Julius Lennox

Mabel was too well versed in the customs of the race and class to
take alarm at the mysterious invocation. She watched the old woman's
movements in a sort of pensive amusement at the recollection of an
incident of her childhood, brought vividly to her mind by the
servant's air and exclamation.

She was playing in the yard one day, when "Mammy" emerged from her
cottage-door, and came toward her, with a batch of sweet cakes she
had just baked for her nursling.

In crossing the gravel walk leading to the "house," she struck her
toe against the brick facing of this, and the cakes flew in all
directions.

"Good Lord! my poor toe and my poor chile's cakes!" was her vehement
interjection; and as she bent to gather up the cookies, she grunted
out the same adjuration, coupled with "my poor ole back!"--a
negress' stock subject of complaint, let her be but twenty years old
and as strong as an ox.

"Mammy!" said the privileged child, reprovingly, "I thought you were
too good a Christian to break the commandments in that way. You
shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain."

"Gracious! Sugar-pie! how you talk! Ef I don't call 'pon Him in time
of trouble, who can I ask to help me?" was the confident reply.

With no thought of any more formidable cause of outcry than a cramp
in the much-quoted spine, Mabel dreamed on sketchily and indolently,
enjoying the sight of the once-familiar process of building a
wood-fire, until the yellow serpents of flame crept, red-tongued
through the interstices of the lower logs, and the larger and upper
began to sing the low, drowsy tune, more suggestive of home-cheer
and fireside comfort than the shrill, monotonous chirp of the famous
cricket on the hearth. The pipe-clayed bricks on which the andirons
rested were next swept clean; the hearth-brush hung up on its nail,
and the architect of the edifice stepped back with a satisfied nod.