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"
Oh
,
Miss
Looey
!
"
pursued
the
negress
,
as
her
fingers
fondly
played
among
the
lustrous
tresses
of
her
young
mistress
's
hair
,
"
how
bewful
you
hair
am
!
Like
de
long
'
Panish
moss
dat
hang
from
de
cyprus-tree
;
only
dat
it
am
ob
a
diff
're
nt
colour
,
an
shine
like
the
sugar-house
'
lasses
.
"
As
already
stated
,
Louise
Poindexter
was
a
Creole
.
After
that
,
it
is
scarce
necessary
to
say
that
her
hair
was
of
a
dark
colour
;
and
--
as
the
sable
maid
in
rude
speech
had
expressed
it
--
luxuriant
as
Spanish
moss
.
It
was
not
black
;
but
of
a
rich
glowing
brown
--
such
as
may
be
observed
in
the
tinting
of
a
tortoise-shell
,
or
the
coat
of
a
winter-trapped
sable
.
"
Ah
!
"
continued
Florinda
,
spreading
out
an
immense
"
hank
"
of
the
hair
,
that
glistened
like
a
chestnut
against
her
dark
palm
,
"
if
I
had
dat
lubbly
hair
on
ma
head
,
i
n'tead
ob
dis
cuss
'd
cully
wool
,
I
fotch
em
all
to
ma
feet
--
ebbry
one
oh
dem
.
"
"
What
do
you
mean
,
girl
?
"
inquired
the
young
lady
,
as
if
just
aroused
from
some
dreamy
reverie
.
"
What
's
that
you
've
been
saying
?
Fetch
them
to
your
feet
?
Fetch
whom
?
"
"
Na
,
now
;
you
know
what
dis
chile
mean
?
"
"
'
Pon
honour
,
I
do
not
.
"
"
Make
em
lub
me
.
Dat
's
what
I
should
hab
say
.
"
"
But
whom
?
"
"
All
de
white
gen
'
l
'm
.
De
young
planter
,
de
officer
ob
de
Fort
--
all
ob
dem
.
Wif
you
hair
,
Miss
Looey
,
I
could
dem
all
make
conquess
.
"
"
Ha
--
ha
--
ha
!
"
laughed
the
young
lady
,
amused
at
the
idea
of
Florinda
figuring
under
that
magnificent
chevelure
.
