She
went out and looked about her as she had done so many times during that
long day. She gazed at the water that was still rising; she peered
cautiously behind the stable and under the houses; she approached the
wood-pile as if under protest, gathered some logs into her arms and an axe
that was lying there; then turning toward the kitchen, she hastened her
steps, looking back over her shoulder now and again, as if fearing pursuit.
Once in the kitchen she threw down the wood and barred the door; she shut
the boarded window-shutter, fastening it with an iron hook; then leaning
the axe against the chimney, she sat down by the fire, muttering, "If dat
nigger come sneakin' back yer now, I'll split 'e haid open, _sho_."
Recovering a little from her panic, she was once more a cook, and swung the
crane from over the fire, brushed the coals from the top of the Dutch oven,
and pushed the tin kitchen farther from the blaze. "Mass Johnnie'll want
sump'h'n to eat some time dis night," she said; then, after a pause, "en I
gwine eat _now_." She got a plate and cup, and helped herself to hominy out
of the pot, and to a roll out of the oven; but though she looked at the
fowl she did not touch it, helping herself instead to a goodly cup of
coffee.
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