In the due revolution of the seasons King Cotton donned his royal robes of
ermine once more, and sacks again became the one thing needful. It was the
very rainiest, wettest, muddiest picking-season that had ever been seen.
In pursuance of my plan, I had seven or eight women down from the
quarters, and a spinning-wheel also, which was set to humming right under
our bed-room window.
The rainy weather had kept Charlie in the house, and he was lounging on a
couch in my room, enjoying a pleasant semi-doze, when the monotonous
whirr-r-r of the spinning-wheel first attracted his attention. "Lulie," he
asked, rising into a sitting posture, "what is that infernal noise on the
back gallery?"
"The spinning-wheel, Charlie. They are spinning thread to make the sacks
with," I answered, without looking up from my work.
"Oh!" and Charlie subsided for a while. "Ahem! Lulie, my dear, how long is
that devilish spinning to be kept up?"
"Devilish! Why, Charlie, that's the way mother did it."
"Well," said Charlie, scratching his head and looking foolish, "I know she
did, Lulie, but I'll be confounded if I can stand it much longer."
"Why, Charlie, you used to stand it when mother did it," I answered
maliciously.
"I was hardly ever about the house in those days, Lulie: I suppose that
was why I didn't mind it.
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