“Do nothing of the sort! Stop! I command you! Follow me into the parlor, and listen to what I have to say. Come, children,” said Miss Fronde; and pushing the little ones gently before her, she entered the sitting-room, closely attended by the huge negro.
The knocking grew loud and peremptory.
Pompous started impulsively to open the door, but recollecting his mistress’ prohibition, he hesitated.
“Never mind the noise. Listen to me,” said Miss Fronde severely. “The person who is knocking out there is Mr. William Hanson, who came here one summer with his stepsister, Miss Rebecca Bushe. You remember him?”
“Lor’, yes, youn’ mist’ess. I ’members ob him good—a werry nice-spoken gemman, an’ werry libbal, too. Gimmy fibe dollars w’en he went ’way,” exclaimed Pompous, making another start to answer the knocking, which was repeated at intervals.
“Stay where you are and attend to me.”
Pompous stopped and stared.
“That man is not to be admitted on any account. Do you hear?”
“A—a—a—we-dem not to leabe him come inter de house?” doubtfully inquired the stout negro, with eyes and mouth wide open with astonishment that any visitor should be denied admittance within the hospitable doors of Goblin Hall, and especially that an old friend should be turned ignominiously away.
The knocking was resumed, much more loudly than before. Pompous looked distressed.