There was a hasty gathering of satchels and paraphernalia as the train drew into the big station. The hum of voices outside, mingled with the shouts of the cab drivers and the shrill cries of the newsboys, met their ears as they descended from the coach.
Through the throng Ephraim led the way with the luggage, Dorothy and Jim following quickly, until finally, in the street, the girl descried a familiar carriage, on the top of which a young colored boy was perched.
“Hello, Methuselah Bonaparte Washington! Don’t you know your mistress?” cried Dorothy, running toward him.
This was probably the first time Dorothy had ever called him anything but “Metty,” by which nickname he was known at Bellvieu, where he had always lived, and where he had served as Aunt Betty’s page and footman since he was old enough to appreciate the responsibilities of the position.
His eyes glowed with affection now, as he viewed his little mistress after many months’ absence. Descending from his perch on the carriage, he bowed low to Dorothy, his face wreathed in a smile of such broad proportions that it seemed his features could never go back into their proper places.
“Lordy, lil’ missy, I’s suah glad tuh sot mah eyes on yo’ once mo’. Ole Bellvieu hain’t eben been interestin’ sence yo’ lef las’ fall.”
“Do you mean that, Metty?” cried the girl, her heart warming toward the little fellow for the sincerity of his welcome.
“Yas’m, lil’ missy, I suah does mean hit. An’ I hain’t de only one dat’s missed yo’. Mrs. Betty done been habin’ seben fits sence yo’ went off tuh school, an’ as fo’ Dinah en Chloe, dey hain’t smiled onct all wintah. Dey’ll all be glad tuh see yo’ back—yas’m, dey suah will!”
“And how is Aunt Betty?” the girl asked, a little catch in her voice. Instinctively she seemed to dread the answer. Aunt Betty was getting old, and her health had not been of the best recently.