"You're a fool--God bless you," he said.
"Go 'way f'om yer, young Marster," responded the negro, in a high
good-humour. "Dar's a speck er dut right on yo' shut."
"Then give me another," cried Dan, gayly, and threw off his coat.
When he went down stairs, carefully brushed, a half-hour afterward, the
world had grown suddenly to wear a more cheerful aspect. He greeted Mrs.
Hicks with his careless good-humour, and spoke pleasantly to the dirty
white-haired children that streamed through the dining room.
"Yes, I'll take my breakfast now, if you please," he said as he sat down at
one end of the long, oilcloth-covered table. Mrs. Hicks brought him his
coffee and cakes, and then stood, with her hands upon a chair back, and
watched him with a frank delight in his well-dressed comely figure.
"You do favour the Major, Mr. Dan," she suddenly remarked.
He started impatiently. "Oh, the Lightfoots are all alike, you know," he
responded. "We are fond of saying that a strain of Lightfoot blood is good
for two centuries of intermixing." Then, as he looked up at her faded
wrapper and twisted curl papers, he flinched and turned away as if her
ugliness afflicted his eyes. "Do not let me keep you," he added hastily.
But the woman stooped to shake a child that was tugging at her dress, and
talked on in her drawling voice, while a greedy interest gave life to her
worn and sallow face. "How long do you think of stayin'?" she asked
curiously, "and do you often take a notion to walk so fur in the dead of
night? Why, I declar, when I looked out an' saw you I couldn't believe my
eyes.
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