III

“Accepted.George Fairfax Carter,of Cartersville.”

“Accepted.George Fairfax Carter,of Cartersville.”

Then he folded the paper carefully and slipped it into his inside pocket.

This done, he shook Fitz’s hand gravely, nodded to me with the air of a man absorbed in some weighty matter, picked up his cane and hat and left the office.

“What in the name of common-sense is he going to do with that, Fitz?” I asked.

“I give it up,” said Fitz. “Ask me an easy one. Dear old soul, isn’t he lovely? He’s as much worried over the market as if every dollar at stake was his own. Now you’ve got to excuse me, Major. I’ve got a land-office business on hand to-day.”

The Colonel’s manner as he left the room had been so calm and measured, his back so straight, the swingof his cane so rhythmical, his firm military tread so full of courage and determination, that I had not followed him. When he is in these moods it is best to let him have his own way. Fitz and I had discovered this some days before, when we tried to dissuade him from planting into Klutchem’s rotundity the bullets which Chad had cast with so much care.

Had I questioned him as he walked out this morning he would doubtless have said, “I do not expect you Nawthern men, with yo’r contracted ideas of what constitutes a man’s personal honor, to understand the view I take of this mattuh, Major, but my blood requires it. I never forget that I am a Caarter, suh,—and you must never forget it either.”

Moreover, had I gone with him the visit might have assumed an air of undue importance. There was nothing therefore for me to do but to wait. So I buried my self in an arm-chair, picked up the morning papers, and tried to possess my soul in patience until the Colonel should again make his appearance with a full report of his mission.

Twice during my long wait Fitz burst in, grabbed up some papers from his desk and bounded out again, firing some orders to his clerks as he disappeared through the door. He was too absorbed to more than nod to me, and he never once mentioned the Colonel’s name.

About noon a customer in the outer office—there were half a dozen of them watching the ticker—handed an “extra” to the clerk, who brought it to me. ConsolidatedSmelting was up ten points; somebody had got out an injunction, and two small concerns in Broad Street had struck their colors and sent word to the Exchange that they could not meet their contracts.

Still no Colonel!

Had he failed to find Klutchem; had he been thrown out of the office or had he refrained from again visiting Fitz until he had accomplished something definite for his relief?

With the passing of the hours I became uneasy. The Colonel, I felt sure, especially in his present frame of mind, would not desert Fitz unless something out of the common had happened. I would go to Klutchem’s office first, and not finding him there, I would keep on to Bedford Place and interview Chad.

“Been here?” growled Klutchem’s clerk in answer to my question. “Well, I should think so. Tried to murder Mr. Klutchem. They’re all up at the police station. Nice day for a muss like this when everything’s kitin’! You don’t know whether you’re a-foot or a-horseback! These fire-eaters ought to be locked up!”

“Arrested!”

“Well, you’d a-thought so if you’d been here half an hour ago. He kept comin’ in callin’ for Mr. Klutchem, and then he sat down and said he’d wait. Looked like a nice, quiet old fellow, and nobody took any notice of him. When Mr. Klutchem came in—he’d been to the Clearing-house—they both went into his private office and shut the door. First thing we heard was someloud talk and then the thump of a cane, and when I got inside the old fellow was beatin’ Mr. Klutchem over the head with a stick thick as your wrist. We tried to put him out, or keep him quiet, but he wanted to fight the whole office. Then a cop heard the row and came in and took the bunch to the station. Do you know him?”

This last inquiry coming at the end of the explosion showed me how vivid the scene still was in the clerk’s mind and how it had obliterated every other thought.

“Know him! I should think I did,” I answered, my mind in a whirl. “Where have they taken him?”

“Where have they taken ’em, Billy?” asked the clerk, repeating my question to an assistant.

“Old Slip. You can’t miss it. It’s got a lamp over the door.”

The Sergeant smiled when I stepped up to the desk and made the inquiry.

Yes; a man named Klutchem had made a charge of assault against one George Carter. Carter was then locked up in one of the cells and could not be interviewed without the consent of the Captain of the Precinct who would be back in a few minutes.

“Guess it ain’t serious,” the Sergeant added. “Couple of old sports got hot, that’s all, and this old feller—” and he hunched his shoulder towards the cells—“pasted the other one over the nut with his toothpick. Step one side. Next!”

I sat down on a bench. The dear Colonel locked up in a cell like a common criminal. What would Chad say; what would Aunt Nancy say; what would Fitz say; what would everybody say? And then the mortification to him; the wounding of his pride; the disgrace of it all.

Men and women came and went; some with bruised heads, some with blackened eyes, one wearing a pair of handcuffs—a sneak thief, caught, with two overcoats. Was the Colonel sharing a cell with such people as these? The thought gave me a shiver.

A straightening-up of half a dozen policemen; a simultaneous touching of caps, and the Captain, a red-faced, black-moustached, blue-coated chunk of a man, held together at the waist by a leather belt and be-decked and be-striped with gilt buttons and gold braid, climbed into the pulpit of justice and faced the room.

I stepped up.

He listened to my story, nodded his head to a doorman and I followed along the iron corridor and stood in front of a row of cells. The Turnkey looked over a hoop of keys, turned one in a door, threw it wide and said, waving his finger:

“Inside!” These men use few words.

The Colonel from the gloom of the cell saw me first.

“Why, you dear Major!” he cried. “You are certainly a good Sama’itan. In prison and you visited me. I am sorry that I can’t offer you a chair, suh, but you see that my quarters are limited. Fortunately sofar I have been able to occupy it alone. Tell me of Fitz——”

“But Colonel!” I gasped. “I want to know how this happened? How was it possible that you——”

“My dear Major, that can wait. Tell me ofFitz. He has not been out of my thoughts a moment. Will he get through the day? I did eve’ything I could, suh, and exhausted eve’y means in my power.”

“Fitz is all right. They’ve got out an injunction and the market is steadier——”

“And will he weather the gale?”

“I think so.”

“Thank God for that, suh!” he answered, his lips quivering. “When you see him give him my dea’est love and tell him that I left no stone unturned.”

“Why you’ll see him in an hour yourself. You don’t suppose we are going to let you stay here, do you?”

“I don’t know, suh. I am not p’epared to say. I have violated the laws of the State, suh, and I did it purposely, and I’m willin’ to abide the consequences and take my punishment. I should have struck Mr. Klutchem after what he said to me if I had been hanged for it in an hour. I may be released, suh, but it will not be with any taint on my honor. And now that my mind is at rest about Fitz, I will tell you exactly what occurred and you can judge for yo’self.

“When Mr. Klutchem at last arrived at his office—I had gone there several times—I said to him:

“‘Don’t start, Mr. Klutchem, I have come in theinterest of my friend, Mr. Fitzpatrick. And diff’ences between you and me can wait for a mo’ convenient season.’

