as long as the old people lived, the french place was kept up; but the exactions of hereditary hospitality ate deeply into what the war had left, and after the death of old colonel french and mrs. french, and the division of the estate, there was little left but the land, and that was encumbered.
happily, cabell graeme was sufficiently successful as a lawyer, not only to keep his little family in comfort, but to receive an offer of a connection in the north, which made it clearly to his interest to go there. one of the main obstacles in the way of the move was mam' lyddy. she would have gone with them, but for the combined influences of old caesar and a henhouse full of hens that were sitting. the old man was in his last illness, and a slow decline, and the chickens would soon be hatched. since, however, it was apparent that old c?sar would soon be gone, as that the chickens would soon be hatched, graeme having arranged for c?sar's comfort, took his family with him when he moved.
he knew that the breaking-up would be a wrench; but it was worse than he had expected, for their roots were deep in the old soil. old friends, when they said good-by, wrung his hand with the faces men wear when they take a last look at a friend's face. the parting with the mammy was especially bitter. it brought the break-up home as few things had done. and when mr. and mrs. graeme reached their new home with its strange surroundings, her absence made it all the stranger.
the change in the servants marked the change in the life. the family found it hard to reconcile themselves to it. mrs. graeme had always been accustomed to the old servants, who were like members of the family, and to find her domestics regarding her as an enemy or as their prey disturbed and distressed her.
“you are going to try colored servants?” asked one of her new friends in some surprise.
“oh, yes, i am quite used to them.”
“well.—perhaps—but i doubt if you are used to these.”
mrs. graeme soon discovered her mistake. one after another was tried and discarded. those who knew nothing remained until they had learned enough to be useful and then departed, while those who knew a little thought they knew everything and brooked no direction. and all were insolent. with or without notice the dusky procession passed through the house, each out-goer taking with her some memento of her transient stay.
“i do not know what is the matter,” sighed mrs. graeme. “i always thought i could get along with colored people; but somehow these are different. why is it, cabell!”
“spoiled,” said her husband, laconically. “the mistake was in the emancipation proclamation. domestic servants ought to have been excepted.”
his humor, however, did not appeal to his wife. the case was too serious.
“the last one i had told me, that if i did not like what she called coffee—and which i really thought was tea—i 'd better cook for myself. and that other maid, after wearing one of my best dresses, walked off with a brand-new waist. i am only standing the present one till mammy comes. she says she likes to be called 'miss johnson.'”
“i paid twenty dollars last week for the privilege of chucking a dusky gentleman down the steps; but i did not begrudge it,” said her husband, cheerfully. “the justice who imposed the fine said to me afterward that the only mistake i had made was in not breaking his neck.”
at last, old caesar was gathered to his dusky fathers, and the chickens having been mainly disposed of, mr. graeme went down and brought the old mammy on.
he had written the old woman to come by a certain train to washington where he would meet her, and true to his appointment he met that train. but in the motley throng that filed through the gate was no mam' lyddy, and inquiring of the train men showed that no one answering to her description could have been on the train.
just as graeme was turning away to go to the telegraph desk, one of the gray-clad colored porters, a stout, middle-aged man with a pleasant voice, and the address of a gentleman, approached him,
“were you looking for some one, sir?”
“yes, for an old colored woman, my wife's old mammy.”
“well, i think you may find her in the inner waiting-room. there is an old lady in there, who has been waiting there all day. she came in on the morning train, and said she was expecting you. if you will come with me, i will show you.”
“she 's been there all day,” the porter said, with a laugh, as they walked along. “i asked who she was waiting for; but she wouldn't tell me. she said it was none of my business.”
“i fancy that 's she,” said graeme.
“yes, sir, that 's she, sure.”
graeme thanked him. with a chuckle he led the way to where ensconced in a corner, surrounded by bundles and baskets and clad in the deepest black, and with a flaming red bow at her throat, sat mammy lyddy.
“here 's the gentleman you were looking for,” said the porter kindly.
at sight of graeme she rose so hastily that many of her bundles rolled on the floor.
“why, mammy! why did n't you come on the train i wrote you to come on?” enquired graeme.
“well, you tole me to come to-day, and i thought i would like to be on time, so i came this morning.”
“now, if you will let me have your tickets, i will attend to everything for you,” said the porter to graeme.
the old woman gave him a swift glance, and then seeing graeme hand him his ticket, she turned her back, and began to fish in some mysterious recess in her garments, and after a long exploration brought out a small bag containing her ticket.
“is he one of your servants!” she asked graeme in an undertone.
graeme smiled. “well, i think he is—he is everybody's servant and friend.”
“i did n't know. he comes roun' inquirin' 'bout my business so officious i thought sure he was one o' dese gov'ment folks, and i done had 'nough to do wid dat kind.”
“like amos brown, caesar's friend.”
it was a sore subject with the old woman.
“well, i did n't know—i thought he was one o' dese perliss. so i sent him 'long 'bout he own business. but if you know him it 's all right.”
the passengers who streamed through the great station the evening of her arrival, were surprised to see a pudgy old black woman escorted by a gentleman who, loaded down with her bundles and baskets, was guiding her through the throng as respectfully as if she had been the first lady in the land. at the gate a lady and several children were awaiting her, and at sight of her a cry of joy went up. dropping her bundles, the old woman threw herself into the lady's arms and kissed her again and again, after which she received a multitude of kisses from the children.
“well, i never saw anything like that,” said a stranger to another.
