F. Colburn (Francis Colburn) Adams

Capitolo 58

the basket.

Passing to the box of Ellen Juvarna, we see her/it to us in the same
confusion that seems to have to attack the plantation:  his/her dark,
penetrating eyes, visualize more than that melancholy that marks
Clotilda;  neither thoughtfulness pervades its expression, and still
there is the restlessness of an Indian around her,--her it is Indian from
blood and birth;  its glance calls on all the sad associations of her
ancestors;  his/her shining and black hair, in heavy folds they gaily hang
on his/her olive shoulders, oddly contrasting with the other.

"And You, Nicholas! memoirs what will say Your father:  but you owe
don't call this way it", she says, while he/she is taking from the hand a child we have
described that it is impatient to connect the cheerful group.

"That to the not any damage, mother! Father is always caressing around me when
anybody the lookin'", his/her child answers, with a pertness that points out a
knowledge of his/her parentage rather in advance of his/her years.

We pass the kitchen,--one small, dark box, introducing more anymore the
indescribable portion of the scene, the smoke that publishes from each
crack. Here old Peggy, the cook,--a representative wound of
smoke and grease,--as if emerging from the regions of Vulcan, moved
his/her fat sides with the independence of a sovereign. In this
smoke-hole of miniature her sweats and Greek frets, race to the door every little
minutes, it repairs the points of his/her garish bandana, and he/she takes a
anxious glance to the movements without. Sal, Suke, Rose and Beck,
young members of the family of Peggy, are working to the top of them
energy among stew-saucepans, grids, pots and buckets, baskets, bottles
and pitchers. Wafs, pancakes, donjohns and stratum-car jacks of hominy, fine
furled hams, meats of savoury, ices, and fruit-cakes are being
prepared and it packaged above for the occasion. Black faces of every shade
you seem full of interest and the freshness, recently surrenders for the
pleasures of the day. Now and then it broke on our ear how complaining
melody with the words, "down on the Old Plantation;  " and again, "Jim