Theo tried to follow his advice in this, as in everything, but it was difficult. Not only was her body apathetic and heavy; but her mind also. Every movement, every thought required an expenditure of effort that appalled her. For longer and longer periods she lay on a sofa in her chamber, staring out of the window at the eternal drip, drip, drip of the gray moss. Books no longer interested her; she gradually gave up her attempt to fulfill the duties of plantation mistress. Even in the first month at the Oaks, before her health declined, she had not seemed able to cope with these duties satisfactorily.

The slaves, outwardly docile, yet treated her orders with a bland indifference. Phoebe, the fat cook, listened to Theo's planned menus, said 'Yas'm, Mistiss,' then produced exactly what she pleased. Nor was she a good cook, but slovenly and inept.

'The mistress of a plantation should order and direct the servants, should dispense supplies, should visit sick negroes and prescribe for them, should arbitrate disputes amongst the wenches, and occasionally deal out punishment'. This she knew from Joseph, and also from observation at Clifton. She had tried to follow this program. But when she visited the 'street' of negro cabins their laughter or singing was at once stilled, doors closed quickly at her approach, to open reluctantly at a knock, when a pickaninny would thrust his woolly head through the crack, murmuring that Mammy or Granny or Sis was out. They made her feel like an interloper, and completely superfluous.

In the management of household detail she was no more successful. She tried to institute certain reforms. Every morning at about eleven, thumpings and bangings shattered the quiet air for half an hour, while three kitchen wenches pounded the unhusked rice in wooden mortars made from tree-trunks. They pounded one day's supply at a time, enough for the buckra table and the household servants.

'On Monday morning,' Theo directed, 'call more girls from the quarters and pound enough rice for the whole week. We shall be spared this daily racket, nor will there be the constant nuisance of flying chaff and dust through the house.'

They stared at her blankly, but the most intelligent one at last nodded. Next morning the pounding continued as usual. Theo remonstrated sharply. Next day there was no pounding, but there was also no rice on the table. This mattered not at all to Theo, but Joseph was furious.

When she explained her plan, he retorted irritably: 'Let them alone. They always pound the rice every day'. 'Well, can't they do it somewhere else except under my windows?'

'Of course not; the flagstones outside the kitchen house are the proper place.'