“‘Come in,’ he said, and he looked somewhat relieved, ‘what do you want?’ and we entered his private office and sat down. I then, in the most co’teous manner, went into the details of the transaction, and asked him in the name of decency that he would not crowd Fitz to the wall and ruin him, but that he would at least give him time to make good his obligations.

“‘He can have it,’ he blurted out, ‘have all the time he wants—all of ’em can have it.’ You know how coarse he can be, Major, and can understand how he said this. ‘But’—and here Mr. Klutchem laid his finger alongside his nose—a vulgaar gesture, of co’se, but quite in keepin’ with the man—‘we want some collateral that are copper-fastened and gilt-edged all the way through’—I quote his exact words, Major.

“‘I have expected that, suh,’ I said, ‘and I came p’epared,’ and I unbuttoned my coat, took out the document you saw me sign in Fitz’s office, and laid it befo’ him.

“‘What is this?’ he said.

“‘My entire interest in the Caartersville and Warrenton Air Line Railroad,’ I answered. ‘The whole issue of the Gaarden Spots, as you have no doubt heard them familiarly and very justly called, suh.’

“He looked at me and said:

“‘Why these are not bonds—it is only an offer to print ’em,’ he said.

“‘I am aware of that,’ I answered, ‘but look at my signature, suh. I shall on your acceptance of my proposition, transfer the whole issue to you—then they become yo’ absolute property.’

“‘For what?’ he interrupted.

“‘As an offerin’ for my friend, suh.’

“‘What! As margin for Consolidated Smeltin’?’

“‘True, suh. They are, of co’se, largely in excess of yo’ needs, but Mr. Fitzpatrick is one of my dea’est friends. You, of co’se, realize that I am left penniless myself if my friend’s final obligation to you should exceed their face value.’

“He got up, opened the door of a safe and said, ‘Do you see that tin box?’

“‘I do, suh.’

“‘Do you know what is in it?’

“‘I do not, suh.’

“‘Full of stuff that will sell under the hammer above par. Tell Mr. Fitzpatrick if he and his customers have anythin’ like that to bring it in—and look here’—and he pulled out a small drawer. ‘See that watch?’ I looked in and saw a gold watch, evidently a gentleman’s, Major. ‘That watch belonged to a customer who got short of our stock last week. It’s wiped out now and a lot of other things he brought in. That’s what we callcollateraldown here.’

“‘I am not surprised, suh,’ I answered. ‘If men of yo’ class can fo’ce themselves into our county; divest a man of his silver-plate and family po’traits, as was done to a gentleman friend of mine of the higheststandin’ in my own State by a Nawthern caarpet-bag Bank, I am not astonished that you avail yo’self of a customer’s watch.’ I said ‘divest’ and ‘avail,’ Major. I intended to say ‘steal’ and ‘rob’ but I checked myself in time.

“‘Do you think that’s any worse than yo’ comin’ down here and tryin’ to bunco me with a swindle like that’—and he picked up the document and tossed it on the flo’.

“You know me well enough, Major, to know what followed. Befo’ the words were out of his mouth he was flat on his back and I standin’ over him with my cane. Then his clerks rushed in and separated us. My present situation is the result.”

The Colonel stopped and looked about the prison corridor. “Strange and interestin’ place, isn’t it, Major? I shall be reasonably comfo’table here, I s’pose”—and he raised his eyes towards the white-washed ceiling. “There is not quite so much room as I had at City Point when I was a prisoner of war, but I shall get along, no doubt. I have not inqui’ed yet whether they will allow me a servant, but if they do I shall have Chad bring me down some comfo’ts in the mornin’. I think I should like a blanket and pillow and perhaps an easy-chair. I can tell better after passin’ the night here. By the way, Major, on yo’ way home you might stop and see Chad. Tell him the facts exactly as I have stated them to you. He will understand; he was with me, you remember, when I was overpow’ed and captured the last year of the War.”

The Turnkey, who had been pacing up and down the corridor, stopped in front of the gate. The Colonel read the expression on his face, and shaking my hand warmly, said with the same air that a captured general might have had in taking leave of a member of his staff:

“The officer seems impatient, Major, and I must, therefo’, ask you to excuse me. My dear love to Fitz, and tell him not to give my imprisonment a thought. Good-by,” and he waved his hand majestically and stepped back into the cell.

The arrival of Fitz in a cab at the police-station half an hour later—just time enough for me to run all the way to his office—the bailing out of the Colonel much against his protest, his consent being gained only when Fitz and I assured him that such things were quite within the limit of our judicial code, and that no stain on his honor would or could ensue from any such relief; the Colonel’s formal leave-taking of the Captain, the Sergeant and the Turnkey, each of whom he thanked impressively for the courtesies they had shown him; our driving—the Colonel and I—post-haste to Bedford Place, lest by any means Chad might have heard of the affair and so be frightened half out of his wits; the calm indifference of that loyal darky when he ushered us into the hall and heard the Colonel’s statement, and Chad’s sententious comment: “In de Calaboose, Colonel! Well, fo’ Gawd! what I tell ye ’bout dis caanin’ bis’ness. Got to git dem barkers ready jes’ I tol’ ye; dat’s de only thing dat’ll settle dis muss,”—these and other incidents of the day equally interesting form connecting links in a story which has not only become part of the history of the Carter family but which still serve as delightful topics whenever the Colonel’s name is mentioned by his many friends in the Street.

More important things, however, than the arrest and bailing out of the Colonel were taking place in the Street. One of those financial bombs which are always lying around loose—a Pacific Mail, or Erie, or N. P.—awaiting some fool-match to start it, sailed out from its hiding-place a few minutes before the Exchange closed—while Fitz was bailing out the Colonel, in fact—hung for an instant trembling in mid-air, and burst into prominence with a sound that shook the Street to its foundations. In five minutes the floor of the Exchange was a howling mob, the brokers fighting, tearing, yelling themselves hoarse. Money went up to one per cent and legal interest over night, and stocks that had withstood every financial assault for years tottered, swayed and plunged headlong. Into the abyss fell Consolidated Smelting. Not only were the ten points of the day’s rise wiped out, but thirty points besides. Shares that at the opening sold readily at 55 went begging at 30. Klutchem and his backers were clinging to the edges of the pit with ruin staring them in the face, and Fitz was sailing over the crater thousands of dollars ahead of his obligations.

The following morning another visitor—a well-dressed man with a diamond pin in his scarf—walked up and down Fitz’s office awaiting his arrival—a short, thick-set, large-paunched man with a heavy jaw, a straight line of a mouth, two little restless eyes wobbling about in a pulp of wrinkles, flabby cheeks, a nose that was too small for the area it failed to ornament,and a gray stubbly beard shaven so closely at its edges that it looked as if its owner might either wear it on his chin or put it in his pocket at his pleasure.

“Down yet?” asked the visitor in a quick, impatient voice.

“Not yet, Mr. Klutchem. Take a seat.” Then the clerk passed his hand over his face to straighten out a rebellious smile and hid his head in the ledger.

