still upon the whole
thing as a joke and continued in the best of spirits.

When we rose from table, mother got hold of Captain Miles and began
whispering earnestly to him, something about me, I was certain; so, in
order not to overhear their conversation, I went towards the open door
leading into a wide passage-way that terminated in the usual verandah
common to all West Indian houses. The hotel, however, did not command
such a pretty prospect as ours at Mount Pleasant, for it looked on to
the street, which could be gained by descending a short flight of steps
at the end of the alcove.

But, would you believe it, hardly had I reached the verandah, when,
there on the top step I saw old Pompey standing in an attitude of great
expectancy, with his footless wine-glass in hand, the same as was his
habit at home on the plantation, although it was more than two hours
past his usual grog-time!

No sooner had I appeared than out came his stereotyped formula:

"Hi, Mass' Tom! um come rum."

I felt sad enough at the moment, but the sight of Pompey with his wine-
glass, and his quaint well-known way of expressing himself, made me
burst into a fit of laughter which brought out dad from the dining-room.

"Hullo, Tom, what's the matter?" he cried. "Ah, I see! Why, Pompey,
you old rascal, you're past your time," he added, catching sight of the
old negro at the end of the verandah. "What do you mean by coming for
your grog at four bells, eh? I suppose, though, as Master Tom's going
away we must let you have it."

So saying, dad went back into the dining-room, bringing out presently a
tumbler filled with something which he handed to Pompey, the old darkey
swallowing the contents with his usual gusto, and, needless to say,
without any very great amount of exertion.

"There," said dad when Pompey returned the empty glass with a bow and
scrape, "go and tell the others that Master Tom wants to say good-bye,
as he will start in a minute or two, and that he wishes them to come
round and drink his health too."

Pompey thereupon shuffled off awkwardly in his boots, returning soon
with two of the other negroes who had come down with us from the
plantation. These now had each a glass of wine in honour of my
departure, Pompey managing to come in for an extra one on the sly by the
artful way in which he looked at me and showed his footless measure.

"But where is Jake?" asked dad suddenly, after the darkeys had emptied
their glass