"Now look here, Miss Miriam," said Mike, speaking more earnestly, "don't you go an' do that. If you tell her that, she'll go an' make me the biggest corn-pone anybody ever seed, an' she'll put pizen into it. Oh, it'd never do to say anythin' like that to Molly Tooney, if she's got me to feed. Jes' let me tell you, Miss Miriam, don't you say nothin' to Molly Tooney 'bout me. I never could sleep at night if I thought she was stirrin' up pizen in my vittles. But I tell you, Miss Miriam, if you was to say Molly, that you an' Mr. Haverley liked corn-cakes an' was always used to 'em before you come here, an' that they 'greed with you, then in course she'd make 'em, an' there'd be a lot left over for me, for I don't 'spect you all could eat the corn-bread she'd make, but I'd eat it, bein'

so powerful hungry for corn-meal."

"Mike," said Miriam, "you shall have corn-bread, but that is all nonsense about Molly. I do not see how you could get such a notion into your head."

Mike gave himself a shrug.

"Now look a here, Miss Miriam," he said; "I've heard before of red-headed cooks, an' colored pussons as wasn't satisfied with their victuals, an'

n.o.body knows what they died of, an' the funerals was mighty slim, an' no 'count, the friends an' congregation thinkin' there might be somethin'

'tagious. Them red-headed kind of cooks is mighty dangerous, Miss Miriam, an' lemme tell you, the sooner you git rid of them, the better."

Miriam's previous experiences had brought her very little into contact with negroes, and although she did not care very much about what Mike was saying, it interested her to hear him talk. His intonations and manner of expressing himself pleased her fancy. She could imagine herself in the sunny South, talking to an old family servant. This fancy was novel and pleasant. Mike liked to talk, and was shrewd enough to see that Miriam liked to listen to him. He determined to take advantage of this opportunity to find out something in regard to the doleful news brought to him by La Fleur and which, he feared, might be founded upon fact.

"Now look here, Miss Miriam," said he, lowering his voice a little, but not enough to make him seem disrespectfully confidential, "what you want is a first-cla.s.s colored cook--not Phoebe, she's no good cook, an' won't live in the country, an' is so mighty stuck up that she don't like nuthin' but wheat bread, an' ain't no 'count anyway. But I got a sister, Miss Miriam. She's a number one, fust-cla.s.s cook, knows all the northen an' southen an' easten an' westen kind of cookin', an' she's only got two chillun, what could keep in the house all day long an' not trouble n.o.body, 'side bringin' kindlin' an' runnin' errands; an' the husband, he's dead, an' that's a good sight better, Miss Miriam, than havin' him hangin' round, eatin' his meals here, an' bein' no use, 'cause he had rheumatism all over him, 'cept on his appet.i.te."

This suggestion pleased Miriam; here was a chance for another old family servant.

"I think I should like to have your sister, Mike," she said; "what is her name? Is she working for anybody now?"

"Her name is Seraphina--Seraphina Paddock. Paddock was his name. She's keepin' house now, an' takin' in washin', down to Bridgeport. I reckon she's like to come here an' live, mighty well."

"I wish you'd tell her to come and see me," said Miriam. "I think it would be a very good thing for us to have a colored cook."

"Mighty good thing. There ain't nothin' better than a colored cook; but jus' let me tell you, Miss Miriam, my sister's mighty particular 'bout goin' to places an' takin' her family, an' furniture, an' settin' herself up to live when she don't know whether things is fixed an' settled there, or whether the fust thing she knows is she's got to pull up stakes an' git out agin."

"I am sure everything is fixed and settled here," said Miriam, in surprise.

"Well, now look a here, Miss Miriam," said Mike, "'spose you was clean growed up, an' you're near that now, as anybody can see, an' you was goin' to git married to somebody, or 'spose Mr. Haverley was goin' to git married to somebody, why don' you see you'd go way with your husband, an' your brother he'd come here with his new wife, an'

everything would be turned over an' sot upside down, an' then Seraphina, she'd have to git up an' git, for there'd sure to be a new kin' of cook wanted or else none, an' Seraphina, she'd fin' her house down to Bridgeport rented to somebody who had gone way without payin' the rent, an' had been splittin' kindlin' on the front steps an' hacking 'em all up, and white-washin' the kitchen what she papered last winter to hide the grease spots what they made through living like pigs, an' Seraphina, she can't stand nothing like that."

Miriam burst out laughing.

"Mike," she cried, "n.o.body is going to get married here."

Mike's eyes glistened.

"That so, sure?" he said. "You see, Miss Miriam, you an' your brother is both so 'tractive, that I sort o' 'sposed you might be thinkin' of gittin' married, an' if that was so, I couldn't go to Seraphina, an' git her to come here when things wasn't fixed an' settled."

"If that is all that would keep your sister from coming," said Miriam, "she need not trouble herself."

"Now look a here, Miss Miriam," said Mike, quickly, "of course everything in this world depends on sarc.u.mstances, an' if it happened that Mr.