“I’ll wait,” retorted the banker, and stepping inside Fitz’s private office he settled himself in a chair, legs apart, hands clasped across his girth.

Fitz entered with an air that would have carried comfort to the Colonel’s soul—with a spring, a breeze, a lightness; a being at peace with all the world; and best of all with a self-satisfied repose that was in absolute contrast to the nervousness of the day before.

“Who?” he asked of his clerk.

“Klutchem.”

“Where?”

The clerk pointed to the office door.

Fitz’s face straightened out and grew suddenly grave, but he stepped briskly into his sanctum and faced his enemy.

“Well, what is it, Mr. Klutchem?”

Before his visitor opened his mouth, Fitz saw that the fight was all out of the Head Centre of Consolidated Smelting. A nervous, conciliatory smile started from the line of Klutchem’s mouth, wrinkled the flesh of his face as far as his cheeks, and died out again.

“We got hit pretty bad yesterday, Fitzpatrick, andI thought we might as well talk it over and see if we couldn’t straighten out the market.”

“Then it isn’t about Colonel Carter?” said Fitz coldly.

He had all the Consolidated he wanted and didn’t see where Klutchem could be of the slightest use in straightening out anything.

“I’ll attend to him later,” replied Klutchem, and a curious expression overspread his face. “You heard about it, then?”

“Heard about it! I bailed him out. If you wanted to lock anybody up why didn’t you get after some one who knew the ropes, not a man like the Colonel who never had a dishonest thought in his head and who is as tender-hearted as a child.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” flared Klutchem. “He came down with a cock-and-bull story and wanted me to take——”

“I know the whole story, every word of it. He came down to offer you every dollar of his interest in a scheme that is as real to him as if the bonds were selling on the Exchange at par. They are all he has in the world, and if some miracle should occur and they should be worth their face value he would never touch a penny of the proceeds if he was starving to death, because of the promise he made you. And in my interest, too, not his own, and all for love of me, his friend.”

“But it was only a letter from a concern offering to print——”

“Certainly. And across it he had written his name—both, I grant you, not worth the paper they were written on. But why didn’t you have the decency to humor the dear old fellow as we all do, and treat him with the same courtesy with which he treated you, instead of insulting him by throwing the letter in his face. You’ll excuse me, Mr. Klutchem, when I say it gets me pretty hot when I think of it. I don’t blame him for cracking you over the head, and neither would you, if you understood him as I do.”

Klutchem looked out of the window and twisted his thumbs for an instant as if in deep thought. The outcome of the interview was of the utmost importance to him, and he did not want anything to occur which would prejudice his case with the broker. Fitz sat in front of him, bent forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes boring into Klutchem’s.

Then a puzzled, and strange to say what appeared to be a more kindly expression broke over Klutchem’s face.

“I guess I was rough, but I didn’t mean it, really. You know how it was yesterday—regular circus all day. I wouldn’t have made the charge at the police-station—for he didn’t hurt me much—if the policeman hadn’t compelled me. And then don’t forget, this isn’t the first time I’ve come across him. He came to my house once when I was laid up with the gout, and——”

“Yes,” interrupted Fitz, “I haven’t forgotten it, and what did he come for? To apologize, didn’t he? Ishould have thought you’d have seen enough of him at that time to know what kind of a man he was. Down here in the Street we’ve got to put things down on paper and we don’t trust anybody. We don’t understand the kind of a man whose word is literally as good as his bond, and who, to help any man he calls his friend, would spend his last cent and go hungry the balance of his life. I’ve lived round here a good deal in my time and I’ve seen all kinds of men, but the greatest compliment I ever had paid me in my life was when the Colonel offered you yesterday the scrap of paper that you threw back in his face.”

As Fitz talked on Klutchem’s tightly knit brows began to loosen. He hadn’t heard such things for a good many years. Life was a scramble and devil take the hindermost with him. If anybody but Fitz—one of the level-headed men in the Street—had talked to him thus, he might not have paid attention, but he knew Fitz was sincere and that he spoke from his heart. The still water at the bottom of the banker’s well—the water that was frozen over or sealed up, or so deep that few buckets ever reached it—began to be stirred. His anxiety over Consolidated only added another length to the bucket’s chain.

“Fitzpatrick, I guess you’re right. What ought I to do?”

“You ought to go up to his house this very day and beg his pardon, and then wipe out that idiotic charge you made at the police-station.”

“I will, Fitzpatrick.”

“You will?”

“Yes.”

“There’s my hand. Now bring out your Consolidated Smelting, and I’ll do what’s decent.”

At four o’clock that same day Fitz, with Mr. Klutchem beside him, swung back the wicket-gate of the tunnel, traversed its gloom, crossed the shabby yard piled high with snow heaped up by Chad’s active shovel, and rapped at the front door of the little house.

The Colonel was in his chair by the fire. I had just told him the good news, and he and I were sampling a fresh bottle of the groceryman’s Madeira in celebration of the joyous turn in Fitz’s affairs, when Chad with eyes staring from his head announced:

“Misser Klutchem and Misser Fitzpatrick.”

What the old darky thought was coming I do not know, but I learned afterwards, that as soon as he had closed the door behind the visitors, he mounted the stairs three steps at a time, grabbed up the case of pistols from his master’s dressing-table, pulled the corks from their mouths, and hurrying down laid the case and its contents on the hall table to be ready for instant use.

The announcement of Klutchem’s name brought the Colonel to his feet as straight as a ramrod.

“It’s all right, Colonel,” said Fitz, noting the color rise in his friend’s face. “Mr. Klutchem and I have settled all our differences. He has just offered me a barrel of Consolidated, and at my own price. That fight’s all over, and I bear him no grudge. As to yourself,he has come up to tell you how sorry he is for what occurred yesterday, and to make any reparation to you in his power.”

Klutchem had not intended to go so far as that, and he winced a little under Fitz’s allusion to the “barrel,” but he was in for it now, and would follow Fitz’s lead to the end. Then again, the papers in the Consolidated matter would not be signed until the morning.

“Yes, Carter, I’m sorry. Fact is, I misunderstood you. I was very busy, you remember, and I’m sorry, too, for what occurred at the police-station; that, however, you know I couldn’t help.”

The omission of the Virginian’s title scraped the skin from the Colonel’samour propre, but the words “I’m sorry” coming immediately thereafter healed the wound.

The military bearing of our host began to relax.

“And you have come here with my friend Mr. Fitzpatrick to tell me this?”

“I have.”

“And you intended no reflection on my honor when you—when you—handed me back my secu’ities?”

“No, I didn’t. The stuff wasn’t our kind, you know. If I had stopped to hear what you had to say I’d——”

“Let it all pass, suh. I accept yo’ apology in the spirit in which it was given, suh. As to my imprisonment, that is a matter which is not of the slightest consequence. We soldiers are accustomed to these inconveniences, suh. It is part of the fortunes of war.Take that chair, Mr. Klutchem, and let my servant relieve you of yo’ coat and hat.”

