Mrs. Lacey and the servants were
gathered upon the upper piazza, waiting his return. Suddenly Dilsey, whose
eyesight seemed wonderfully sharpened, exclaimed, "Thar, that's Claib. I
could tell my old man if I should meet him at a camp meeting!"

Mrs. Lacey looked in the direction of the city and saw the carriage which
Dilsey had pointed out. It proved to be Claib; and Leffie, who was rather
near-sighted, strained her eyes to see if Rondeau, too, was on the box.

"Thar's nobody in that ar," said Dilsey. "Reckon the boat has run into the
ground, or bust her riggin'; so, Leffie, you've put on your pink dress for
nothin'."

The elder Mr. Lacey, was, however, in the carriage, and alighting, he
advanced toward his wife and gave her the letter he had just received from
his son. Mrs. Lacey read it, while the blacks crowded around Claib asking
him scores of foolish questions, such as, "Was Marster George in the boat?
And why wasn't he thar? And when would he be thar?"

When Mrs. Lacey finished reading the letter she said to Leffie, who was
still standing near, "Rondeau is well, and will be home in a few days."

"When's the new miss a comin'?" asked Aunt Dilsey.

"Not at all," was Mrs. Lacey's reply.

"Glad on't," said Dilsey, "for now Jack can spit as fur and as big spits
as he wants to."

Nothing more was known by the blacks until many days after, when Rondeau
returned home, and related the whole story with many embellishments. He
omitted to tell of the whipping which Ike had given him, but spoke with
unqualified contempt of the old house and everything belonging to it,
except Miss Fanny, who, he said, "Looked just like an angel, only a heap
better."

"You ought to have seen her," said he, "that night when every thing was
t'other side up; folks a yellin' like they was crazy, and one man was
stark mad. Miss Julia lay on the floor, the blood pourin' out of her eyes
and mouth by pails full; Miss Florence, she fainted, and they had to throw
her out the window, glass and all, because there was so many low,
ill-mannered niggers crowded in the hall."

"I s'pose you's one of the niggers?" said Aunt Dilsey.

"Why, yes," returned Rondeau; "but then I was helpin' and was tryin' to
push them all back so I could get to marster, who was feelin' so bad that
they sent for me, because nobody else could comfort him."

Here Rondeau began to fumble in his pocket, as if in search of something.
Having found it, he continued, "Marster got