over one shoulder, and roll into all the corners of the room.

"Where is your encampment to be?" said his mother, as gravely as she
could.

"Oh, down on Mr. Schermerhorn's place at Astoria. Peter Schermerhorn
told us to-day that his father was willing we should have it there, and
has invited us all to come and stay a whole week. We're to live in _real
tents_!" (here Freddy couldn't help cutting another caper,) "and cook
our own dinners, and--oh, mother, mayn't I go? say!"

"I do not think of any objection at present," replied Mrs. Jourdain,
"but you must wait until your father comes home, and hear what he has to
say. It was very kind of Mr. Schermerhorn to invite you all, but I am
afraid he will be driven distracted with such a number of harem-scarem
boys running about his place."

At this moment Joseph, the black waiter, knocked at the door, and
announced, with an air of high-flown elegance, that "Major Schermerhorn
was in the _drawing salon_ (which he considered the purest Parisian
French for front parlor), and desired to see Col. Jourdain;" and our
young friend was off like a shot, Joseph following at a dignified pace.

Joseph, like most other colored servants in New York, was a person of
the highest fashion, according to his own notions. No short words for
_him_, I can tell you. I remember well the first time I called upon his
mistress, I inquired, "Does Mrs. Jourdain live here?" and Joseph,
drawing himself up with an air of superior refinement, replied, "Mrs.
Jourdain _resides_ here, madam." At dinner parties, when he waited upon
table, he was the most dignified person present, and held his head up so
high that he looked as if it would shortly go through the chandelier. He
was always dressed in the finest broadcloth and patent leather, his
black face and white necktie presenting an admirable contrast, while he
used all the five cornered words in the dictionary in replying to any
question, and always handed the dishes to the ladies with a flourish of
the most astonishing character.

Now, if I tell you a secret, you must promise not to let any one know
it. Freddy's parents live in the Fifth avenue above Madison Square, in
the city of New York. His father is a rich man, and Freddy, a bright,
manly lad, between thirteen and fourteen at the time I am writing
about, and the only son, is a good deal indulged. But don't think he
ever abuses the kindness of his loving papa and mamma; no--although he
is full of noise,