"Ain't nobody been yere partic'ler 'cept Mister Harry Rutter. Dey alls
knowed you was away. Been yere mos' ev'ry day--come ag'in yisterday."

"Mr. Rutter been here!--Well, what did he want?"

"Dunno, sah,--didn't say. Seemed consid'ble shook up when he foun' you
warn't to home. I done tol' him you might be back to-day an' den ag'in
you mightn't--'pended on de way de ducks was flyin'. Spec' he'll be
roun' ag'in purty soon--seemed ter hab sumpin' on his min'. I'll tu'n de
knob, sah. Yere--git down, you imp o' darkness,--you Floe!--you Dandy!
Drat dem dogs!--Yere, YERE!" but all four dogs were inside now, making a
sweepstakes of the living-room, the rugs and cushions flying in every
direction.

Although Todd had spent most of the minutes since daylight peering up
and down the Square, eager for the first sight of the man whom he loved
with an idolatry only to be found in the negro for a white man whom he
respects, and who is kind to him, he had not neglected any of his other
duties. There was a roaring wood fire behind brass andirons and fender.
There was a breakfast table set for two--St. George's invariable custom.
"Somebody might drop in, you know, Todd." There was a big easy-chair
moved up within warming distance of the cheery blaze; there were pipes
and tobacco within reach of the master's hand; there was the weekly
newspaper folded neatly on the mantel, and a tray holding an
old-fashioned squat decanter and the necessary glasses--in fact, all the
comforts possible and necessary for a man who having at twenty-five
given up all hope of wedded life, found himself at fifty becoming
accustomed to its loss.

St. George seized the nearest dog by the collar, cuffed him into