-with a
central hall, and rooms on either side, that rose to two stories, and
was topped by a pitch-roof. There were no piazzas at front or side,
just a small stoop at the doorway, from which paths branched around to
the rear.

"I done 'speck, seh, yo go roun' to de back," said the negro, as
Croyden put his foot on the step. "Ole Mose 'im live dyar. I'll bring
'im heah, ef yo wait, seh."

"Who is old Mose--the caretaker?" said Croyden.

The place was looked after by a real estate man of the village, and
neither his father nor he had bothered to do more than meet the
accounts for funds. The former had preferred to let it remain
unoccupied, so as to have it ready for instant use, if he so wished,
and Croyden had done the same.

"He! Mose he's Cun'l Duval's body-survent, seh. Him an'
Jos'phine--Jos'phine he wif', seh--dey looks arfter de place sence de
ole Cun'l died."

Croyden nodded. "I'll go back."

They followed the right hand path, which seemed to be more used than
its fellow. The servants' quarters were disclosed at the far end of the
lot.

Before the tidiest of them, an old negro was sitting on a stool,
dreaming in the sun. At Croyden's appearance, he got up hastily, and
came forward--gray-haired, and bent.

"Survent, seh!" he said, with the remains of what once must have been a
wonderfully graceful bow, and taking in the stranger's attire with a
single glance. "I'se ole Mose. Cun'l Duval's boy--seh, an' I looks
arfter de place, now. De Cun'l he's daid, yo knows, seh. What can I do
fur yo, seh?"

"I'm Mr. Croyden," said Geoffrey.

"Yass, seh! yass, seh!" the darky answered, inquiringly.

It was evident the name conveyed no meaning to him.

"I'm the new owner, you know--since Colonel Duval died," Croyden
explained.

"Hi! yo is!" old Mose exclaimed, with another bow. "Well, praise de
Lawd! I sees yo befo' I dies. So yo's de new marster, is yo? I'm
pow'ful glad yo's come, seh! pow'ful glad. What mout yo name be, seh?"

"Croyden!" replied Geoffrey. "Now, Moses, will you open the house and
let me in?"

"Yo seen Marster Dick?" asked the darky.

"You mean the agent? No! Why do you ask?"

"Coz why, seh--I'm beggin' yo pa'den, seh, but Marster Dick sez, sez
he, 'Don' nuvver lets no buddy in de house, widout a writin' from me.'
I ain' doubtin' yo, seh, 'deed I ain', but I ruther hed de writin'."

"You're perfectly right," Croyden answered. "Here, boy!--do you know
Mr. Dick? Well, go down and tell him