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Mam' Lyddy's Recognition 1908 By: Thomas Nelson Page (1853-1922) |
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By Thomas Nelson Page Charles Scribner's Sons New York, 1908 Copyright, 1891, 1904, 1906
I When Cabell Graeme was courting pretty Betty French up at the Château
place, though he had many rivals and not a few obstacles to overcome, he
had the good fortune to secure one valuable ally, whose friendship stood
him in good stead. She was of a rich chocolate tint, with good features,
and long hair, possibly inherited from some Arab ancestor, bead like
black eyes, and a voice like a harp, but which on occasion could become
a flame. Her figure was short and stocky; but more dignity was never
compressed within the same number of cubic inches. Mam' Lyddy had been in the French family all her life, as her mother and
grandmother had been before her. She had rocked on her ample bosom the
best part of three generations. And when Freedom came, however much she
may have appreciated being free, she had much too high an estimate of
the standing of the Frenches to descend to the level of the class she
had always contemned as "free niggers." She was a deep dyed aristocrat. The Frenches were generally esteemed to be among the oldest and best
families in the county, and the Château plantation, with its wide fields
and fine old mansion, was commonly reckoned one of the finest in that
section. But no such comparative statement would have satisfied Mam'
Lyddy. She firmly believed that the Frenches were the greatest people in
the world, and it would have added nothing to her dignity had they been
princes, because it could have added nothing to it to be told that
she was a member of a royal house. Part mentor, part dependent, part
domestic, she knew her position, and within her province her place
was as unquestioned as was that of her mistress, and her advice was as
carefully considered. Caesar, her husband, a tall, ebony lath, with a bald head and meek eyes,
had come out of another family and was treated with condescension. No
one knew how often he was reminded of his lower estate; but it was often
enough, for he was always in a somewhat humble and apologetic attitude. The Frenches were known as a "likely" family, but Betty, with her oval
face, soft eyes, and skin like a magnolia flower, was so undeniably the
beauty that she was called "Pretty Betty." She was equally undeniably
the belle. And while the old woman, who idolized her, found far more
pleasure than even her mother in her belleship, she was as watchful over
her as Argus. Every young man of the many who haunted the old French
mansion among its oaks and maples had to meet the scrutiny of those
sharp, tack like eyes. The least slip that one made was enough to prove
his downfall. The old woman sifted them as surely as she sifted her
meal, and branded them with an infallible instinct akin to that of a
keen watchdog. Many a young man who passed that silent figure without a
greeting, or spoke lightly of some one, unheeding her presence, wondered
at his want of success and felt without knowing why that he was pulling
against an unseen current. "We must drop him he ain't a gent'man," she said of one. Of another:
"Oh! Oh! honey, he won't do. He ain't our kind." Or, "Betty, let him go,
my Lamb. De Frenches don't pick up dat kine o' stick." Happily for Cabell Graeme, he had the old woman's approval. In the first
place, he was related to the Frenches, and this in her eyes was a
patent of gentility. Then, he had always been kind to little Betty and
particularly civil to herself. He not only never omitted to ask after
her health, but also inquired as to her pet ailments of "misery in her
foot" and "whirlin' in her head," with an interest which flattered her
deeply. But it went further back than that Once, when Betty was a little
girl, Cabell, then a well grown boy of twelve, had found her and her
mammy on the wrong side of a muddy road, and wading through, he had
carried Betty across, and then wading back, had offered to carry Mam'
Lyddy over, too. "Go way f'om heah, boy, you can't carry me... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Literature |
Short stories |
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