Ah,
Cupid, old man, I'm glad to see you. And Aunt Rhody and Congo, how are you
all? Why, where's Big Abel? Don't tell me he isn't here to welcome me."
"Hyer I is, young Marster, hyer I is," cried Big Abel, stretching out his
hand over Congo's head, and "Hyer I is, too," shouted Cephas from behind
him. "I seed you fu'st, fo' de Lawd, I seed you fu'st!"
They gathered eagerly round him, and with a laugh, and a word for one and
all, he caught the outstretched hands, scattering his favours like a young
Jove. "Yes, I've remembered you--there, don't smother me. Did you think I'd
dare to show my face, Aunt Rhody, without the gayest neckerchief in Europe?
Why, I waited over in New York just to see that it was safe. Oh, don't
smother me, I say." The dogs came bounding in, and he greeted them with
much the same affectionate condescension, caressing them as they sprang
upon him, and pushing away the one that licked his face. When the overseer
ran in hastily to shake his hand, there was no visible change in his
manner. He greeted black and white with a courtesy which marked the social
line, with an affability which had a touch of the august. Had the gulf
between them been less impassable, he would not have dared the hearty
handshake, the genial word, the pat upon the head--these were a tribute
which he paid to the very humble.
When the servants had streamed chattering out through the back door, he put
his arms about the old people and led them into the library.
Pages:
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174