His look of surprise and delight on seeing Sylvan and Cora was good to behold.
"Why, Lors bress my po' ole soul, young marse an' miss, is yer come sure 'nough? 'Deed I's moughty proud to see yer. How's de ole marse? When he coming back agin?" he queried, as the carriage rolled slowly across the gangplank from the wharf to the deck of the ferryboat.
"Your ole marse is quite well, Uncle Moses, and will be home on the first of the month with his new wife," said Sylvan, who could not miss the fun of telling this rare bit of news to the aged ferryman.
The old negro dropped his pole into the water, opened his mouth and eyes to their widest extent and gasped and stared.
"Wid—w'ich?" he said, at last.
"With his new wife and your new mistress," answered Sylvan.
The old negro dropped his chin on his chest, raised his knobby black fingers to his head and scratched his gray hair with a look of quaint perplexity, as he muttered,
"Now I wunner ef I tuk too heavy a pull on to dat dar rum jug, fo' I lef de house dis mornin'—I wunner if I did."
His mate stopped and pulled the pole up out of the water and began himself to push off the boat until it was afloat.
They soon reached the opposite shore, drove off the boat and up the avenue between the flowering locust trees that formed a long, green, fragrant arch above their heads, and so on to the gray old house. In a very few moments the door was opened and all the household servants appeared to welcome the returning party. Most of them looked more frightened than pleased; but when anxious glances toward the group leaving the carriage assured them that the family "Boodlejock" was not present, they seemed relieved and delighted to see the others.