Hav'ley was the one to git married, an' he was to take some lady that was livin' here anyway an' was used to the place, an' the ways of the house, an' didn't want to go anywheres else an' wanted to stay here an' not to chance nothin' an' have the same people workin' as worked before, like Miss Drane, say, with her mother livin' here jes' the same, an' you keepin' house jes' as you is now, an' all goin' on without no upsottin', of course Seraphina, she wouldn't mind that. She'd like mighty well to come, whether your brother was married or not; but supposin' he married a lady like Miss Dora Bannister. Bless my soul, Miss Miriam, everything in this place would be turned heels up an' heads down, an' there wouldn't be no colored pussons wanted in this 'stablishment, Seraphina nor me nuther, an' I reckon you wouldn't know the place in six months, Miss Miriam, with that Miss Dora runnin' it, an' old Miss Panney with her fingers in the pie, an' n.o.body can't help her doin' that when Miss Dora is concerned, an' you kin see for yourself, Miss Miriam, that Seraphina, an' me, too, is bound to be bounced if it was to come to that."

"I will talk to you again about your sister," said Miriam, and she went away, amused.

Mike was delighted.

"It's all a cussed old lie, jes' as I thought it wuz," said he to himself; "an' that old Miss Panney'll fin' them young uns is harder nuts to crack than me an' Phoebe wuz. I got in some good licks fur dat purty Miss Cicely, too."

Miriam's amus.e.m.e.nt gradually faded away as she approached the house. At first it had seemed funny to hear any one talk about Ralph or herself getting married, but now it did not appear so funny. On the contrary, that part of Mike's remarks which concerned Ralph and Dora was positively depressing. Suppose such a thing were really to happen; it would be dreadful. She had thought her brother overfond of Dora's society, but the matter had never appeared to her in the serious aspect in which she saw it now.

She had intended to find Ralph, and speak to him about Mike's sister; but now she changed her mind. She was wearing the teaberry gown, and she would attend to her own affairs as mistress of the house. If Ralph could be so cruel as to marry Dora, and put her at the head of everything,--and if she were here at all, she would want to be at the head of everything,--then she, Miriam, would take off the teaberry gown, and lock it up in the old trunk.

"But can it be possible," she asked herself, as a tear or two began to show themselves in her eyes, "that Ralph could be so cruel as that?"

As she reached the door of the house, Cicely Drane was coming out.

Involuntarily Miriam threw her arms around her and folded her close to the teaberry gown.

Miriam was not in the habit of giving away to outbursts of this sort, and as she released Cicely she said with a little apologetic blush,--

"It is so nice to have you here. I feel as if you ought not ever to go away."

"I am sure I do not want to go, dear," said Cicely, with the smile of good-fellowship that always went to the heart of Miriam.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

MISS PANNEY FEELS SHE MUST CHANGE HER PLANS

Molly Tooney waited with some impatience the result of Miriam's interview with Mike. If the "nager" should be discharged for taking cold victuals like a beggar, Molly would be glad of it; it would suit her much better to have a nice Irish boy in his place.

But when Miriam told her cook that evening that Mike had satisfactorily explained the matter of the pie, and also remarked that in future she would like to have bread or cakes made of corn-meal, and that she couldn't see any reason why Mike, who was accustomed to this sort of food, should not have it always, Molly's soul blazed within her; it would have burst out into fiery speech; but the girl before her, although young, was so quiet and sedate, so suggestive of respect, that Molly, scarcely knowing why she did it, curbed herself; but she instantly gave notice that she wished to quit the place on the next day.

When Ralph heard this, he was very angry, and wanted to go and talk to the woman.

"Don't you do anything of the kind," said Miriam. "It is not your business to talk to cooks. I do that. And I want to go to-morrow to Thorbury and get some one to come to us by the day until the new cook arrives. If I can get her, I am going to engage Seraphina, Mike's sister."

Ralph looked at her and laughed.

"Well, well, Miss Teaberry," he said, "you are getting on bravely.

Putting up your hair and letting down your skirts has done wonders. You are the true lady of the house now."

"And what have you to say against that?" asked Miriam.

"Not a word!" he cried. "I like it, I am charmed with it, and I will drive you into Thorbury to-morrow. And as to Mike's sister, you can have all his relations if you like, provided they do not charge too much. If we had a lot of darkies here, that would make us more truly ramshackle and jolly than we are now."

"Ralph," said Miriam, with dignity, "stop pulling my ears. Don't you see Mrs. Drane coming?"

The next day Miriam and Ralph jogged into Thorbury. Miriam, not wearing the teaberry gown, but having its spirit upon her, had planned to inquire of the grocer with whom she dealt, where she might find a woman such as she needed, but Ralph did not favor this.

"Let us first go and see Mrs. Tolbridge," he said. "She is one of our first and best friends, and probably knows every woman in town, and if she doesn't, the doctor does."

This last point had its effect upon Miriam. She wanted to see Dr.

Tolbridge to ask if he could not stop in and quiet the mind of Cicely, who really wanted to see him about her work, but who did not like, as Miriam easily conjectured, to ask Ralph to send her to town. Miriam wished to make things as pleasant as possible for Cicely, and Mrs.

Tolbridge had not, so far, meddled in the least with her concerns. If, inadvertently, Ralph had proposed a consultation with Mrs. Bannister, there would have been a hubbub in the gig.