Jenny's reaction from depression
was always quite querulous. And toward the height of the storm, there
was a reaction and she grew very quarrelsome.
"Sam's waystin'[A] roun' in dere," said Jenny, as she thrust her feet
into the kitchen fire, before carrying in the urn; "Sam's waystin', I
tells you all good! all werry quiet dough--no noise, no fallin' out, no
'sputin' nor nothin'--all quiet as de yeth jest afore a debbil ob a
storm--nobody in de parlor 'cept 'tis Marse Paul, settin' right afore de
parlor fire, wid one long leg poked east and toder west, wid the boots
on de andirons like a spread-eagle! lookin' as glum as if I owed him a
year's sarvice, an' nebber so much as a-sayin', 'Jenny, you poor old
debbil, ain't you a-cold?' an' me coming in ebery minnit wid the icicles
a-jinglin' 'roun' my linsey-woolsey skurts, like de diamonds on de
Wirgin Mary's Sunday gown. But Sam's waystin' now, I tells you all good.
Lors Gemini, what a storm!
[Footnote A: Waysting--Going up and down.]
"I 'members of no sich since dat same storm as de debbil come in to
fetch ole marse's soul--dis berry night seven year past, an' he carried
of him off all in a suddint whiff! jist like a puff of win'. An' no
wonder, seein' how he done traded his soul to him for money!
"An' Sam's here ag'in to-night! dunno who he's come arter! but he's
here, now, I tells you all good!" said Jenny, as she took up the urn to
carry it into the parlor.
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