Just then the sound of the door-bell—unheard of in that hour in the morning—caused an excitement in the back breakfast-parlor, where Miss Dorcas and Mrs. Betsey were at a late breakfast, with old Dinah standing behind Miss Dorcas' chair to get her morning orders, giggling and disputing them inch by inch, as was her ordinary wont.
The old door-bell had a rustling, harsh, rusty sound, as if cross with a chronic rheumatism of disuse.
"Who under the sun!" said Miss Dorcas. "Jack, be still!"
But Jack wouldn't be still, but ran and snuffed at the door, and barked as if he smelt a legion of burglars.
Eva heard, within the house, the dining-room door open, and then Jack's barking came like a fire of artillery at the crack of the front door, where she was standing. It was slowly opened, and old Dinah's giggling countenance appeared. "Laws bless your soul, Mis' Henderson," she said, flinging the door wide open, "is that you? Jack, be still, sir!"
But Eva had caught Jack up in her arms, and walked with him to the door of the breakfast room.
"Do pray excuse me," she said, "but I thought I'd just run over and see that you hadn't taken any cold."
The scene within was not uninviting. There was a cheerful wood fire burning on the hearth behind a pair of gigantic old-fashioned brass fire-irons. The little breakfast-table, with its bright old silver and India china, was drawn comfortably up in front. Miss Dorcas had her chair on one side, and Miss Betsey on the other, and between them there was a chair drawn up for Jack, where he had been sitting at the time the door-bell rang.
"We are ashamed of our late hours," said Miss Dorcas, when she had made Eva sit down in an old-fashioned claw-footed arm-chair in the warmest corner; "we don't usually breakfast so late, but, the fact is, Betsey was quite done up by the adventure last night."