The promptness with which that individual answered to his name left no doubt in my mind that that worthy defender of the Colonel’s honor had been standing ready outside the door, which had been left partly open for the purpose, his hand on the knob.

“Yes, sah. I heard ye, Colonel.”

“And, Chad, bring some glasses for the gentlemen.”

Klutchem settled his large frame in the chair that had been vacated by the Colonel, and watched the glass being slowly filled from a decanter held in his host’s own hands. Fitz and I retired to the vicinity of the sideboard, where he gave me in an undertone an account of the events of the morning.

“Got a nice box of a place here, Colonel,” remarked Mr. Klutchem. He remembered the title this time—the surroundings had begun to tell upon him. “Cost you much?” and the broker’s eyes roamed about the room, taking in the big mantel, the brass andirons, India blue china and silver candlesticks.

“A mere trifle, suh,” said the Colonel, stiffening. The cost of things were never mentioned in this atmosphere. “To associate bargain and sale with the appointments of yo’ household is like puttin’ yo’ hospitality up at auction,” he would frequently say.

“A mere trifle, suh,” he repeated. “My estates, as you probably know, are in Virginia, near my ancestral town of Caartersville. Are you familiar with that part of the country, suh?”

And thereupon, on the banker’s expressing his entire ignorance of Fairfax County and its contiguous surroundings, the Colonel, now that his honor as a duellist had been satisfied by Klutchem’s apologies; his friend’s ruin averted by the banker’s generosity, as was attested by his offering Fitz a barrel full of securities which the day previous were worth their weight in gold; and especially because this same philanthropist was his guest, at once launched forth on the beauty of his section of the State. In glowing terms he described the charms of the river Tench; the meadows knee-deep in clover; the mountains filled with the riches of the Orient looming up into the blue; the forests of hardwood, etc., etc., and all in so persuasive and captivating a way that the practical banker, always on the lookout for competent assistants, made a mental memorandum to consult Fitz in the morning on the possibility of hiring the Colonel to work off an issue of State bonds which at the moment were dead stock on his hands.

By this time Klutchem, warmed by his host’s Madeira and cheery fire, had not only become really interested in the man beside him, but had lost to a certain extent something of his blunt Wall Street manner and hard commercial way of looking at things. It was, therefore, not surprising to either Fitz or myself, who had watched the gradual adjustment of the two men, to hear the Colonel, who had now entirely forgotten all animosity towards his enemy say to Klutchem with great warmth of manner, and with theevident intention of not being outdone in generosity at such a time:

“I would like to show you that gaarden, suh. Perhaps some time I may have the pleasure of entertainin’ you in my own home at Caartersville.”

Mr. Klutchem caught his breath. He saw the Colonel was perfectly sincere, and yet he could not but admit the absurdity of the situation. Invited to visit the private estate of a man who had caned him the day before, and against whom he was expected in the morning to make a complaint of assault and battery!

“Oh, that’s mighty kind, Colonel, but I guess you’ll have to excuse me.”

The banker, as he spoke, glanced at Fitz. He didn’t want to do anything to offend Fitz—certainly not until the papers in the Consolidated Smelting settlement were complete and the documents signed—and yet he didn’t see how he could accept.

“But I won’t take no for an answer, suh. Miss Caarter will be here in a day or two, and I will only be too happy to discuss with her the date of yo’ visit.”

Before Klutchem could refuse again Fitz stepped forward, and, standing over Mr. Klutchem’s chair, dug his knuckles into the broker’s back. The signal was unmistakable.

“Well, thank you, Colonel. I’ll speak to my daughter about it, and if——”

“Yo’ daughter, suh? Then I am sure the last obstacle is removed. Miss Caarter will be mo’ than delighted, suh, to entertain her, too. I will ascertainmy aunt’s plans as soon as she arrives, and will let you know definitely when she will be best p’epared for yo’ entertainment.”

When the party broke up, and Fitz and Mr. Klutchem had been helped on with their coats by Chad, Klutchem remarked to Fitz as we all walked through the tunnel:

“Queer old party, Fitzpatrick; queerest I ever saw. You were right—not a crooked hair in his head. Glad I came. Of course I can’t go down to his place—haven’t got the time—but I bet you he’d be glad to see me if I did. Funny, too—poor as a rat and busted, and yet he never said ‘Garden Spots,’ once.”

On my re-entering the house,—Fitz had gone on with Klutchem—Chad, who was waiting for me, took me into a corner of the hall and said in a voice filled with disappointment:

“What I tell ye, Major? Ain’t dat too bad? I ain’t never gwine ter forgib de Colonel for lettin’ him git away. Gor-A-Mighty! Did ye see de size of him—hardly git frough de gate! Why, der warn’t no chance o’ missin’ him. Colonel could a-filled him ful o’ holes as a sieve.”

The Colonel’s positive injunction that each one of his friends should call on every one of his guests within forty-eight hours of their arrival was never necessary in the case of Miss Ann Carter. One day was enough for me—one hour would have been more to my liking. Only consideration for her comfort, and the knowledge that she would be somewhat fatigued by her journey from Carter Hall northward, ever kept me away from her that long. Then, again, I knew that she wanted at least one entire day in which to straighten out the various domestic accounts of the little house in Bedford Place, including that complicated and highly-prized pass-book of the “Grocerman.”

And then Chad’s delight when he opened the door with a sweep, his face a sunburst of smiles and announced Miss Carter’s presence in the house! And the new note in the Colonel’s voice—a note of triumph and love and pride! And the touches here and there inside the cosy rooms; touches that only a woman can give—a new curtain here, a pot of flowers there: all joyous happenings that made a visit to Aunt Nancy, as we loved to call her, one of the events to be looked forward to.

But it was not Chad who opened the door on this particular morning. That worthy darky was otherwise occupied; in the kitchen, really, plucking the feathers from the canvas-back ducks. They had been part of the dear lady’s impedimenta, not to mention a huge turkey, a box of terrapin, and a barrel of Pongateague oysters, besides unlimited celery, Tolman sweet potatoes, and a particular brand of hominy, for which Fairfax County was famous.

I say it was not Chad at all who opened the door and took my card, but a scrap of a pickaninny about three feet high, with closely-cropped wool, two strings of glistening white teeth—two, for his mouth was always open; a pair of flaring ears like those of a mouse, and two little restless, wicked eyes that shone like black diamonds: the whole of him, with the exception of his cocoanut of a head, squeezed into a gray cloth suit bristling with brass buttons and worsted braid, a double row over his chest, and a stripe down each seam of his trousers.

Aunt Nancy’s new servant!

The scrap held out a silver tray; received my card with a dip of his head, threw back the door of the dining-room, scraped his foot with the flourish of a clog dancer, and disappeared in search of his mistress.

