# A Study in Colour/Chapter 3

III.
n spite of possessing some of the finest pastures in the world, the milk supply in Creolia is scanty, and at some seasons of the year almost fails entirely.
It was only, therefore, as a special favour that a kind friend of the Missus allowed her to deal with her for the Baby Massa's daily supply.
She also undertook that it should be sent regularly to the hotel by "trustworthy messenger."
It appeared in due course early the following day. I use the word "appeared" advisedly, for it did so in three champagne bottles, standing upright in one of the shallow, round native baskets.
Somewhere under this basket, and quite overshadowed by its circling rim, was Angelina's small, round head. It looked a most unsafe arrangement, but she moved along ​at a great pace, with all the ease that long training had given her. She had carried such loads, and far heavier ones, from her babyhood, as her mother and grandmother had done before her, and indeed would have been sorely puzzled how to do so in any other way. In Creolia, everything, from the heaviest water-jar to a mango, is carried after this fashion, with the result that all the lower class of negro women are upright as darts, and carry their heads like queens.
She was a droll-looking little mortal, with a delicious velvety bloom on her dark chocolate cheek, that made the Missus realize for the first time how little mere colour has to do with beauty of complexion; for Angelina's complexion was beautiful in spite of its dusky hue; and indeed, with her well-knit, upright little figure, shining white teeth, and bright, dark eyes, she was at this time a perfect model of what a healthy little negro girl ought to be.
The Missus grew quite fond of Angelina. She was so smiling and quiet, and her two knocks, and gentle "Marning, Missus!" made a pleasant little prelude to the long, hot days.
If occasionally the cowman "had ​given the poor cows too much water," as the Missus diplomatically termed it, it was no fault of hers, and the delighted twinkle in her eyes, with which she engaged to give him the message, showed that she appreciated to the full the humour of the situation.
At first the milk used to arrive at all sorts of erratic hours, but the Missus found a remedy for that annoyance in the daily gift of a few sweets, if Angie was punctual. If she was later than she ought to be she got fewer sugar-plums, while if the milk was not forthcoming at the little Massa's breakfast-time, she was deprived of them altogether. On Sunday a small coin was added to the "sweeties" if she had been good throughout the week, as a reward of virtue.
Her costume on ordinary days consisted of a blue apron and a cotton gown, reaching to her brown knees, in a more or less tattered condition.
Although her mother was a dressmaker, and had a large circle of black and coloured ladies as customers, the idea of mending her little daughter's torn clothes never dawned on her.
To mend is an unknown verb in ​Creolia, and a stitch in time saves nine a proverb that has never been allowed a chance of proving its own wisdom.
Your black housemaid will buy two or three new dresses, and have as many more in the recesses of her trunk, and yet will appear before you as a mere bundle of rags; and this strange habit gives often a perfectly erroneous aspect of poverty to casual visitors. This was the case with Angelina, for on Sundays she blossomed as the rose, and was gorgeous in pink and yellow calico frocks.
Her head-dress, however, except for church-going, was invariably the same: a picturesque red-checked Madras handkerchief, tied in some mysterious way with a peculiar twist, round her little woolly head.
It suited her very well, but Angelina hated it, although she could not discard it, for she knew too well that her hair could only be termed hair by courtesy. Oh, the hours that she wasted trying to coax it into a couple of stiff little pigtails! But it was very refractory, and at last, with a sigh, she had to return to the red handkerchief, which so kindly hid all its failings; but as to have a "tied head" is tantamount ​to a confession of failure among the black girls, little Angelina felt it keenly.
Her woolly head was indeed at this time her worst trouble, for otherwise her small life was happy enough.
Her mother, Mrs. Orinthia Hall, was a decent black woman. Her father was black also. Her mother had consented to marry him rather late in life after a somewhat chequered past; and Angelina was her only black child.
Orinthia had two other daughters, before her marriage, but they were both light-coloured, and considered themselves very great ladies indeed, especially "Mrs. Thomas," the eldest, who was a mulatto.
Although both married themselves when it occurred, Orinthia's tardy alliance to a black man had been a great grievance to them, and the subsequent appearance of their little black half-sister had aggravated the matter. If their mother's marriage in itself had been, in their eyes, a slight, the woolly-haired Angelina was an additional and wholly gratuitous insult.
"What for you, Orinthia, want to marry dat black man ?" said the ​indignant Mrs. Thomas, on the occasion of their first introduction to their new little sister.
The two sisters had vowed never to put foot in Orinthia's new establishment, but curiosity to see the child, and rumours of the desirability of their mother's new abode, had overpowered their wrath, so they had arrived, although their visit was not altogether a friendly one. Orinthia looked up, apologetically, at her two scornful daughters.
"He berry good to me, daters; he neither drunk, nor beat me, nor bad in any one way—go to church too , an'—save money. Look, see hyar, at de house, he build it all himself. It nice lilly house for true. Look at de roof. An' he hab yams an' potatoes an' goats, an'——"
"Did you ebber hear de like," interrupted Mrs. Thomas." "She boast ob her things, an' hab no proper pride at all. I 'shamed for you, Orinthy, dat our moder should do such a ting, an' make such a marriage. Look at dis pic'ney hyar. Black as my shoe."
Orinthia looked regretfully at poor Angelina. She could not deny her blackness, but she once more tried feebly to defend herself.
"You both married now, daters— ​married so well too , an' with luck, for dey fine light-coloured men; but you know berry well dat you no like to keep me. I soon may grow ole. My eyes berry bad now for de dress making." This was an entirely imaginary affliction, evolved under stress of circumstances at the moment. "When I no able to work longer, you no able to help me; so better I marry David Hall, even if he black man, so dat he keep me 'spectably."
The sisters looked at each other. After all their mother had some sense. They knew well enough that their husbands were by no means disposed to support Orinthia in her old age, and, in fact, much preferred to ignore her black existence altogether.