Sal, Suke, Rose, and Beck,
young members of Peggy's family, are working at the top of their
energy among stew-pans, griddles, pots and pails, baskets, bottles
and jugs. Wafs, fritters, donjohns and hominy flap-jacks, fine
doused hams, savoury meats, ices, and fruit-cakes, are being
prepared and packed up for the occasion. Negro faces of every shade
seem full of interest and freshness, newly brightened for the
pleasures of the day. Now and then broke upon our ear that plaintive
melody with the words, "Down on the Old Plantation;" and again, "Jim
crack corn, an' I don't care, for Mas'r's gone away." Then came Aunt
Rachel, always persisting in her right to be master of ceremonies,
dressed in her Sunday bombazine, puffed and flounced, her gingham
apron so clean, her head "did up" with the flashiest bandana in her
wardrobe; it's just the colour for her taste-real yellow, red, and
blue, tied with that knot which is the height of plantation toilet:
there is as little restraint in her familiarity with the gentry of
the mansion as there is in her control over the denizens of the
kitchen. Even Dandy and Enoch, dressed in their best black coats,
white pantaloons, ruffled shirts, with collars endangering their
ears, hair crisped with an extra nicety, stand aside at her bidding.
The height of her ambition is to direct the affairs of the mansion:
sometimes she extends it to the overseer. The trait is amiably
exercised: she is the best nigger on the plantation, and Marston
allows her to indulge her feelings, while his guests laugh at her
native pomposity, so generously carried out in all her commands.
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