She had come, she said--and scarcely on the lips of the loveliest Creole
did I ever hear a more bewitching broken-English--she had come according
to a half-promise made to Mrs. Fontenette to show her--"I tidn't etsectly
promised, I chust said I vill some time come----"
"And Mrs. Fontenette didn't object," I playfully interrupted--
"No," said the unruffled speaker, "I chust said I vill come; yes; to show
her a new vay to remoof, remoof? is sat English? So? A new vay to remoof
old stains."
"A new way--" responded Fontenette, with an air of gravest interest in all
matters of laundry.
"Yes," she repeated, as simply as a babe, "a new vay; and I sought I come
now so to go home viss mine hussbandt." There, at last, she smiled, and to
make the caressing pride of her closing tone still prettier, lifted her
figured muslin out sidewise between thumb and forefinger of each hand with
even more archaic grace than playfulness.
As the three of us crossed over and took seats on my veranda, we were
joined by the neighbor whose garden-trees I have mentioned; the man of
whom I have told you, how he failed to strike a bargain with old
Manouvrier, the taxidermist. He was a Missourian, in the produce business,
a thoroughly good fellow, but--well--oh--!
He came perspiring, flourishing a palm-leaf fan and a large handkerchief,
to say I might keep all the shade his tall house and trees dropped on my
side of the fence.
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