As he passed the compliments of the day with two farm hands, who were loading a wagon near by, his eye fell upon a strange object that stood in the door of the dining-room. It looked to Uncle Jimpson like pictures he had seen of lions, only it was small and white and barked remarkably like a dog.
“Dat sure am a curious lookin' animal,” he observed. “Hit must b'long to a show.”
One of the farm hands laughed and pointed with his thumb to the waiting-room. Uncle Jimpson tiptoed to the window and peered in. All that he could see was the back of a very imposing lady and the top of a large plumed hat.
“Is—is she a-waitin' fer anybody?” he whispered, motioning anxiously with his soft hat.
“Oh! no,” said the nearest man; “she ain't waitin'; she's just enjoyin' the scenery on them railroad posters. She likes to set there, been doin' it for a half hour.”
Uncle Jimpson scraped the mud from his shoes, buttoned the one button that was left on his linen coat, and dropping his hat outside the door summoned courage to present himself.
“'Scuse me, mam, but does dis heah happen to be Mrs. Sequm?”
“It is,” said the lady, haughtily.
“Yas'm, dat's what I 'lowed. Dat's what I tole Carline—leastwise dat's what I'st gwine tell her. Ise Cunnel Carsey's coachman.”
Mrs. Sequin eyed him coldly through a silver lorgnette. “Didn't they understand that I was coming on the eleven train?”