"Won't he let you go?"
"Of course," answered Hannibal, but a little uneasily. "It was only about a fishing-rod I left behind."
CHAPTER V.
A BALL IN THE BASEMENT.
The day wore on. Everything was in a state of preparation in the old mansion-house. The last ovenful of cake had been placed by an open window in the pantry, that its frosted surface might harden into beauty. The ice-cream freezers, ready to yield up their precious contents, were set away in a cool place, and Victoria, a pretty mulatto girl who had come to the house an orphan child, was busy carving red and white roses out of a little pile of turnips and delicately shaped blood-beets, intended to ornament divers plates of cold turkey and chicken salad. This pretty fancy work was carried on in the front basement or housekeeper's room, while a bustle of preparation gave promise of great things from the kitchen. Clorinda, the moving spirit of all this commotion, rushed from basement to kitchen, and then to pantry and store-room, in a state of exhilaration that set fresh currents of air in circulation wherever she went. This was the great day of the faithful servant's life, and she felt its importance in every cord of her heart.
"Now," she called out, addressing Victoria with a pompous lift of the head, "yer can come up stairs and help about thar. Them roseys ain't so bad but that I've seen wuss; but there's 'nuff of 'em, so cum 'long o' me, and shut up de draw'n'-room winder-blinds."
Victoria ran up stairs, two steps at a leap, and, in a breath, was shutting out the beautiful sunset, and quenching a thousand flashes of arrowy rays that scattered gold over the plate-glass.
"Now," said Clorinda, as the last shutter was closed, "yer can take the spy-glass and see if any pusson is comin' up from the pint."
Victoria was only too glad. She sprang across the tessellated pavement of the hall, and seizing the glass, swept the shore with a slow movement of her slender person from right to left.