She looked around her crowded, filthy room to see if there was anything left undone.
"I'd lak ter see myself. It done been many a day sence I clum' up ter see my image. That there booro air too high fer ol' Mam' Peachy now sence she done got so bent over. She pulled from under the bed a peculiar-looking carpet-covered stool, evidently home made. She stepped up on it and balanced herself precariously with her staff, while she peered in the mirror.
"Sweet debble! Ain't I a sight though?" she cackled. "I could make a white man run, sho' as shootin'. I wisht I had er thought er this begalia sooner an' I could er scairt that there Phup ter death."
With candle in hand she made her way through the house and began slowly to mount the stairs. Heavy breathing from Rolfe Bolling's bedroom gave evidence that her master was asleep. She paused a moment on the landing and endeavored to straighten her bent back, but the effort was too much for her and she was forced to proceed in her usual position with hands almost touching the floor. Indeed when she went upstairs her hands did touch the step immediately above the one on which she was standing.
"I's a debble! I's a debble! As big a debble
