Mrs. Nichols was very sensitive to any slight cast upon ’Lena’s birth, and she rather tartly informed Anna, that “her mother didn’t know everything,” adding that “’Lena’s father was Mr. Rivers, and there wasn’t half so much reason why she should be called Nichols as there was why Anna should, for that was her father’s name, the one by which he was baptized, the same day with Nancy Scovandyke, who’s jest his age, only he was born about a quarter past four in the morning, and she not till some time in the afternoon!”

“But where is Mr. Rivers?” asked Anna more interested in him than in the exact minute of her father’s birth.

“The Lord only knows,” returned Mrs. Nichols.  “Little girls shouldn’t ask too many questions.”

This silenced Anna, and satisfied her that there was some mystery connected with ’Lena.  The mention of Nancy Scovandyke reminded Mrs. Nichols of the dishes which that lady had packed away, and anxious to see if they were safe, she turned to ’Lena saying, “I guess we’ll have time before dinner to unpack my trunks, for I want to know how the crockery stood the racket.  Anny, you run down and tell your pa to fetch ’em up here, that’s a good girl.”

In her eagerness to know what those weather-beaten boxes contained, Anna forgot her scheme of dressing ’Lena, and ran down, not to call her father, but the black boy, Adam.  It took her a long time to find him, and Mrs. Nichols, growing impatient, determined to go herself, spite of ’Lena’s entreaties that she would stay where she was.  Passing down the long stairway, and out upon the piazza, she espied a negro girl on her hands and knees engaged in cleaning the steps with a cloth.  Instantly remembering her mop, she greatly lamented that she had left it behind—­“’twould come so handy now,” thought she, but there was no help for it.

Walking up to the girl, whose name she did not know, she said, “Sissy, can you tell me where John is?”

Quickly “Sissy’s” ivories became visible, as she replied, “We hain’t got any such nigger as John.”

With a silent invective upon negroes in general, and this one in particular, Mrs. Nichols choked, stammered, and finally said, “I didn’t ask for a nigger; I want your master, John!”

Had the old lady been a Catholic, she would have crossed herself for thus early breaking her promise to Nancy Scovandyke.  As it was, she mentally asked forgiveness, and as the colored girl “didn’t know where marster was,” but “reckoned he had gone somewhar,” she turned aside, and seeking her son’s room, again entered unannounced.  Mrs. Livingstone, who was up and dressed, frowned darkly upon her visitor.  But Mrs. Nichols did not heed it, and advancing forward, she said, “Do you feel any better, ’Tilda?  I’d keep kinder still to-day, and not try to do much, for if you feel any consarned about the housework, I’d just as lief see to’t a little after dinner as not.”