"Nor yet a body servant, sir?"
"No, Adam, nor yet a body servant."
Here there ensued a silence during which Adam knuckled his right temple again and I tightened the buckle of my knapsack.
"I think, Adam," said I, "I think it is going to be a fine day."
"Yes, sir."
"Good-by, Adam!" said I, and held out my hand.
"Good-by, sir." And, having shaken my hand, he turned and went back into the stable.
So I set off, walking beneath an avenue of trees looming up gigantic on either hand. At the end was the lodge and, ere I opened the gates—for John, the lodgekeeper, was not yet astir—ere I opened the gates, I say, I paused for one last look at the house that had been all the home I had ever known since I could remember. As I stood thus, with my eyes upon the indistinct mass, I presently distinguished a figure running towards me and, as he came up, recognized Adam.
"It ain't much, sir, but it's all I 'ave," said he, and thrust a short, thick, well-smoked clay pipe into my hand—a pipe that was fashioned to the shape of a negro's head. "It's a good pipe, sir," he went on, "a mortal good pipe, and as sweet as a nut!" saying which, he turned about and ran off, leaving me standing there with his parting gift in my hand.
And having put the pipe into an inner pocket, I opened the gate and started off at a good pace along the broad highway.