"What are you doing here?" she asked, coming forward with one hand resting upon her great bunch of keys.
"I am waiting for my Young Master," I replied. "He said that he would meet me here."
"But you can be better employed than by standing round here. Take out that library rug and beat it."
I ventured to remind her that the Christmas was not quite over and that all work was by custom supposed to be suspended. At this impudence, she lifted her keys and I know that she would have struck me had I not hastened to obey her order. While I was folding the rug, making more than necessary work of it that I might listen to the Doctor and Miss May, I saw him step back from a window, where the two had been standing, and then I heard him say to her: "I am going to town, but will be back this evening," and then in a still lower tone, he added: "And may I have the promise of a talk in the parlor with you to-night? I have something that I wish to tell you."
"With pleasure," I heard her say as I went out with the rug. And long before the coming of night my dangerous plan was formed. In the parlor, usually some distance from the wall, was a large, old-fashioned horse-hair sofa. I decided to get behind this piece of furniture and lie flat upon the floor. There was a strong chance of discovery and a certainty of punishment should I be discovered, but to my young master I had given my word and I was determined to take the risk. Just before supper I laid out my plan to him and after a thoughtful moment, he said: "It's as dangerous as the deuce, but it is the best thing you can do. Wait a moment. I will do it myself."
"You shall not, sir," I was bold enough to declare, and he looked at me admiringly. "All right, Dan, but be careful. Just before supper is over, slip out, and if anyone should ask for you, I will say that I have sent you off."
Old Master had passed through a moody spell since, with so free a hand, he had dipped into the egg-nog, and just now his rusted spirits were brightening. "What, wine at supper, George?" he said, looking at the doctor.
"Our gracious lady's blackberry cordial," the doctor replied, with a wave of his hand toward Old Miss. "Won't you have a glass?"
"Not unless I have lost my senses, and I don't think I have," Old Master rejoined, shrugging his thin shoulders. "When you want to drink, take whisky, for all those side drams are vicious pretenses."
"The percentage of alcohol—" began the doctor, but Old Master shut him up with a loud "Tut, tut. I don't give a snap for the percentage of alcohol," said he. "Take the lowest percentage, drink a little too much, and then see where you are. So I say that if a man wants to drink, it is better to take the shortest route."