"Yes."
"Well, bress de Lord fur dat!" said Hagar, joyfully; "couldn't a better ting happened to dat yer man, nohow. Jes' what he wants,—a boy like yerself, wid yer own father's face. An' did Mas'r Dick know ye's comin'?"
"Yes, he knew," said Noll; "he—he told me I'd be welcome. Do you think I am?"
"Why, yes, honey! What made ye ask dat? Yer Uncle Dick is a strange man, an' ye mustn't mind if he don't say much to ye, an'—but come right in de libr'y, chile, fur he's waitin' fur ye. Come right along; I's lit de lamp in dar;" and taking up her candle, she led the way.
"Don't yer mind dis ole hall," said Hagar, by way of apology as they entered a long, bare, chilly corridor; "nobody comes here but me, an' I don't mind. It's only my road frum de libr'y to de kitchen. He nebber comes out here."
From this hall they passed into the dining-room, where stood a supper-table very plainly spread.
"Mas'r Dick didn't eat nuffin to-night," said Hagar, glancing around as she clattered on. At one end of the dining-room they came to a door which the old housekeeper softly opened.
"Go right in, honey," she said to Noll, in a whisper; "he's dar," and then turned away.
Richard Trafford sat by one of the great bookcases, reading. The lamplight fell full upon his worn and sorrowful face. He did not hear the door open, did not hear Noll's light step, and was first conscious of the boy's presence when two arms were suddenly clasped about his neck, and a voice, trembling with a mixture of joy and sadness, cried, "Oh, Uncle Richard!"