won't stan' no foolin'."

"He's a beauty," said Marjorie, stooping to stroke the big maltese, who
responded to the caress by springing on the arm of her chair.

Mammy beamed with satisfaction.

"Josephus likes you fust rate, Missy," she said, approvingly. "He don't
make friends with mos' folks; he's too 'ristocratic. He knows what's
what, Josephus does."

"Mammy is the most delicious snob," laughed Beverly; "she only allows
Josephus to associate with aristocratic cats. All the unfortunate
plebeian cats in the neighborhood are driven away with a stick."

"Cose dey is," declared Mammy, indignantly. "What yo s'pose I want
common, no-'count cats botherin' round heah for? Ain't I always lived in
de most 'ristocratic Virginia fam'lies, and wasn't my paw own
body-servant to ole General Putnam, an' my maw bought by Mas'r
Randolph's father when she weren't more'n ten years old, an' brought up
in de house, to be maid to de young ladies? I'se lived in de fust
fam'lies, I has, and I'm proud of it, too."

"What a perfectly heavenly place!" whispered Marjorie to Beverly, with a
glance round the neat little kitchen, as the old negress bustled away
intent on household duties.

"You must get Mammy to show you the family photographs before we go,"
said Beverly; "she has quite a gallery, and can give you the separate
history of each picture. Ah, here come the waffles. Nobody can beat you
on waffles, Mammy."

The old woman grinned.

"Cose dey cyan't," she said, placidly. "Dere cyan't nobody in dese parts
beat me on waffles and corn-bread. Folks comes askin' for my recipes,
but it ain't de recipe dat does it, it's de light hand. Now Mas'r
Bev'ly, don't you take de whole dishful; dere's plenty more comin'. Lor'
sakes, Missy, you jes' oughter seen de way dat boy would go in for
waffles an' maple syrup when he was little. Do you 'member de day, Mas'r
Bev'ly, when yo maw was havin' lot of comp'ny for tea, an' yo' an' Miss
Babs sneaked into de pantry, and eat up all de lobster salad 'fo' de
comp'ny got a chance to have it? What a swattin' I did give de two of
you' for dat!"

"Yes, indeed I remember it," said Beverly, laughing. "I deserved the
'swatting' more than Babs did, for she was only four and I was eight."

"Dat's true; but yo' bofe deserved it bad enough. Lordie! How dat chile
Babs could stuff! Notin' ever hurted her, and de wust of it was, she
didn't mind castor oil no more'n if it was molasses. Have some more
syrup, Missy;