Chad stepped from behind the door, his face in a broad grin. He had crept up the kitchen stairs, and had been watching the boy’s performance from the rear room. His sleeves were rolled up and some of the breast feathers of the duck still stuck to his fingers.

“Don’t dat beat de lan’! Major,” he said to me. “Did ye see dem buttons on him? Ain’t he a wonder? Clar to goodness looks like he’s busted out wid brass measles. And he a-waitin’ on de Mist’iss! I ain’t done nothin’ but split myself a-laughin’ ever since he come. MY!!!” and Chad bent himself double, the tears starting to his eyes.

“What’s his name, Chad?”

“Says his name’s Jeems.Jeems, mind ye!” Here Chad went into another convulsion. “Jim’s his real name, jes’ Jim. He’s one o’ dem Barbour niggers. Raised down t’other side de Barbour plantation long side of our’n. Miss Nancy’s been down to Richmond an’ since I been gone she don’t hab nobody to wait on her, an’ so she tuk dis boy an’ fixed him up in dese Richmond clothes. He says he’s free.Free, mind ye! Dat’s what all dese no count niggers is. But I’m watchin’ him, an’ de fust time he plays any o’ dese yer free tricks on me he’ll land in a spell o’ sickness,” and Chad choked himself with another chuckle.

The door swung back.

“Miss Caarter say dat she’ll be down in a minute,” said the scrap.

Chad straightened his face and brought it down to a semblance of austerity; always a difficult task with Chad.

“Who did you say was yere?” he asked.

“I didn’t say—I handed her de kerd.”

“How did you carry it?”

“In my pan.”

“What did ye do wid de pan?”

The boy’s face fell.

“I lef’ it in de hall, sah.”

“Sah! sah! Don’t you ‘sah’ me. Ain’t nobody ‘sah’ round yere but de Colonel. What I tell you to call me?”

“Uncle Chad.”

“Dat’s it, Uncle Chad. Now go ’long, honey, an’ take yo’ seat outside wid yo’ pan; plenty folks comin’, now dey know de Mist’iss here. Dar she is now. Dat’s her step, on de stairs, Major. I doan’ want her to catch me lookin’ like dis. Drap into de kitchen, Major, as ye go out, I got sumpin’ to show ye. Dem tarr’pins de Mist’iss fotch wid her make yo’ mouf water.”

Some women, when they enter a room, burst in like a child just out of school and overwhelm you with the joyousness of their greetings; others come in without a sound, settle into a seat and regale you in monotones with histories of either the attendant misery or the expected calamity.

Aunt Nancy floated in like a bubble blown along a carpet, bringing with her a radiance, a charm, a gentleness, a graciousness of welcome, a gladness at seeing you, so sincere and so heartfelt, that I always felt as if a window had been opened letting in the sunshine and the perfume of flowers.

“Oh, my dear Major!” and she held out her hand; that tiny little hand which lace becomes so well, and that always suggests its morning baptism of rose water.Such a dainty white hand! I always bend over and kiss it whenever I have the chance, trying my best to be the gallant I know she would like me to be.

After the little ceremony of my salutation was over I handed her to a seat, still holding her finger-tips, bowing low just as her own cavaliers used to do in the days when she had half the County at her feet. I love these make-believe ceremonies when I am with her—and then again I truly think she would not be so happy without them. This over I took my place opposite so I could watch her face and the smiles playing across it—that face which the Colonel always said reminded him of “Summer roses a-bloom in October.”

We talked of her journey and of how she had stood the cold and how reluctant she had been at first to leave Carter Hall, especially at the Christmas season, and of the Colonel (not a word, of course, about the encounter with Klutchem—no one would have dared breathe a word of that to her), and then of the scrap of a pickaninny she had brought with her.

“Isn’t he too amusing? I brought him up as much to help dear Chad as for any other reason. But he is incorrigible at times and I fear I shall have to send him back to his mother. I thought the livery might increase his self-respect, but it only seems to have turned his head. He doesn’t obey me at all, and is so forgetful. Chad is the only one of whom, I think, he is at all afraid.”

A knock now sounded in the hall and I could hear the shuffling of Jim’s feet, and the swinging back ofthe door. Then Fitz’s card was brought in—not on the silver tray this time, but clutched in the monkey paw of the pickaninny.

Aunt Nancy looked at him with a certain well-assumed surprise and drew back from the proffered card.

“James, is that the way to bring me a card? Have I not told you often——”

The boy looked at her, his face in a tangle of emotions. “DePan! Fo’ Gord, Mist’iss, I done forgot dat pan,” and with a spring he was out again, returning with Fitz’s pasteboard on the silver tray, closely followed by that gentleman himself, who was shaking with laughter over the incident.

“One of your body-guard, Aunt Nancy?” said Fitz, as he bent over and kissed her hand. It was astonishing how easily Fitz fell into these same old-time customs when he was with the dear lady—he, of all men.

“No, dear friend, one of the new race of whom I am trying to make a good servant. His grandmother in slave times belonged to a neighbor of ours, and this little fellow is the youngest of six. I’ve just been telling the Major what a trial he is to me. And now let me look at you. Ah! you have been working too hard. I see it in your eyes. Haven’t you had some dreadful strain lately?”

Fitz declared on his honor, with one hand over his upper watch pocket, and the other still in hers, that he never felt better in his life, and that so idle had he become lately, that it was hard work for him to keep employed. And then Aunt Nancy made him sit besideher on the hair-cloth sofa, the one on which Fitz would not permit the Colonel to sleep, and I, being nearest, tucked a cushion under her absurdly small feet and rearranged about her shoulders her Indian mull shawl, which didn’t require any rearranging at all. And after Fitz had told the dear lady for the third time how glad he was to see her, and after she had told him how glad she was to see both of us, and how she hoped dear George would soon secure the money necessary to build his railroad, so that we could all come to Carter Hall for next Christmas, she adding gravely that she really couldn’t see any need for the road’s existence or any hope of its completion, although she never said so to dear George, she being a woman and not expected to know much of such things;—after, I say, all these delightful speeches and attentions and confidences had been indulged in, Aunt Nancy bent her head, turned her sweet face framed in the lace cap and ribbons, first towards me and then back to Fitz again—she had been talking to Fitz all this time, I listening—and said with the air of a fairy godmother entertaining two children:

“And now I’ve got a great Christmas surprise for both of you, and you shall have one guess apiece as to what it is.”

Fitz, with the memories of a former Christmas at Carter Hall still fresh in mind, and knowing the dear lady’s generosity, and having seen the biggest bundle of feathers and the longest pair of legs he had ever laid his eyes on hanging head down on the measly wallof the shabby yard as he entered, screwed up his eyes, cudgelled his brain by tapping his forehead with his forefinger, and blurted out:

“Wild turkey stuffed with chestnuts.”

Aunt Nancy laughed until her side curls shook.

