What, therefore, should bring the strange boat on the very morning of the arrival of the Roma?
While he was speculating on this question a horn blew from the direction of the house.
This had been Wilet’s method of summoning people who were out of hearing of the bell, to come to the meal that was then ready.
“It’s breakfas’, young marse. Breakfas’ is yeady,” suggested ’Rusalem.
“And I am ready for breakfast,” gayly replied the young man, as he shut up his glass and put it in his pocket.
“Yo’s gwine fo’ to leabe us, so I year ’Rusalem say, young marse,” remarked Wilet, as she stood at the head of the table, ready to pour out his coffee.
“Yes; are you not delighted to hear it?” he inquired, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Now dat dere is a wery s’archin’ question, young marse. But I do say, fo’ de trufe, I’m not zactly ’lighted as yo’re gwine ’way; but same time I doane deny as yo’ sartinly was a g’eat ’sponsibility to me an’ ’Rusalem, ’specially sence dat dere night w’en yo’ was—was—was—tuk so ill, wid no way ob gettin’ ob a doctor to yo’. No, sah, no way. But as yo’ gwine, young marse, I hopes, I des, as yo’ do well, an’ make up long ob de young mist’ess, an’ let wine ’lone—w’ich she woone put up wid, as yo’ see yo’se’f. An’ I hope yo’ bofe will lib togedder in lub, an’ sometimes come yere to see de ole p’ace in de p’easant summer time.”
“Thank you, Wilet. I, too, hope we shall,” he answered as he took the cup of coffee from her hand.
Hanson hurried with his breakfast, yet he had scarcely finished when old Jerusalem came in and said: