Year: 1878

Ny old washerwoman died the other
day, says 'Parmenas Mix" and several
new applicants for the position imme-
diately presented themselves. I engaged
a jet-black lady, who said she had wasI.-
ed the clothes of Governors, Senators,
ETC., and that her mother used to wash
for George Washington. She confidently
reCkoned that she could do justice to the
underwear of a common man. The first
washing she brought in was hardly sat
isfsctOry. vaguely intimated TO her
that I could have washed my shirts in
the creek and irOned them with a brick
with more nicely than she had done, but
she merely remarked that my previous
washerwOman had nearly spoiled my
underclOthes, and that it would take her
some time to bring them around all
right again. The next week l found a
hickory shirt, with a patch on each
shoulder, in my washing in place of one
of my own. She declared it must be
mine-she couldn't have made a mistake.
When pulled out a pair of number nine
wOOlen socks, patched IN the heels with
bag material, and asked her where she
came across those beauties, she seemed
very much astonished, and said: "Why,
honey, don you know you own ga'menis
-yO' isn't gone deranged, is your
had paid her for a month in advance,
and didn't say much. The next time
she came she brought three worn-out
cotton shirts in place of my fine linen
ones, and two figured calico handker-
chiefs that were riddled as badly as old
battle flags. She swOre they were mine,
then I fshed out pair of drawers big
enough for the Colossus of Rhodes with
an unbleached domestic patch on each
knee. She declared by all the gods on
Mount Olympus that she had got them
Of me. Then she went away and I sat
down and made a very earnest resolve
to discharge her the next week. My
underclothes were being metamorphOsed
in manner that was remarkable, to say
the least. / commenced to suspect that
her integrity was slightly tainted. She
came in the next week with the remark {:
BOSS, why don you get some new
shirts? These what yo' hab got now is
done WOred out. III hab to cha'ge yO'
mo TO- foolin' wild desc old rags" / dis
covered that she was right-they Sere
very old rags. They reminded me of
the shirt I wore for seventeen months
when a prisoner during the war. Pick
ing up an old black yarn stocking that
would have held a bushel of corn, I
plaintively asked her where she got that
Why, boss" she replied, 80 God dat's
yours. l allus keeps yO' washin' buy
itself and knows dat's yo' stOckin'" I
laid it aside and produced towel that
had more holes in it than a grain sieve.
She hastened to pledge me her word
and honor as a high-tOned, Christian
lady that it belonged to me. Then I
picked up knit undershirt that l could
not have got into unless I had been
ground up and showed into it with a
sausage suffer One sleeve was gone
and the other was in the act of leaving.
There was an old brass button at the
neck, and the rear tail was adorned with
a canvas patch in the shape of a Greek
cross. 'Do you say that shirt is mine ?"
I asked with q show Of Indignation.
Honey, yo' know it's yo' shirt" she
replied. ''If you is ashamed of yo' own
clothes, why dom yo' get new ones%
I didn't strike her. Never shall it be
said of me that I laid forcible hands on
a woman. l merely kicked her down
stairs and threw a chair at her. Since
1 have thought dispassionately of the
matter. Pm sorry that I didn't give her
a hint that I was oflef lied.