“Oh, you dreadful gourmand! Not abitlike a turkey. How mortified you will be when you find out! Go and stand in the corner, sir, with your face to the wall. Now, Major, it’s your turn.”

Fitz began to protest that he ought to have another chance, and that it had slipped out before he knew it, since he had never forgotten a brother of that same bird, one that he had eaten at her own table; but the little lady wouldn’t hear another syllable, and waved him away with great dignity, whereupon Fitz buried his fat face in his hands, and said that life was really not worth the living, and that if anybody would suggest a comfortable way of committing suicide he would adopt it at once.

When my turn came, I, remembering the buttons on “Jeems,” guessed a livery for Chad, at which the dear lady laughed more merrily than before, and Fitz remarked in a disgusted tone that the dense stupidity of some men was one of the characteristics of the time.

“No; it’s nothing to eat and it’s nothing to wear. It’s a most charming young lady who at my earnest solicitation has consented to dine with us, and to whom I want you two young gentlemen (Fitz is forty if he’s a day, and looks it) to be most devoted.”

“Pretty?” asked Fitz, pulling up his collar—prinking in mock vanity.

“Yes, and better than pretty.”

“Young?” persisted Fitz.

“Young, and most entertaining.

“Now listen both of you and I will tell you all about it. She lives up in one of your most desolate streets, Lafayette Place, I think, they call it, and in such a sombre house that it looks as if the windows had never been opened. Her mother is dead, and such a faded, hopeless-looking woman takes care of the house, a relation of the father’s, I understand, who is a business friend of George’s, and with whom he tells me he once had a slight misunderstanding. George did not want Christmas to pass with these differences unsettled, and so, of course, I went to call the very day I arrived and invited her and her father to dine with us on Christmas Eve. We always celebrate our Christmas then as you both know, on account of our old custom of giving Christmas day to our servants. And I am so glad I went. I did not, of course, see the father. Oh, it would make your heart ache to see the inside of that house. Everything costly and solid, and yet everything so joyless. I always feel sorry for such homes,—no flowers about, no books that are not locked up, no knick-knacks nor pretty things. I hope you will both help me to make her Christmas Eve a happy one. You perhaps may know her father, Mr. Fitzpatrick,—he is in Wall Street I hear, and his name is Klutchem.”

Fitz, in his astonishment, so far forgot himself as to indulge in a low whistle.

“Then youdoknow him?”

“Oh, very well.”

“And you tell me that Mr. Klutchem is really coming to dinner and going to bring his daughter?” asked Fitz, in a tone that made his surprise all the more marked.

“Yes; George had a note from him this morning saying his daughter would be here before dark and he would come direct from his office and meet her here in time for dinner. Isn’t it delightful? You will be quite charmed with our guest, I’m sure. And about the father—tell me something of him?” Aunt Nancy inquired in her sweetest voice.

“About Mr. Klutchem? Well! Yes, to be sure. Why, Klutchem! Yes, of course. A most genial and kindly man,” answered Fitz, controlling himself; “a little eccentric at times I have heard, but not more so than most men of his class. Not a man of much taste, perhaps, but most generous. Would give you anything in the world he didn’t want, and be so delighted when you took it off his hands. Insisted on giving me a lot of stock the other day, but of course I wouldn’t take it.” This was said with so grave a face that its point escaped the dear lady.

“How very kind of him. Perhaps that is where his daughter gets her charm,” replied Aunt Nancy, with a winning smile.

There is no telling what additional mendacities regardingthe Klutchem family Fitz, who had now regained his equilibrium, would have indulged in, had I not knit my eyebrows at him behind Aunt Nancy’s back as a warning to the mendacitor not to mislead the dear lady, whose disappointment, I knew, would only be the greater when she met Klutchem face to face.

When I had risen to take my leave Fitz excused himself for a moment and followed me into the hall.

“Klutchem coming to dinner, Major, and going to bring his daughter? What the devil do you think is up? If the Colonel wasn’t so useless financially I’d think Klutchem had some game up his sleeve. But if that is so, why bring his daughter? My lawyer told me to-day the assault and battery case is all settled, so it can’t be that. Wonder if the Colonel has converted Klutchem as to the proper way of running a bank? No, that’s nonsense! Klutchem would skin a flea and sell the tallow, no matter what the Colonel said to him. Coming to dinner! Well, that gets me!”

As I shut the front door behind me and stopped for a minute on the top step overlooking the yard, I caught sight of the grocer emerging from the tunnel with a basket on his arm for Chad, who was standing below me outside his kitchen door with the half-picked duck in his hand. The settlement of “Misser Grocerman’s” unpaid accounts by Miss Nancy on one of her former visits to Bedford Place had worked a double miracle—Chad no longer feared the dispenser of fine wines and other comforts, and the dispenser himself would haveemptied his whole shop into Chad’s kitchen and waited months for his pay had that loyal old servant permitted it. This was evident from the way in which Chad dropped the half-picked duck on a bench beside the door and hurried forward to help unpack the basket; and the deferential smile on the grocer’s face as he took out one parcel after another, commenting on their quality and cheapness.

I had promised Chad to stop long enough to inspect Miss Nancy’s “tarr’pins,” and so I waited until Chad’s duties were over.

“That’s the cheekiest little coon ever come into the store,” I hear the grocer say with a laugh. “I’d a-slid him out on his ear if he’d said much more.”

Chad looked over his pile of bundles—they lay up on his arm; the top one held in place by his chin—and asked with some anxiety:

“Who, Jim? What did he do?”

“Do! He waltzed in yesterday afternoon with his head up and his under lip sticking out as if he owned the place. When I told him to take the sugar back with him, he said he wasn’t carrying no bundles for nobody, he was waiting on Miss Carter. He’s out at the gate now.”

“Do ye hear dat, Major? Ain’t dat ’nough to make a body sick? I been ’spectin’ dis ever since he come. I’m gwinter stop dis foolishness short off.”

The old darky waited until the grocer had reached the street, then he shouted into the gloom of the narrow passage:

“Here, Jim. Come here.”

The scrap in buttons slammed to the wicket gate and came running through the tunnel.

“What you tell dat gemman yisterday when I sont you for dat sugar, wid yo’ lip stickin’ out big ’nough for a body ter sit on?”

The boy hung his head.

“You’se waitin’ on Miss Caarter, is ye, an’ ye ain’t caarryin’ no bundles? If I ever hear ye sass anybody round here agin, white or black, I’ll tear dem buttons off ye an’ skin ye alive—you’se caarryin’ what I send ye for—do ye hear dat?Free, is ye? You’se free wid yo’ sass an’ dat’s all de freedom you got.”

“I—didn’t know—yer want me ter—caa’ry it back,” said the boy in a humble tone, but with the twinkle of a smouldering coal in his eye.

