is back
dat bad it tuk two gemmens to tote him up de steps."

"Uncle George home, and ill!"

That was enough for Kate. She didn't want any coffee--she didn't want
any toast or muffins, or hominy--she wanted her shoes and stockings
and--Yes everything, and quick!--and would Mammy Henny call Ben and send
him right away to Mr. Temple's and find out how her dear Uncle George
had passed the night, and give him her dearest love and tell him she
would come right over to see him the moment she could get into her
clothes; and could she send anything for him to eat; and did the doctor
think it was dangerous--? Yes--and Ben must keep on to Dr. Teackle's and
find out if it was dangerous--and say to him that Miss Seymour wanted
to know IMMEDIATELY, and--(Here the poor child lost her breath, she was
dressing all the time, Mammy Henny's fingers and ears doing their best)
"and tell Mr. Temple, too," she rushed on, "that he must send word by
Ben for ANYTHING and EVERYTHING he needed" (strong accent on the two
words)... all of which was repeated through the crack of the door to
patient Ben when he presented himself, with the additional assurance
that he must tell Mr. Temple it wouldn't be five minutes before she
would be with him--as she was nearly dressed, all but her hair.

She was right about her good intentions, but she was wrong about the
number of minutes necessary to carry them out. There was her morning
gown to button, and her gaiters to lace, and her hair to be braided and
caught up in her neck (she always wore it that way in the morning) and
the dearest of snug bonnets--a "cabriolet" from Paris--a sort of hood,
stiffened with wires, out of which peeped pink rosebuds quite as they
do from a trellis--had to be put on, and the white strings tied "just
so"--the bows flaring out and the long ends smoothed flat; and then the
lace cape and scarf and her parasol;--all these and a dozen other little
niceties had to be adjusted before she could trip down her father's
stairs and out of her father's swinging gate and on through the park to
her dear Uncle George.

But when she did--and it took her all of an hour--nothing that the
morning sun shone on was quite as lovely, and no waft of air so
refreshing or so welcome as our beloved heroine when she burst in upon
him.

"Oh!--you dear, DEAR thing!" she cried, tossing her parasol on Pawson's
table and stretching out her arms toward him sitting in his chair. "Oh,
I am so sorry! Why didn't