I think I might die of delight, I do indeed!"

In a few minutes more, the poor child's pleasure became disturbed, for
Corniel, the colored butler, came shuffling over to the arbor and said,
in a manner dignified and respectful:

"Mars' Lion, dar have mor' comp'ny come over to de house, and Mars'
Gran'son he send his comperalmunts, and would like fo' to have de young
people come up to de drawin'-room and make some music on de peranna and
de wiolin."

"Very well, Corniel, we will come directly," answered Lionel, and away
trooped the high-born lads and young mistresses, leaving Corniel to
gather up the dishes, and leaving poor disappointed little Sally to
wander off from the spot that all at once had become quiet and lonely.

As it would be daylight for the space of two hours more, Sally roamed
about, amusing herself at seeing what else was going on round and about
the place.

Peeping through the garden fence, she watched a colored man, who,
kneeling before the flower-beds, plucked up the weeds, tossing them
aside, and trolling a light song as he worked.

"I too, would sing, could I but live at Ingleside," murmured Maid Sally.

But an inner voice replied: "You would not wish to be a servant
anywhere."

Then across she went to the bars that formed the far boundary of the
wide garden.

Well back of the house in the direction of the stables, old Uncle Gambo
was cutting grass with a winding scythe, that had a handle so long it
reached way above the old man's head.

Uncle Gambo declared he was "a hun'erd an' ten yeah ole," and as no one
could very well dispute it, no one tried to. But as year after year
rolled away, Uncle Gambo would still say, "I'se a hun'erd and ten yeah
ole."

"Yes, but the same story you told me two years ago, Uncle Gambo," Lionel
once said to him. "You must be a hundred and twelve now."

The old negro shook his white, woolly head. "No, no! I'se a hun'erd and
ten yeah ole; I allurs was, I allurs shell be."

That settled it. But as the white people knew that the colored men and
women usually became seventy-five or a hundred years old very rapidly
with their way of reckoning, no one so much wondered at Uncle Gambo's
age.

Sally watched the old man reaping, for it fascinated her to see the
rich, ripe grass lie smooth and evenly shorn wherever the scythe's keen
blade swept over it. Then she strolled still farther along, trotting
down and down until she stood near the stables.

A groom was t