The room in which Phillis ironed, was not encumbered with much furniture.  Her ironing-table occupied a large part of its centre, and in the ample fireplace was blazing a fire great enough to cook a repast for a moderate number of giants.  Behind the back door stood a common pine bedstead, with an enormous bed upon it.  How any bedstead held such a bed was remarkable; for Phillis believed there was a virtue in feathers even in the hottest weather, and she would rather have gone to roost on the nearest tree than to have slept on any thing else.  The quilt was of a domestic blue and white, her own manufacture, and the cases to the pillows were very white and smooth.  A little, common trundle bedstead was underneath, and on it was the bedding which was used for the younger children at night.  The older ones slept in the servants’ wing in the house, Phillis making use of two enormous chests, which were Bacchus’s, and her wardrobes, for sleeping purposes for a couple more.  To the right of the bed, was the small chest of drawers, over which was suspended Bacchus’s many-sided piece of shaving glass, and underneath it a pine box containing his shaving weapons.  Several chairs, in a disabled state, found places about the room, and Phillis’s clothes-horse stood with open arms, ready to receive the white and well-ironed linen that was destined to hang upon it.  On each side of the fireplace was a small dresser, with plates and jars of all sizes and varieties, and over each were suspended some branches of trees, inviting the flies to rest upon them.  There was no cooking done in this room, there being a small shed for that purpose, back of the house; not a spot of grease dimmed the whiteness of the floors, and order reigned supreme, marvellous to relate! where a descendant of Afric’s daughters presided.

Lydia had gone as usual to Miss Janet, and several of the other children were busy about the yard, feeding the chickens, sweeping up, and employed in various ways; the only one who ever felt inclined to be lazy, and who was in body and mind the counterpart of his father, being seated on the door step, declaring he had a pain in his foot.

The adjoining room was the place in which Phillis’s soul delighted, the door of it being at all times locked, and the key lost in the depths of her capacious pocket.  From this place of retirement it emerged when any of the family honored her with their company, especially when attended by visitors; and after their departure, traces of their feet were carefully sought with keen and anxious eyes, and quickly obliterated with broom and duster.