gy, "so much for Mr. Bacchus going to barbecues. A nice
waiter he makes."

"Do you not see me before you, Peggy?" said Mr. Weston, "and do you
continue this disputing in my presence? If you were not so old, and had not
been so faithful for many years, I would not excuse such conduct. You are
very ungrateful, when you are so well cared for; and from this time
forward, if you cannot be quiet and set a good example in the kitchen, do
not come into it."

"Don't be afeard, master, I can stay in my own cabin. If I has been well
treated, it's no more den I desarves. I'se done nuff for you and yours, in
my day; slaved myself for you and your father before you. De Lord above
knows I dont want ter stay whar dat ole drunken nigger is, no how. Hand me
my cane, dar, Nancy, I ain't gwine to 'trude my 'siety on nobody." And
Peggy hobbled off, not without a most contemptuous look at Bacchus, who was
making unsuccessful efforts to rise in compliment to his master.

"As for you, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, "never let this happen again. I
will not allow you to wait at barbecues, in future."

"Don't say so, master, if you please; dat ox, if you could a smelled him
roastin, and de whiskey-punch," and Bacchus snapped his finger, as the only
way of concluding the sentence to his own satisfaction.

"Take him off, Mark," said Mr. Weston, "the drunken old rascal."

"Master," said Bacchus, pushing Mark off, "I don't like de way you speak to
me; t'aint 'spectful."

"Carry him off," said Mr. Weston, again. "John, help Mark."

"Be off wid yourselves, both of ye," said Bacchus; "if ye don't, I'll give
you de devil, afore I quits."

"I'll shut your mouth for you," said Mark, "talking so before master; knock
him over, John, and push him out."

Bacchus was not so easily overcome. The god whose namesake he was, stood by
him for a time. Suddenly the old fellow's mood changed; with a patronizing
smile he turned to Mr. Weston, and said, "Master, you must 'scuse me: I
aint well dis evening. I has the dyspepsy; my suggestion aint as good as
common. I think dat ox was done too much."

Mr. Weston could not restrain a smile at his grotesque appearance, and
ridiculous language. Mark and John took advantage of the melting mood which
had come over him, and led him off without difficulty. On leaving the
kitchen, he went into a pious fit, and sung out

"When I can read my title clar."

Mr. Weston heard him say, "Don't, Mark; don't squeeze an ole nigger