Mike liked to talk, and was shrewd enough to see that Miriam liked to listen to him.

He determined to take advantage of this opportunity to find out something in regard to the doleful news brought to him by La Fleur and which, he feared, might be founded upon fact.
"Now look here, Miss Miriam," said he, lowering his voice a little, but not enough to make him seem disrespectfully confidential, "what you want is a first-class colored cook--not Phoebe, she's no good cook, an' won't live in the country, an' is so mighty stuck up that she don't like nuthin' but wheat bread, an' ain't no 'count anyway.

But I got a sister, Miss Miriam.

She's a number one, fust-class cook, knows all the northen an' southen an' easten an' westen kind of cookin', an' she's only got two chillun, what could keep in the house all day long an' not trouble nobody, 'side bringin' kindlin' an' runnin' errands; an' the husband, he's dead, an' that's a good sight better, Miss Miriam, than havin' him hangin' round, eatin' his meals here, an' bein' no use, 'cause he had rheumatism all over him, 'cept on his appetite." This suggestion pleased Miriam; here was a chance for another old family servant.
"I think I should like to have your sister, Mike," she said; "what is her name?
Is she working for anybody now ?" "Her name is Seraphina--Seraphina Paddock.

Paddock was his name.