I don't belong to you."
My mother had so often told me that she was a free woman and that I
should not die a slave, I always had a feeling of independence, which
would invariably crop out in these encounters with my mistress; and
when I thus spoke, saucily, I must confess, she opened her eyes in
angry amazement and cried:
"You _do_ belong to me, for my papa left you to me in his will, when
you were a baby, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk so to
one that you have been raised with; now, you take that wrapper, and if
you don't do it up properly, I will bring you up with a round turn."
Without further comment, I took the wrapper, which was too handsome to
trust to an inexperienced hand, like Mrs. Mitchell very well knew I
was, and washed it, with the same direful results as chronicled
before. But I could not help it, as heaven is my witness. I was
entirely and hopelessly ignorant! But of course my mistress would not
believe it, and declared over and over again, that I did it on purpose
to provoke her and show my defiance of her wishes. In vain did I
disclaim any such intentions. She was bound to carry out her threat of
whipping me.
I rebelled against such government, and would not permit her to strike
me; she used shovel, tongs and broomstick in vain, as I disarmed her
as fast as she picked up each weapon.
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