a man."
"Us slaves didn' pay no 'tention to who owned us, leastways de young ones didn'. I was raised by a marster what owned a heap o' lan's. Lemme see, dey is called Artonish, Lockdale, an' Lockleaven. Dey is plantations 'long de river in Wilkinson County, where I was raised. Dey is all 'long together. "I's sho' my firs' marster was Marse Jim Stamps an' his wife was Miss Lucindy.
It was very restful to Lucindy to see some one who was too much interested in anything, however trivial, to be interested in her. "You know about the Italian that come round with the hand-organ last month? He was her father. Well, he died, fell off a mow one night, and the town sold the hand-organ and kept Ellen awhile on the farm.
Old Cap'n Walker used to say, 'Sary Lucindy, they was a moughty fine ornithologist spiled when God A'mighty made you a woman 'stead of a man. He was a free-spoken man, Cap'n Walker, not so pious-mouthed as some, but he had charity in his soul, which is more than some others has." She swept a superbly disdainful look toward the Rev. McCaleb.
"The old hunks!" she repeated to herself, like an anathema. Lucindy began her confession, with eyes down-dropped and a faltering voice. "Father wanted I should have my hair done up tight and firm. So I pretended I done the best I could with it. I told him these curls round my face and down in my neck was too short, and I couldn't pin 'em up.
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