“Ye didn’t? Who did ye think was gwine to caa’ry it back for ye? Maybe it was de Colonel or de Mist’iss orme?” Chad’s voice had now risen to a high pitch, and with a touch of sarcasm in it which was biting. “Pretty soon you’ll ’spec’ somebody gwine to call for ye in dere caa’ridge. Yo’ idea o’ freedom is to wait on nobody and hab no manners. What ye got in yo’ hand?”

“Cigarette white boy gimme,”—and the boy dropped the burning end on the brick pavement of the yard.

“Dat’s mo’ freedom, an’ dat’s all dis po’ white trash is gwine to do for ye—stuffin’ yo’ head wid lies, an’ yo’ mouf wid a wad o’ nastiness. Now go ’long an’ git yo’ pan.”

Chad waited until the boy had mounted the steps and entered the house, then he turned to me.

“Po’ li’l chin’ka’pin—he don’t know no better. How’s he gwine to git a bringin’ up? Miss Nancy tryin’ to teach him, but she ain’t gwine make nuffin’ of him. He’s got pizened by dis freedom talk, an’ he ain’t gwine to git cured. Fust thing ye know he’ll begin to think he’s good as white folks, an’ when he’s got dat in his head he’s done for. I’m gwine to speak to de Mist’iss ’bout dat boy, an’ see if sumpin can’t be done to save him fo’ it gits too late; ain’t nuffin’ gwine to do him no good but a barr’l stave—hear dat—a barr’l stave!”

The Colonel had come in quietly and stood listening. I had heard the click of the outer gate, but supposed it was the grocer returning with the additional supplies.

“Who’s Chad goin’ to thresh, Major?” the Colonel asked, with a smile as he put his arm over my shoulder.

“Miss Nancy’s pickaninny,” I answered.

“What, little Jim?” There was a tone of surprise now in the Colonel’s voice.

Chad stood abashed for a moment. He had stowed away the groceries, and had the duck in his hand again, his fingers fumbling among its feathers.

“’Scuse me, Colonel, I ain’t gwine whale him, of co’se, ’thout yo’ permission, but he’s dat puffed up he’ll bust fo’ long.”

“What’s he been up to?”

“Sassin’ Misser Grocerman—runnin’ to de gate wid his head out like a tarr’pin’s, smoking dese yerpaper seegars dat smell de whole place up vill’nous, ’stid of waitin’ on de Mist’iss.”

“And you think beatin’ him will do him any good, Chad? How many times did yo’ Marster John beat you?”

Chad looked up, and a smile broke over his face.

“I don’t reckellmember airy lick de Marster ever laid on me.”

“Raised you pretty well, didn’t he, Chad?”

“Yas, sah—dat he did.”

“Anybody beat you since you grew up?”

“No, sah.”

“Pretty good, Chad, ain’t you?”

“I try to be, sah.”

“Well, now, be a little patient with that boy. It isn’t his fault that he’s sp’ilt; it’s part of the damnable system this Gov’ment has put upon us since the war. Am I right, Major?”

I nodded assent.

Chad pulled out a handful of feathers from the duck, dropped them into a barrel near where we stood in the yard, and said, as if his mind was finally made up:

“Co’se, Colonel, I ain’t nuffin’ to say jes’ ’cept dis. When I was dat boy’s age I was runnin’ ’round barefoot an’ putty nigh naked, my shirt out o’ my pants haalf de time; but Marse John tuk care o’ me, an’ when I got hongry I knowed whar dey was sumpin to eat an’ I got it. Dat boy ain’t had nobody take care o’ him till de Mist’iss tuk him, and haalf de time he went hongry; no manners, no bringin’ up—runnin’wid po’ white trash, gittin’ his head full o’ fool notions ’stid o’ waitin’ on his betters. Now look at him. Come in yere yisterday mornin’, an’ want borry my bresh to black his shoes. Den he must bresh his clothes wid yo’ bresh—yo’bresh, mind you! I cotched him at it. Den he gits on his toes an’ squints at hisself in de Mist’iss glass—I cotched him at dat, too—an’ he ugly as one o’ dem black tree-toads. You know what done dat? Dem Richmond clothes he’s got on. I tell ye, Colonel, sumpin gotter be done, or dem buttons’ll spile dat chile.”

The Colonel laughed heartily.

“What does Miss Nancy say about yo’ barr’l stave?”

“She don’t say nuffin’, ’cause she don’t know.”

“Well, don’t you thresh Jim till you see her.”

“No, sah.”

“And Chad?”

“Yes, sah.”

“When you do, pick out a little stave. Come, Major, go back with me for just ten minutes mo’ and see the dea’est woman in the world.”

The day before Christmas was a never-to-be-forgotten day in Bedford Place. Great preparations were being made for the event of the evening, and everybody helped.

Little Jim under the tutelage of Chad, and in hourly fear of the promised thrashing—it had never gone beyond the promise since the Colonel’s talk—had so far forgotten his clothes and his dignity as to load himself with Christmas greens—one long string wound around his body like a boa constrictor—much to the amusement of the Colonel, who was looking out of the dining-room window when he emerged from the tunnel. Aunt Nancy went all the way to the grocery for some big jars for the flowers I had sent her (not to mention a bunch of roses of the Colonel’s) and brought one of the pots back in her own hand; and spoke in so low and gentle a voice when she purchased them that everybody in the place ceased talking to listen.

The Colonel busied himself drawing, in the most careful and elaborate manner, the wax-topped corks of certain be-cobwebbed bottles that had been delivered the night before by no less a person than Duncan’s own agent, and to one of which was attachedFitz’s visiting card bearing his compliments and best wishes. The contents of these crusted bottles the Colonel had duly emptied into two cut-glass decanters with big stoppers—heirlooms from Carter Hall—placing the decanters themselves in two silver coasters bearing the Coat-of-Arms of his family, and the whole combination on the old-fashioned sideboard which graced the wall opposite the fireplace. Chad, with the aid of the grocer, had produced as assistant below stairs, from a side street behind Jefferson Market, a saddle-colored female who wore flowers in her hat, and who, to his infinite amusement, called him “Mister.”

“Can’t do nothin’ big, Major, dis place’s so mighty small,” he called to me from his kitchen door as I mounted the yard steps, “but it’s gwine to smell mighty good round here ’bout dinner-time.”

Under the deft touches of all these willing hands it is not to be wondered at that the Colonel’s cosy rooms developed a quality unknown to them before, delightful as they had always been: The table boasted an extra leaf (an extra leaf was always ready for use in every dining-room of the Colonel’s); the candlesticks, old family plate and andirons, dulled by the winter’s use, shone with phenomenal brightness; the mantel supported not only half a dozen bottles of claret (Duncan’s cellars, Fitz’s selection) but a heap of roses that reached as high as the clock, while over the door, around the windows and high up over the two fireplaces—everywhere, in fact, where a convenient nailor hook could be found—were entwined in loops and circles, the Christmas greens and holly berries that little Jim had staggered under.

