A very animated discussion was going on there, just at that
moment, between the cook and two or three of her sable companions,
and the first words that reached the child's ears, as she stood on
the threshold, were, "I tell you, you ole darkie, you dunno
nuffin' 'bout it! Massa Horace gwine marry _dat_ bit ob paint
an' finery! no such ting! Massa's got more sense."
The words were spoken in a most scornful tone, and Elsie, into
whose childish mind the possibility of her father's marrying again
had never entered, stood spellbound with astonishment.
But the conversation went on, the speakers quite unconscious of
her vicinity.
It was Pompey's voice that replied.
"Ef Marse Horace don't like her, what for they been gwine ridin'
ebery afternoon? will you tell me dat, darkies? an' don't dis
niggah see him sit beside her mornin', noon, an' night, laughin'
an' talkin' at de table an' in de parlor? an' don't she keep a
kissin' little Miss Elsie, an' callin' her pretty critter, sweet
critter, an'de like?"
"_She_ ma to our sweet little Miss Elsie! Bah! I tell you,
Pomp, Marse Horace got more sense," returned the cook, indignantly.
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