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“Where do you keep your nutmegs, Dinah?” said Miss Ophelia, with the air of one who prayed for patience. “Most anywhar, Missis; there’s some in that cracked tea-cup, up there, and there’s some over in that ar cupboard.” “Here are some in the grater,” said Miss Ophelia, holding them up. “Laws, yes, I put ‘em there this morning,- I likes to keep my things handy,” said Dinah. “You, Jake! what are you stopping for! You’ll cotch it! Be still, thar!” she added, with a dive of her stick at the criminal. “What’s this?” said Miss Ophelia, holding up the saucer of pomade. “Laws, it’s my har grease;- I put it thar to have it handy.” “Do you use your mistress’ best saucers for that?” “Law! it was cause I was driv, and in sich a hurry;- I was gwine to change it this very day.” “Here are two damask table-napkins.” “Them table-napkins I put thar, to get ‘em washed out, some day.” “Don’t you have some place here on purpose for things to be washed?” “Well, Mas’r St. Clare got dat ar chest, he said, for dat; but I likes to mix up biscuit and hev my things on it some days, and then it an’t handy a-liftin’ up the lid.” “Why don’t you mix your biscuits on the pastry-table, there?” |