These small servants were always dressed in the cleanest, whitest, long-sleeved aprons, with white or red turbans on their heads. No establishment being considered complete without a multiplicity of these, they might be seen constantly darting about on errands from the house to the kitchen and the cabins, upstairs and downstairs, being, indeed, omnipresent and indispensable. It was the custom for a lady visitor to be accompanied to her room at night by one of these black, smiling "indispensables," who insisted so good-naturedly on performing all offices--combing her hair, pulling off her slippers, etc.--that one had not the heart to refuse, although it would have been sometimes more agreeable to be left alone. [Illustration: "ACCOMPANIED BY ONE OF THESE SMILING 'INDISPENSABLES'"--_Page 4._] The negroes were generally pleased at the appearance of visitors, from whom they were accustomed to receive some present on arriving or departing; the neglect of this rite being regarded as a breach of politeness. The old negroes were quite patriarchal, loved to talk about "old times," and exacted great respect from the young negroes, and also from the younger members of the white family. We called the old men "Uncle," and the old women "Aunt,"--these being terms of respect. The atmosphere of our own home was one of consideration and kindness. The mere recital of a tale of suffering would make my sister and myself weep with sorrow. And I believe the maltreatment of one of our servants--we had never heard the word "slave"--would have distressed us beyond endurance. We early learned that happiness consisted in dispensing it, and found no pleasure greater than saving our old dolls, toys, beads, bits of cake or candy, for the cabin children, whose delight at receiving them richly repaid us. If any of the older servants became displeased with us, we were miserable until we had restored the old smile by presenting some choice bit of sweetmeat to the offended one. I remember that once, when my grandmother scolded nurse Kitty, saying: "Kitty, the butler tells me you disturb the breakfast cream every morning by dipping out milk to wash your face," I burst into tears, and thought it hard that, when there were so many cows, poor Kitty could not wash her face in milk. Kitty had been told that her dark skin would be improved by a milk bath, which she had not hesitated to dip every morning from the breakfast buckets.