“Poh! Miss Mary; if she should stay, it wouldn’t be two days before you would be telling the girls about our nig, our nig!” retorted Jack.
“I don’t want a nigger ’round me, do you, mother?” asked Mary.
“I don’t mind the nigger in the child. I should like a dozen better than one,” replied her mother. “If I could make her do my work in a few years, I would keep her. I have so much trouble with girls I hire, I am almost persuaded if I have one to train up in my way from a child, I shall be able to keep them awhile. I am tired of changing every few months.”
“Where could she sleep?” asked Mary. “I don’t want her near me.”
“In the L chamber,” answered the mother.
“How’ll she get there?” asked Jack. “She’ll be afraid to go through that dark passage, and she can’t climb the ladder safely.”
“She’ll have to go there; it’s good enough for a nigger,” was the reply.
Jack was sent on horseback to ascertain if Mag was at her home. He returned with the testimony of Pete Greene that they were fairly departed, and that the child was intentionally thrust upon their family.
The imposition was not at all relished by Mrs. B., or the pert, haughty Mary, who had just glided into her teens.
“Show the child to bed, Jack,” said his mother. “You seem most pleased with the little nigger, so you may introduce her to her room.”
He went to the kitchen, and, taking Frado gently by the hand, told her he would put her in bed now; perhaps her mother would come the next night after her.
It was not yet quite dark, so they ascended the stairs without any light, passing through nicely furnished rooms, which were a source of great amazement to the child. He opened the door which connected with her room by a dark, unfinished passageway. “Don’t bump your head,” said Jack, and stepped before to open the door leading into her apartment—an unfinished chamber over the kitchen, the roof slanting nearly to the floor, so that the bed could stand only in the middle of the room. A small half window furnished light and air. Jack returned to the sitting room with the remark that the child would soon outgrow those quarters.
“When she does, she’ll outgrow the house,” remarked the mother.
“What can she do to help you?” asked Mary. “She came just in the right time, didn’t she? Just the very day after Bridget left,” continued she.
“I’ll see what she can do in the morning,” was the answer.
While this conversation was passing below, Frado lay, revolving in her little mind whether she would remain or not until her mother’s return. She was of wilful, determined nature, a stranger to fear, and would not hesitate to wander away should she decide to. She remembered the conversation of her mother with Seth, the words “given away” which she heard used in reference to herself; and though she did not know their full import, she thought she should, by remaining, be in some relation to white people she was never favored with before. So she resolved to tarry, with the hope that mother would come and get her some time. The hot sun had penetrated her room, and it was long before a cooling breeze reduced the temperature so that she could sleep.
Frado was called early in the morning by her new mistress. Her first work was to feed the hens. She was shown how it was always to be done, and in no other way; any departure from this rule to be punished by a whipping. She was then accompanied by Jack to drive the cows to pasture, so she might learn the way. Upon her return she was allowed to eat her breakfast, consisting of a bowl of skimmed milk, with brown bread crusts, which she was told to eat, standing, by the kitchen table, and must not be over ten minutes about it. Meanwhile the family were taking their morning meal in the dining-room. This over, she was placed on a cricket to wash the common dishes; she was to be in waiting always to bring wood and chips, to run hither and thither from room to room.
A large amount of dish-washing for small hands followed dinner. Then the same after tea and going after the cows finished her first day’s work. It was a new discipline to the child. She found some attractions about the place, and she retired to rest at night more willing to remain. The same routine followed day after day, with slight variation; adding a little more work, and spicing the toil with “words that burn,” and frequent blows on her head. These were great annoyances to Frado, and had she known where her mother was, she would have gone at once to her. She was often greatly wearied, and silently wept over her sad fate. At first she wept aloud, which Mrs. Bellmont noticed by applying a rawhide, always at hand in the kitchen. It was a symptom of discontent and complaining which must be “nipped in the bud,” she said.
Thus passed a year. No intelligence of Mag. It was now certain Frado was to become a permanent member of the family. Her labors were multiplied; she was quite indispensable, although but seven years old. She had never learned to read, never heard of a school until her residence in the family.
Mrs. Bellmont was in doubt about the utility of attempting to educate people of color, who were incapable of elevation. This subject occasioned a lengthy discussion in the family. Mr. Bellmont, Jane and Jack arguing for Frado’s education; Mary and her mother objecting. At last Mr. Bellmont declared decisively that she should go to school. He was a man who seldom decided controversies at home. The word once spoken admitted of no appeal; so, notwithstanding Mary’s
