y," was the satisfactory answer
of the ferry-man.

"Oh! then our carriage is waiting for us there?"

"Yes, sir, which it arrove just about twenty minutes ago, punk-too-well
to time!" replied the old man.

The passage across the Black River is very short, and just as the
ferry-man spoke, the boat touched the wharf immediately under the
lighted windows of the hotel, before the doors of which they saw the
Black Hall carriage and horses standing.

Mr. Berners assisted the ladies of his party to land, and proposed that
they should stop at the hotel and take supper before going on to Black
Hall.

"Oh, no! please don't, on any account! I feel sure that Miss Tabby has
laid out all her talent on the supper that is awaiting us at home. And
she would weep with disappointment and mortification if we should stop
to supper here," eagerly objected Sybil.

"Miss Tabby is our housekeeper; the best creature, but the greatest
whimperer in existence. She is, in turn, Sybil's tyrant and Sybil's
slave; for she is both despotic and devoted, and scolds and pets her
alternately and unreasonably as a foolish mother does an only child,"
explained Mr. Berners, turning to Mrs. Blondelle.

"And her lady?" inquired Rosa, with an admiring glance toward Mrs.
Berners.

"Oh! Sybil turns the tables, you may be sure, and indulges or rebukes
her housekeeper as the occasion may demand," laughed Lyon.

"Come here, Joe!" called Mrs. Berners to her coachman, who was seen
coming out of the tap-room.

"Bress my two eyes, Miss Sybil! how glad dey is to see you, and you too,
Marse Lyon!" exclaimed a very black, short, squarely built, good-humored
looking negro coachman, as he came and bowed to his master and mistress.

"Joe! you have been at your old tricks again. Joe! why can't you let
bar-rooms alone? Joe! where _do_ you expect to go when you die?"
solemnly inquired Sybil, shaking her finger at the delinquent.

"I do 'spect to go straight to de debbil, miss, for sure! Dat's de
reason why I wants to take a drap of comfort in dis worl', 'cause I
nebber shall get none dere. But bress my two eyes, miss, how glad dey is
to look on your putty face again."

"My 'putty' face? I want to know if _that's_ a compliment? But, Joe,
what has Miss Tabby got for supper?"

"Lor bress your putty little mouf, Miss Sybil; it's easier to tell you
what she hasn't got," exclaimed Joe, stretching his eyes. "Why, Miss
Sybil, there an't a man nor a maid about the house, w