e--no matter what meal is on--we are instructed
to listen for bells. It's that big un that presides at the kitchen-door.
Thar's always a fust un an' a last un--a number one an' a number two.
The fust is to wash an' comb by; the next is to come in the dinin'-room,
but, mark you, not in a hurry. I'd lafe a heap o' times if she wasn't so
all-fired serious over it. Goin' to school ain't in it. In her thick
black she looks as important and stern as a judge in his robes."

They had now reached the barn, a great, rambling structure that was
well-painted and well-kept.

"Thar's the stables," Wrinkle said. "It might as well be called a
hoss-hotel. It really is a finer shebang in many ways than the house we
all lived in till this happened. I ain't criticism' yore place, Alf. It
was the best you had to offer, an' nobody could be expected to do more
'n that. But Ben went in for show, an' he added to an' tuck away till
the day of his death. This barn has been painted so many times that dry
sheets of paint would fall off if you kicked the weather-boardin', and
inside--well, jest wait till you see it."

They had descended from the buggy, and Henley was about to unhitch the
traces when Wrinkle laid a firm, even agitated, hand on his arm.

"That's another thing," he said; "don't tetch it. You'll break a rule.
No member of the family--an' that means me an' you, for we can claim kin
by adoption, if not by blood--no member is allowed to do dirty work o'
any sort. Ben never allowed it, an' Het says the same rule must hold.
She says it would spile the help an' git 'em out o' the right sort o'
habits. She told me to whistle whenever I wanted a thing done, and
Rastus, or Lindy, or Cipo, or Ned would come on a run. That's sort o'
makin' bird-dogs out o' two-legged creatures, but I kind o' like it.
But, mind you, Alf, don't whistle for 'em inside the house. You will
find a fancy rope with a tassel on the end of it in every room. Give it
a light tug an' let it loose. Thar, I see Cipo now. Watch me!". Wrinkle
spat on the ground, wiped his mouth with his hand, and puckered up his
lips and whistled keenly. "He's comin'; watch 'im hop; he knows better
than to dally when I give that sound. He's slow, though; walks like he
had lumbago or locomotive attachment. Say, Cipo!" as the tall, elderly
negro arrived, holding his tattered hat in his hand, "this is Mr. Alfred
Henley, an' this is his hoss. Orders is out from headquarters to give
both of 'em ever