I answered, "You have no business to whip me.

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.