ways would appeal to Gulian, and Yorke, who followed closely at
her side, threw the potent weight of his opinion in the scale by saying
quietly:--

"I am told your slaves have the very poetry of motion, Verplanck; permit
me to escort Mistress Betty to the servants' hall."

"Servants' hall!" whispered Betty mischievously to Yorke as Gulian led
the way with Clarissa; "we have nothing so fine in our humble colonies,
sir; our kitchens must serve for our dusky retainers."

"You know I did not mean"--he began reproachfully. But seeing Betty's
laughing eyes, he added, with a smile:--

"Nay, you shall not tease me into vexing you to-night if I can avoid it;
I will strive to train my tongue to please you."

The kitchen presented a quaint and most picturesque appearance. It was
a low, wide room, and around the wall ran shelves and dressers, on which
the pewter plates and copper covers shone with such fine polish that one
could almost see in their surfaces as in a mirror. Between those hung
bunches of herbs and strings of bright-hued peppers, and in and out on
the walls, and above, from the rafters, were Christmas greens, all
arranged by the servants themselves, with that unerring eye for grace
and color which is an attribute of the colored race. Aunt Dinah, the
presiding genius of the kitchen, stood at one end of the room. Her large
and portly person was clothed in a gay cotton print of many colors; and
upon her head was twisted a bright silk handkerchief, with a most
rakish-looking bow which reposed over her left ear. The Verplanck
slaves, some twelve of them, were augmented in numbers by those of the
Ludlow, De Lancey, and De Peyster families, and half filled the spacious
kitchen us they stood back in rows, courtesying and bowing, showing
their white teeth in smiles and low laughter, as they recognized some
"young massa," or "ole madam" among the gentlemen and dames who smiled
back upon their faithful, kindly faces.

The dance began with a special contra-dance, in which the performers
copied with great exactness the profound bows and deep courtesies of the
period, mimicking their masters and mistresses with curious grotesque
grace. At the extreme end of the room, near Aunt Dinah, sat the fiddler,
wielding his bow with an extra flourish befitting the occasion. Jan
Steen was a well-known character, and his coming was looked upon as a
special favor, only accorded to the servants because they belonged to
the Verplancks, a fa