The child was white. What should be done to make it look like
other negroes, was the question which Mrs. Miller asked herself.
The callous-hearted old woman bit her nether lip, as she viewed
that child, standing before her, with her long, dark ringlets
clustering over her alabaster brow and neck.

"Take this little nigger and cut her hair close to her head,"
said the mistress to Jane, as the latter answered the bell.

Clotelle screamed, as she felt the scissors grating over her head,
and saw those curls that her mother thought so much of falling
upon the floor.

A roar of laughter burst from the servants, as Jane led the child
through the kitchen, with the hair cut so short that the naked
scalp could be plainly seen.

"'Gins to look like nigger, now," said Dinah, with her mouth
upon a grin.

The mistress smiled, as the shorn child reentered the room;
but there was something more needed. The child was white,
and that was a great objection. However, she hit upon a plan to
remedy this which seemed feasible. The day was excessively warm.
Not a single cloud floated over the blue vault of heaven; not a breath
of wind seemed moving, and the earth was parched by the broiling sun.
Even the bees had stopped humming, and the butterflies
had hid themselves under the broad leaves of the burdock.
Without a morsel of dinner, the poor child was put in the garden,
and set to weeding it, her arms, neck, and head completely bare.