“What! has that old darkey come bothering you?”
“Oh! he isn’t a bother. Not at all. I thought he was too old to do much, but he is so handy—and he finds so many little things to do. And then——Why, Mr. Howbridge! it’s just like home to him.”
“Ha! Undoubtedly. And so he told you? Worked on your feelings? You are going to have the whole family on you, next. You will have more wages to pay out than the estate will stand.”
“Dear me, sir!” cried Ruth. “Don’t say that. I am not paying Uncle Rufus a penny. I told him I couldn’t—until I had seen you about it, at least. And he is willing to stay anyhow—so he says.”
“I don’t know about that old darkey,” said Mr. Howbridge, slowly. “I believe he knew more about Mr. Peter Stower’s private affairs than he seemed willing to tell the time I talked to him after your Uncle Peter’s death. I don’t know about your keeping him there.”
“Do you think he may know where Uncle Peter hid his private papers, sir?” asked Ruth, eagerly.
“Yes, I do. He’s an ignorant old negro. He might get the papers into his hands, and the will might be lost forever.”
“Oh, sir!” cried Ruth, earnestly, “I don’t think Uncle Rufus is at all dishonest. I asked him about Uncle Peter’s hiding away things. He knows what folks say about uncle’s being a miser.”
“Well?” said Mr. Howbridge, questioningly.
“Uncle Rufus says he knows his old master was that way. Aunt Sarah says Uncle Peter was just like a magpie—that he hid away things without any real reason for it.”