Harcourt stepped rapidly up the rugged face of the crest and toward the dark mass of buildings on the top. The house seemed all shut up and dark.
He walked around to the rear of the mansion, and saw one dim light shining through a low window—kitchen window, probably; but before he could approach nearer a chorus of barks from three dogs defied him, and these were instantly followed by the appearance of an old negro man at the door beside the window, and a startled voice inquiring:
“Who dar? Name o’ de Lord, who is yer, an’ wot do yo’ want?”
“’Rusalem, is that you?” inquired Harcourt, by way of opening conversation, though he was sure of the old man’s identity.
“Cose it’s me! But who de name o’ de Lord is yo’? Shet up, dogs! Hol’ yo’ jaws dar, I tell yo’! A body can’t hear deirselves speak fo’ yo’! Who is yo’, an’ wot do yo’ want yere?”
“Don’t you remember Will Harcourt, who was clerk here last summer?”
“W’y, sho! ’Tain’t yo’! W’y, Lor’s! ’Member yo’? Well, I reckon I doane ’member nobody else! Down, dogs! Stop it, can’t yo’? Come in, sah. Well, Lor’s! Who’d a think to see yo’ here? Come on. My ole ’oman’ll be moughty proud to see yo’. ’Deed will Wilet!”
Harcourt followed the old negro into the spacious kitchen, where a huge fire was burning in the open fireplace, at the lefthand corner of which sat Wilet, smoking her pipe.
“Yere, ole ’oman! Yere’s a stranger come to see us! Young Marse William Harkurt, wot used to be clerkin’ yere long o’ dat po’ w’ite trash, Tom Todd—Tom Todd! He were a proper fellah fo’ a young g’eman to be clerkin’ long o’, or fo’ ’spectable colored people to be sarvin’, he were! But, Lor’s! de worl’s turn upside down, it is!”
Meanwhile, Wilet had risen from her seat, put down her pipe, and was courtesying to the visitor.