Some of the elder negroes, with “itching palms,” belabored him with begging questions of—
“Wot yer got fur yer ole Aunt Mole, honey?”
“Wot yer done home f’om furrin’ parts fur yer ole Uncle Bob?”
Le promised one and all a present as soon as ever his sea chest should arrive.
And yet they might have stayed there all day but for the opportune appearance of Aunt Lucy on the scene.
She had watched from an upper window the gathering of the crowd, and now she swooped down upon them.
“Shame o’ yerselbes!” she said. “Come yere bodderin’ the young marse fust minute as eber he get in de house! Whar’s yer manners?”
“Don’t scold them, Aunt Lucy,” pleaded Le. “They came to welcome me home.”
“Dey come to beg, dat’s wot dey come for—to beg. It’s a habit dey gibs deirselves,” said the unrelenting Lucy.