Just as Graeme was turning away to go to the telegraph desk, one of the gray-clad colored porters, a stout, middle-aged man with a pleasant voice, and the address of a gentleman, approached him,
“Were you looking for some one, sir?”
“Yes, for an old colored woman, my wife's old mammy.”
“Well, I think you may find her in the inner waiting-room. There is an old lady in there, who has been waiting there all day. She came in on the morning train, and said she was expecting you. If you will come with me, I will show you.”
“She 's been there all day,” the porter said, with a laugh, as they walked along. “I asked who she was waiting for; but she wouldn't tell me. She said it was none of my business.”
“I fancy that 's she,” said Graeme.
“Yes, sir, that 's she, sure.”
Graeme thanked him. With a chuckle he led the way to where ensconced in a corner, surrounded by bundles and baskets and clad in the deepest black, and with a flaming red bow at her throat, sat Mammy Lyddy.
“Here 's the gentleman you were looking for,” said the porter kindly.
At sight of Graeme she rose so hastily that many of her bundles rolled on the floor.