The visitor leaned over the fence in sudden interest, "Can you tell me, young person, whether Mrs. Blair lives here?"
At sound of his voice the investigatory infant, in an excess of hospitality, rose to its legs and teetered eagerly toward him, only to come to earth at Mr. Nikolai's feet. Nothing daunted, however, it gazed up at him from this lowly position with a mixture of Archie's grin and the droll, blue, wistful twinkle of Joan.
"Dar you goes, Steffum!" cried the guardian, in hot pursuit. "Dirtyin' up anodder clean dress so's Miss Ellen gwinter whup me good—He's always a-fallin' over on his face dataway," she complained, while maternally repairing damages with the skirt of what appeared to be an only garment. "I b'lieve he goes and does it a-purpose!"
"To gain experience, perhaps?" suggested the visitor.
"I reck'n," assented the other, doubtfully. "Yassuh, Mis' Blair she libs heah, but she's playin' on de type-writer dis mawnin'. Will I run an' tell her comp'ny is came?"
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed the gentleman. "Not if she is playing on a typewriter."
"Mr. Archie, he libs heah, too, when he ain't a trabelin' on de railroad train," volunteered the black one, "He's out behine, makin' him a little house to put a hawg in. Heah him?"
Mr. Nikolai nodded. There was a good deal of intermittent hammering and whistling going on in the background.
"You need not announce me, thank you. Perhaps my namesake will lead me to him?"
He held out a forefinger to the younger Stefan, who examined it, found it good, and clasped a trusting fist about it. So linked, the two moved off at a pace suitable to experimental footsteps.