continued in an attitude half familiar, half respectful, a listener.

"What is this, Caesar?" inquired Mr. Wharton, turning the bundle over to
examine its envelope, and eying it rather suspiciously.

"The 'baccy, sir; Harvey Birch, he got home, and he bring you a little
good 'baccy from York."

"Harvey Birch!" rejoined the master with great deliberation, stealing a
look at his guest. "I do not remember desiring him to purchase any
tobacco for me; but as he has brought it, he must be paid for
his trouble."

For an instant only, as the negro spoke, did Harper suspend his silent
meal; his eye moved slowly from the servant to the master, and again all
remained in impenetrable reserve.

To Sarah Wharton, this intelligence gave unexpected pleasure; rising
from her seat with impatience, she bade the black show Birch into the
apartment; when, suddenly recollecting herself, she turned to the
traveler with an apologizing look, and added, "If Mr. Harper will excuse
the presence of a peddler."

The indulgent benevolence expressed in the countenance of the stranger,
as he bowed a silent acquiescence, spoke more eloquently than the nicest
framed period, and the young lady repeated her order, with a confidence
in its truth that removed all embarrassment.

In the deep recesses of the windows of the cottage were seats of paneled
work; and the rich damask curtains, that had ornamented the parlor in