"Miss Kesiah, dar's Marse Reuben in de hall en he sez he'd be moughty
glad ef'n you'd step down en speak a wud wid 'im."

"In a moment, Abednego. I must take off my things."

Withdrawing the short jet-headed pins from her bonnet with a hurried
movement, she stabbed them into the hard round pincushion on her bureau,
and after throwing a knitted cape over her shoulders, went down the wide
staircase to where Reuben awaited her in the hall. As she walked she
groped slightly and peered ahead of her with her nervous, short-sighted
gaze.

At the foot of the staircase, the old man was standing in a patient
attitude, resting upon his wooden leg, which was slightly in advance
of his sound one. His fine bearded face might have been the face of a
scholar, except for its roughened skin and the wistful, dog-like look in
the eyes.

In response to Kesiah's greeting, he explained that he had come at once
to acknowledge the gift of the overcoat and to "pay his respects."

"I am glad you like it," she answered, and because her heart was
swelling with kindness, she stammered and grew confused while the
anxious frown deepened between her eyebrows. A morbid horror of making
herself ridiculous prevented her always from making herself understood.

"It will be very useful to me, ma'am, when I am out of doors in bad
weather," he replied, wondering if he had offended her by his visit.