't got de right
bran', no she ain't, and yo' cyant mate up no common stock wid a
tho'oughbred and git any sort of a span. No siree, yo' cyant. My Lawd,
what done possess Massa Neil fer ter 'vite her down hyer? _She_ cyant
'struct an' guide _our_ yo'ng mist'ess. Sho! She ain' know de very fust
_rudimints_ ob de qualities' ways an' doin's. Miss Peggy could show her
mo' in five minutes dan she ever is know in five years. She ain't,--she
ain't,--well I ain't jist 'zackly know how I'se gwine speechify it, but
she ain't like _we_ all," and Jerome wagged his head in deprecation and
forced his tongue against his teeth in a sound indicating annoyance and
distaste, as he moved his mistress' chair a trifle.

Just then Mammy Lucy stuck her white-turbaned head in at the door to
ask:

"Whar dat chile at? Ain't she done come in fer her breckfus yit? It's
nine o'clock and Sis Cynthia's a-stewin' an' a steamin' like her own
taters."

"She say she wait fer her aunt, an' her aunt say she cyant breckfus
befo' half-pas' nine, no how," answered Jerome.

"Huh, huh! An' ma chile gotter wait a hull hour pas' her breckfus time
jist kase Madam Fussa-ma-fiddle ain't choose fer ter git up? I bait yo'
she git up when she ter home, and I bait yo' she ain't gitting somebody
ter dress her, an' wait on her han' an' foot like Mandy done been
a-doin' sense yistiddy; ner she ain' been keepin' better folks a-waiting
fer dey meals. I'se pintedly put out wid de way things is been gwine in
dis hyer 'stablishmint fer de past two days, an' 's fur 's _I_ kin see
dey ain' gwine mend none neider. No, not fer a considerbul spell lessen
we has one grand, hifalutin' tornader. Yo' hyar me!"

"I sho' does hyar yo' Mis' Lucy, an' I sho' 'grees wid yo' ter de very
top notch. Dere's gwine ter be de very dibble--'scuse me please, ma'am,
'scuse me, but ma feelin's done got de better of ma breedin'--ter pay ef
things go on as dey've begun since de Madam--_an' dat dawg_--invest
deyselves 'pon Severndale. But yonder comin' our yo'ng mistiss," he
concluded as a clear, sweet voice was heard singing just beyond the
windows, and quick decisive footsteps came across the broad piazza, and
Peggy Stewart, only daughter and heiress of beautiful "Severndale,"
entered the room. By her side Tzaritza, her snowy Russian wolfhound,
paced with stately mien; a thoroughbred pair indeed.

"Oh, Jerome, I am just starved. That breakfast table is irresistible.
Mammy, is Aunt Katherine ready?"