“she is their mammy,” said the other one simply, with a pleasant light in his eyes.
the old woman's presence seemed to transform the house. she was no sooner installed than she took possession. that very morning she established her position, after a sharp but decisive battle with the airy “colored lady,” who for some days had been dawdling about the house. the mammy had gauged her as soon as her sharp eyes fell on her.
“what does yo' call yo'self?” she asked her.
“what is my name? i am called 'miss johnson—miss selina johnson.'”
the old woman gave a sniff.
“yo' is! well, what does yo' call you'self doin' heah?”
“you mean what is my employment! i am the help—one of the help.”
“yo' is!” mam' lyddy tightened her apron-strings about her stout waist. “well, 'miss johnson,' you git holt of that mat-trass and help me meek up dis heah bed so it 'll be fit for you' mistis to sleep on it.” with a jerk she turned up the mattress. the maid was so taken aback for a moment that she did not speak. then she drew herself up.
“i know i ain' gwine to tetch it. i done made it up onct to-day. an' i ain't got no mistis.”
the mammy turned on her.
“umh'm! i thought so! i knows jest yo' kind. well, de sooner you git out o' dis room de better for you. 'cause if i lay my han' 'pon you i won't let you go till i'se done what yo' mammy ought to 'a' done to you ev'y day o' yo' life.”
she moved toward her with so dangerous a gleam in her sharp little eyes that “miss johnson” deemed it safest to beat a hasty retreat, and before bedtime had disappeared from the premises entirely.
in the kitchen the old woman had been equally strenuous. she had shown the cook in one evening that she knew more about cooking than that well-satisfied person had ever dreamed any one knew. she had taught the other maid that she knew by instinct every lurking place of dirt, however skilfully hidden, and, withal, she had inspired them both with so much dread of her two-edged tongue that they were doing their best to conciliate her by a zeal and civility they had never shown before.
for the first time the graemes knew what comfort was in their new home.
“well, this is something like home,” said mrs. graeme that evening as she sat by the lamp. “why, i feel like little ben. he said to-night, 'mamma, mammy brought old times with her.'”
“may she live forever!” said graeme.
in time, however, mrs. graeme began to feel that the old woman was confining herself too closely to the house. she needed some recreation. she had not even been to church, and mrs. graeme knew that this was her chief delight.
yes, she would like to go to church, she said, but she did not know “about dese fine chutches.” she did not like much to go on the streets. “dere was too many strange folks around for her. dey did n't keer nuthin' for her ner she for dem.” and it was “de same way, she reckoned, with de chutches. dey wuz new niggers, and she did n't had no use for dem, nor dey for her.”
mrs. graeme, however, was insistent. not far off, she had learned, was a colored church, “mount salem,” over which the reverend amos johnson presided with much show of broadcloth and silk hat. he had considerable reputation as a speaker, and from time to time appeared in the newspapers as a rather ranting writer on matters with a political coloring. mrs. graeme explained to the old woman that she need have no more to do with the people than she wished, and the following sunday she went herself with her to the door of the church. before leaving her she gave her a half-dollar to put in the plate, and asked a solemn-looking usher to show her a good seat.
when the old woman returned she was interested, but critical. “i'se been used to chutch all my life,” she declared, “but i never saw no fixin's like dat. br'er george wash'n'ton thomas of mount zion was de fancies' one i ever seen; but he could n't tetch dat man. why, dey outdoes white folks!”
“were n't they nice to you!” asked her mistress.
“nor 'm', none too nice. dat one what you spoke to for me wuz gwine to give me a seat; but a uppish young yaller one stopped him an' made him teck me back and stick me in a corner behind a pillar. but he did n't stick me so fur back 't dey did n't fine me when dey tecked up de money. when i put in dat fif'-cent you gi' me, he jumped like a pin had stick him. i dropped 't in so 't would soun', i tell you!”
this gave mrs. graeme an idea, and she encouraged her to go again the following sunday, and this time gave her a dollar to put in the plate.
“be sure and drop it in so it will sound,” she said to her.
“i 'm gwine to.”
“well, how did you come out to-dayf” she asked her on her return.
“right well. dey did n't stick me quite so fur back, and when i drap de dollar in dey wuz several on 'em lookin', and when de chutch was over dey come runnin' arter me, an', tell me ef i come next time dey 'll have a good seat for me. i 'm gwine agin, but fust thing dey know i 'm gwine to fool 'em. i ain't gwine put a dollar in agin, i know.”
mrs. graeme laughed. “oh! you must pay for being in society. we all do.”
“i know i ain't,” declared the old woman, “and i don't reckon you gwine to gi' me a dollar ev 'y sunday.”
“i certainly am not. i am only getting you launched.”
the following week mrs. graeme said to her husband, “i think mammy is launched. the preacher came to the front door to-day and asked to see mrs. quivers. at first i did not know whom he meant. then he said it was 'a colored lady.' you never saw any one so gotten up—silk hat, kid gloves, and ebony cane. and mammy was quite set up by it. she says the preacher is from home and knew caesar. she was really airy afterward.”
mr. graeme uttered an objurgation. “you will ruin that old woman, and with her the best old negro that ever was.”
“oh, no,” said mrs. graeme, “there is no danger of that. you could n't spoil her.”
a few weeks later she said: “yes, mammy is launched. she told me to-day she wanted to join the club, and when i asked, what club, she said, 'the colored ladies siciety club.'” “i should say she was launched,” sniffed mr. graeme. “she told me she wanted her money to invest it herself. the old fool! they will rob her of it.”
