On the north were barns, immense and well filled granaries and stables. Then came tobacco houses, covering acres of ground. One would hardly have suspected the plain, unpretentious Mr. Tompkins as being the possessor of all this wealth. But his house held his greatest treasures—two bright little boys, aged respectively nine and seven years.
Abner, the elder, had bright blue eyes and the clear Saxon complexion of his father. Oleah, the younger, was of the same dark Southern type as his mother. They were two such children as even a Roman mother might have been proud to call her jewels. Bright and affectionate, they yielded a quick obedience to their parents, and—a remarkable thing for boys—were always in perfect accord.
"Oh, mamma, mamma!" cried Oleah, following close after his brother, and quite as much excited.
"Well, what is the matter?" the mother asked, with a smile.
"It's coming! it's coming! it's coming!" cried Oleah.
"He's coming! he's coming!" shouted Abner.
"Who is coming?" asked the mother.
"Papa, papa, papa!" shouted both at the top of their voices. "Papa is coming down the big hill on the stage-coach."
Mrs. Tompkins was now looking for herself. Sure enough there was the great, old-fashioned stage-coach lumbering down the hill, and her husband was an outside passenger, as the sky was now clear and the sun shone warm and bright. The clumsy vehicle showed the mud-stains of its long travel, and the roads in places were yet filled with water.