“The joke was on me that time, Ephy,” she finally said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “But we landed old ‘Mistah Gar,’ which I suppose was what we wanted after all.”
“Wish I might hook a gar to-day,” said Jim.
“En like as not yo’ will, chile, ’case dem gars is mighty plentiful in de bay. Hardly a day go by, but w’at two or t’ree ob ’em is yanked outen de sea, en lef’ tuh dry up on de bank.”
“Well, we’ll try our hand at one if possible. Good-by, Dorothy! Good-by, Aunt Betty. Have plenty of good things for lunch,” were Jim’s parting words, as he and Ephraim strode off down the path toward the gate. “We will be as hungry as bears when we get back, and I’m smacking my lips now in anticipation of what we’re going to have.”
“Go along!” said Aunt Betty. “You’re too much trouble. I’ll feed you on corn bread and molasses.” But she laughed heartily. It pleased her to see Jim enjoying himself. “Oh, maybe I’ll cook something nice for you,” she called after him—“something that will make your mouth water sure enough.”
“Yum yum! Tell me about it now,” cried Jim.
“No; I’m going to surprise you,” answered the mistress of Bellvieu, and with a last wave of their hands, Jim and the old darkey disappeared behind the big hedge.
They were hardly out of sight before the figure of a little, gray-haired man walked slowly up to the gate, opened it, and continued his way up the walk, and Dorothy Calvert, her heart beating wildly, realized that she was being treated to her first sight of the famous music master, Herr Deichenberg.
As the Herr paused before the steps of the Calvert mansion, hat in hand, both Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy arose to greet him.
Dorothy saw before her a deeply intellectual face, framed in a long mass of gray hair; an under lip slightly drooping; keen blue eyes, which snapped and sparkled and seemed always to be laughing; a nose slightly Roman in shape, below which two perfect rows of white teeth gleamed as Herr Deichenberg smiled and bowed.