ter's appetite
being now on the wane, general conversation became possible.

"Did Mr. Rutter look ill, Todd?" he continued, picking up the thread of
the talk where he had left it. "He wasn't very well when I left."

"No, sah,--neber see him look better. Been up a li'l' late I
reckon,--Marse Harry mos' gen'ally is a li'l' mite late, sah--" Todd
chuckled. "But dat ain't nuthin' to dese gemmans. But he sho' do wanter
see ye. Maybe he stayed all night at Mister Seymour's. If he did an' he
yered de rumpus dese rapscallions kicked up--yes--dat's you I'm talkin'
to"--and he looked toward the dogs--"he'll be roun' yere 'fo' ye gits
fru yo' bre'kfus'. Dey do say as how Marse Harry's mighty sweet in dat
quarter. Mister Langdon Willits's snoopin' roun' too, but Miss Kate
ain't got no use fer him. He ain't quality dey say."

His master let him run on; Aunt Jemima was Todd's only outlet during
his master's absence, and as this was sometimes clogged by an uplifted
broom, he made the best use he could of the opportunities when he
and his master were alone. When "comp'ny" were present he was as
close-mouthed as a clam and as noiseless as a crab.

"Who told you all this gossip, Todd?" exclaimed St. George with a smile,
laying down his knife and fork.

"Ain't nary one tol' me--ain't no use bein' tol'. All ye got to do is
to keep yo' eyes open. Be a weddin' dar 'fo' spring. Look out, sah--dat
shell's still a-sizzlin'. Mo' coffee, sah? Wait till I gits some hot
waffles--won't take a minute!" and he was out of the room and downstairs
before his master could answer.

Hardly had he slammed the kitchen door behind him when the clatter and
stamp of a horse's hoofs were heard Outside, followed by an impatient
rat-a-tat-tat on the knocker.

The boy dropped his dishes: "Fo' Gawd, dat's Mister Harry!" he cried as
he started on a run for the door. "Don't nobody bang de do' down like
dat but him."

A slender, thoroughly graceful young fellow of twenty-one or two, booted
and spurred, his dark eyes flashing, his face tingling with the sting of
the early morning air, dashed past the obsequious darky and burst into
Temple's presence with the rush of a north-west breeze. He had ridden
ten miles since he vaulted into the saddle, had never drawn rein uphill
or down, and neither he nor the thoroughbred pawing the mud outside had
turned a hair.

"Hello, Uncle George!" Temple, as has been said, was Uncle George to
every girl and youth in Kennedy Squ