Mam' Sara was the only one of the negroes who didn't believe in ghosts.
"No, indeed, honey," she would say to Roberta, "daid fo'ks don' never cum
bak. If they gits ter Heaven, they don' wan'er, and if they gits ter de
udder place they can't. The devil won' never let 'em git away frum him,
kase he's wuk so hard ter git 'em."
The part of the house of most interest to Roberta was the parlor, where
were stored the heir-looms of the family, a spinet with all the ivory worn
off the keys, two pier-glasses with brass claws for feet, and a clock so
tall and big she actually hid in it once when she was playing "hide and go
seek" with some little visitors, who said they had seen a clock "larger."
Roberta was a very amiable child, but old Squire said she "wuz techus
erbout sum things." And the old clock must have been one of the things.
The chairs were brought from Virginia on the backs of mules, and the
covers on them embroidered by the little girl's grandmother. The same busy
hands that superintended the manufacture of those piles of linen sheets
stored away in the presses above stairs, and the counterpanes woven with
the American eagle in the center, bunches of hollyhocks and sweet pea in
the corners, and trumpet vines running along the edges.
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