day. Hi Holler, the Bartlett chore boy, had been commissioned to go in
his stead, and Hi's toilet, in consequence, had occupied most of the
morning.

Mrs. Bartlett was churning in the shadow of the wide porch, the Squire
was mending a horse collar with wax thread, and fussing about the heat
and the slowness of Hi Holler, who was always punctually fifteen minutes
late for everything.

"Confound it, Looizy, what's keeping that boy; the train'll get in before
he's started. Here you, Hi, what's keeping you?"

The delinquent stood in the doorway, his broad face rippling with smiles;
he had spent time on his toilet, but he felt that the result justified it.

His high collar had already begun to succumb to the day, and the labor
involved in greasing his boots, which were much in evidence, owing to the
brevity of the white duck trousers that needed but one or two more
washings, with the accompanying process of shrinking, to convert them
into knickerbockers. Bear's grease had turned his ordinary curling brown
hair into a damp, shining mass that dripped in tiny rills, from time to
time, down on his coat collar, but Hi was happy. Beau Brummel, at the
height of his sartorial fame, never achieved a more self-satisfying
toilet.

The Squire adjusted his spectacles. "What are you dressing up like that
on a week day for, Hi? Off with you now; and if you ain't in time for
them cars you'll catch 'Hail Columbia' when you get back."

"Looizy," said the Squire, as soon as Hi was out of hearing, "why didn't