"Good morning, Aunt Frances!" said Julia, cheerily; "where's Uncle Peter?"
"Mawnin', missus--whar he allus is 'cep'n' w'en he's sleepin'--foolin' roun' dat colt ob a Prince!"
There was a degree of asperity in the old colored lady's speech, coupled with an ominous shake of the head. But Julia had been accustomed to the family difficulties upon which Peter and Aunt Frances throve, since infancy, and she paid no heed to the present demonstration of a ruffled temper.
"Thank you," she answered, sweetly. "I want to see him, so I'll run down to the smoke-house."
She passed onto the small kitchen porch as she said this, and here the old negress' voice halted her. There was a protesting, plaintive, sad inflection in the one word--
Julia stopped and turned abruptly, vaguely alarmed.
"Missus, de flour bar'l done gone plum', clean em'ty; de side meat goes dis mawnin' foh breakfus', 'n' de meal bar'l ain' much bettuh. I done kotch a chick'n foh dinner yistiddy, but de Massa lub his biscuit breakfus', dinner, _en_ suppuh!"
"You are right to tell me when things get low," she answered bravely, but in a peculiarly low voice. "I'll send Uncle Peter into town with an order this morning. Be careful not to let the flour run out completely again."
"Bress dat chile!" exclaimed Aunt Frances, lifting the corner of her apron to her eye as Julia disappeared. "I wonduh ef she t'inks she's foolin' her ol' mammy? Hain't I lived heah always, 'n' hain't I seen dis house go down 'n' down 'twell now hit mos' tech rock bottom? Some'in's gwi' drap, sho! But me 'n' Peter'll be hyar w'en it comes!"
She tossed her turbaned head, and, stanch old Methodist that she was, began crooning a "'vival" tune, wherewith to bolster up her sinking courage.
Julia came to a standstill in the smoke-house doorway. Within, with his back to her, stood Peter. A curry-comb was in one hand, and a brush in the other. He had evidently come to a halt while making The Prince's morning toilet, to spend a few moments in silent contemplation and admiration. He had withdrawn several feet from the satin-sleek form of the young colt, and reposed in an attitude of adoration, his skinny, ridged neck stretched towards the object of his devotion. Julia was compelled to speak his name twice before he heard her. Then he turned with his customary profound bow, and greeted her deferentially.