Christie looked fiercely determined; but Hepsey shook her head,
saying quietly as she went on garnishing a dish:

"Dere's more 'gradin' works dan dat, chile, and dem dat's bin
'bliged to do um finds dis sort bery easy. You's paid for it, honey;
and if you does it willin, it won't hurt you more dan washin' de
marster's dishes, or sweepin' his rooms."

"There ought to be a boy to do this sort of thing. Do you think it's
right to ask it of me?" cried Christie, feeling that being servant
was not as pleasant a task as she had thought it.

"Dunno, chile. I'se shore I'd never ask it of any woman if I was a
man, 'less I was sick or ole. But folks don't seem to 'member dat
we've got feelin's, and de best way is not to mind dese ere little
trubbles. You jes leave de boots to me; blackin' can't do dese ole
hands no hurt, and dis ain't no deggydation to me now; I's a free
woman."

"Why, Hepsey, were you ever a slave?" asked the girl, forgetting her
own small injury at this suggestion of the greatest of all wrongs.

"All my life, till I run away five year ago. My ole folks, and eight
brudders and sisters, is down dere in de pit now; waitin' for the
Lord to set 'em free. And He's gwine to do it soon, soon!" As she
uttered the last words, a sudden light chased the tragic shadow from
Hepsey's face, and the solemn fervor of her voice thrilled
Christie's heart. All her anger died out in a great pity, and she
put her hand on the woman's shoulder, saying earnestly: