Get it, my faithful
old girl; it's the last I may ask of you, for old Samson Hat is going to
own you next."
"Me? No, sah! I'll run away from Prencess Anne fust. De man dat cleans
ole Meshach Milburn's debbil hat sha'n't nebber hab me."
"Well, it'll be one of you. If you don't take Samson, Roxy must, or
Virgie. The old fellow will be very influential with our new master,
and, Hominy, we're all depending on you to make him so comfortable that
he will just keep the family together."
Sobriety came in on this attempted witticism, and the old cook saw a
film grow into the Judge's smiling eyes.
"Old marster!" she exclaimed, raising her hands, "you's jess a-sottin'
dar, an' breakin' your poor heart. Don't I know when you is a-makin'
believe? Mebbe dis night is de las' we'll ever see you in your own warm,
nice kitchen, an' never mo', dear ole marster, kin Hominy brile you a
bird or season de soup you like. Bless God, dis time we'll git de squab
an' de celery an' de toast, befo' ole Meshach Milburn measures all we
got in!"
While the children crawled around the Judge's knees, setting up a dismal
wail to see him sob, the two neat house girls, forgetting every
contingency to themselves, sobbed also, like his own daughters, to see
him unmanned; but Aunt Hominy only felt desperately energetic at the
chance to cook the last supper of the Custis household.
She lighted a brand of pine in the fire, and started one of the stable
boys up a ladder by its light to ransack the pigeon-cote, and in a very
little while both a chicken and a bird were broiled and set upon the
kitchen-table upon a spotless cloth, and the plume of lily-white celery,
and the smoking toast in velvet cream, warmed the Judge's nostrils, and
dried his tears.
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