"'Most fo'ty years, sah. Long 'fo' Massa John Talbot died."

"Where's old Anthony?" I said.

"What Anthony? De fust major's body-servant?"

"Yes."

"Go 'long, honey. He's daid dese twenty years. Daid two years 'fo' Massa
Slocomb married Mis' Talbot."

"And Anthony never waited at all on Major Slocomb?"

"How could he wait on him, honey, when he daid 'fo' he see him?"

I pondered for a moment over the picturesque quality of the major's
mendacity.

Was it, then, only another of the major's tributes to his wife,--this
whole story of Anthony and the madeira of '39? How he must have loved this
dear relict of his military predecessor!

An hour later the major strolled into the sitting-room, his arm through
Jack's.

"Grand old place, is it not?" he said, turning to me. "Full of historic
interest. Of co'se the damnable oligarchy has stripped us, but"--

Here Aunt Rachel flopped in--her slippers, I mean; the sound was
distinctly audible.