The crowning sensation of the coming event stood in the corner of the rear room,—a small Christmas tree grown in the woods behind Carter Hall. A little tree with all its branches perfect; large enough to hold its complement of candles; small enough to stand in the centre of the table within reach of everybody’s hand. Aunt Nancy had picked it out herself. She must always respect the sentiment. No bought tree would do for her on such an occasion. It must be to the manor born, nourished in her own soil, warmed by the same sun and watered by the same rains. The bringing of a tree from her own home at Carter Hall to cheer the Colonel’s temporary resting-place in Bedford Place, was to her like the bringing of a live coal from old and much loved embers with which to start a fire on a new hearth.

These several preparations complete—and it was quite late in the day when they were complete (in the twilight really)—Chad threw a heap of wood beside the fireplace, brushed the hearth of its ashes, laid a pile of India Blue plates in front of its cheery blaze (no crime, the Colonel often said, was equal to putting a hot duck on a cold plate), placed the Colonel’s chair in position, arranged a cushion in Aunt Nancy’s empty rocker; gave a few finishing touches to the table; stopped a moment in the kitchen below to give some instructions to the saddle-colored female as to the length of time acanvas-back should remain in the oven, and stepped back into his little room, there to array himself in white jacket and gloves, the latter tucked into his outside pocket ready for instant use.

During these final preparations the Colonel was upstairs donning a costume befitting the occasion—snow-white waistcoat, white scarf and patent-leather pumps, with little bows over the toes, limp as a poodle’s ears, and his time-honored coat, worn wide open of course, the occasion being one of great joyousness and good cheer. These necessities of toilet over, the Colonel descended the narrow staircase, threw wide the dining-room door, shook me cordially by the hand with the manner of a man welcoming a distinguished guest whom he had not seen for years (I had just arrived); bowed to Chad as if he had been one of a long line of servants awaiting the coming of their lord (festive occasions always produced this frame of mind in the Colonel); laid a single white rose beside the plates of his two lady guests—one for Miss Carter and the other for Miss Klutchem—and glancing around the apartment expressed his admiration of all that had been done. Then he settled himself in his easy chair, with his feet on the fender, and spread his moist, newly-washed hands to the blaze.

Aunt Nancy now entered in a steel-gray silk and new cap and ribbons, her delicate, frail shoulders covered by a light scarf, little Jim following behind her with her ball of yarn and needles, and a low stool for her feet. The only change in Jim was a straggly groovedown the middle of his wool, where he had attempted a “part” like Chad’s.

“I’m glad Mr. Klutchem is comin’, Nancy,” said the Colonel when the dear lady had taken her seat with Jim behind her chair. “From what you tell me of his home I’m afraid that he must pass a great many lonely hours. And then again I cannot forget his generosity to a friend of mine once in his hour of trial.”

“What was the trouble between you and Mr. Klutchem, George?” she asked in reply, spreading out her skirts and taking the knitting from Jim’s hands.

The Colonel hesitated and for a moment did not answer. Aunt Nancy raised her eyes to his and waited.

“I diffe’ed from him on the value of some secu’ities, Nancy, and for a time the argument became quite heated.”

“And it left some ill-feeling?”

“Oh, no; on the contrary, it seemed to open a way for an important settlement in a friend’s affairs which may have the best and most lastin’ results. I believe I am quite within the mark, Major, when I make that statement,” added the Colonel, turning to me.

“No doubt of it, Colonel,” I answered. “That same friend told me that he hadn’t enjoyed anything so much for years as Mr. Klutchem’s visit to his office that morning.”

“Well, I am so glad,” said Aunt Nancy—“so glad!” The “friend’s” name had been too obviously concealed by both the Colonel and myself for her to press anyinquiries in that direction. “And you have not seen the daughter?” she continued.

“No, Mr. Klutchem was ill at a friend’s house when I called on him once befo’, and his family were not in the room. I shall have that pleasure for the first time when she arrives.”

Chad now entered, bowed low to his Mistress, his invariable custom, and began to light the candles on the mantelpiece and sideboard, and then those in the two big silver candlesticks which decorated each end of the table, with its covers for six. Little Jim still stood behind his Miss Nancy’s chair: he was not to be trusted with any of Chad’s important duties.

There came a knock at the door.

“That’s dear Fitz,” said the Colonel. “He promised to come early.”

Chad looked meaningly at the scrap, and little Jim, in answer to the sound of Fitz’s knuckles, left the room, picking up his “pan” from the hall table as he answered the summons.

At this moment the dear lady dropped her ball of yarn, and the Colonel and I stooped down to recover it. This was a duty from which even Chad was relieved when either of us was present. While we were both on our knees groping around the legs of the sideboard, the door opened softly, and a sweet, low voice said:

“Please, I’m Katy Klutchem, and I’ve come to the Christmas tree.”

The Colonel twisted his head quickly.

A little girl of six or eight, her chubby cheeks aglow with the cold of the winter twilight, a mass of brown curls escaping from her hat framing a pretty face, stood looking at him—he was still on his knees—with wide, wondering eyes. He had expected to welcome a young woman of twenty, he told me afterwards, not a child. Aunt Nancy inadvertently, perhaps, or because she supposed he knew, had omitted any reference to her age. I, too, had fallen into the same error.

The dear lady without rising from her seat held out her two hands joyously:

“Oh, you darling little thing! Come here until I take off your hat and coat.”

The Colonel had now risen to his feet, the ball of yarn in his hand, his eyes still on the apparition. No child had ever stepped foot inside the cosy quarters since his occupation. Katy returned his gaze with that steadfast, searching look common to some children, summing up by intuition the dangers and the man. Then, with her face breaking into a smile at the Colonel, she started towards Aunt Nancy.

But the Colonel had come to his senses now.

“So you are not a grown-up lady at all,” he cried, with a joyous note in his voice, as he advanced towards her, “but just a dear little girl.”

“Why, did you think I was grown-up? I’m only seven. Oh, what a nice room, and is the Christmas tree here?”

“It is not lighted yet, dearie,” replied Aunt Nancy, her fingers busy with the top button of the child’scloak, the eager, expectant face twisted around as if she was looking for something. “It’s over there in the corner.”

“Let me show it to you,” said the Colonel, and he took her hand. “Major, please bring one of the candles.”

The child’s eyes sought the Colonel’s face. The first look she had given him as she entered the room had settled all doubt in her mind; children know at a glance whom they can trust.

“Please do,” she answered simply, and her grasp closed over his. The cloak and hat were off now, and Jim was bearing them upstairs to be laid on Miss Nancy’s bed.

As the small, frail hand touched his own I saw a strange look come into the Colonel’s eyes. It was evidently all he could do to keep from stooping down and kissing her.

Instinctively my mind went back to a night not long before when I had found him sitting by his fire. “There is but one thing in all the world, Major,” he said to me then, “sweeter than the song of a robin in the spring, and that is the laughter of a child.”

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