He it was who soused the windows of purple glass, polished the brass knobs, rubbed bright the brass knocker and brass balls at the top and bottom of the delightful iron railings, to say nothing of the white marble steps, which he attacked with a slab of sandstone and cake of fuller's-earth, bringing them to so high a state of perfection that one wanted to apologize for stepping on them.

Thus it was that the weather-beaten rainspouts, stained bricks, sagging roof, and blistered window-sashes were no longer in evidence.

Indeed, their very shabbiness so enhanced the brilliancy of Todd's handiwork that the most casual passers-by were convinced at a glance that gentlefolk lived within.
On this particular morning, then, Todd had spent most of the time since daylight--it was now eight o'clock--in the effort to descry his master making his way along the street, either afoot or by some conveyance, his eyes dancing, his ears alert as a rabbit's, his restless feet marking the limit of his eagerness.

In his impatience he had practised every step known to darkydom in single and double shuffle; had patted juba on one and both knees, keeping time with his heels to the rhythm; had slid down and climbed up the railings a dozen times, his eyes on the turn in the street, and had otherwise conducted himself as would any other boy, black or white, who was at his wits' end to know what to do with the next second of his time.
Aunt Jemima had listened to the racket until she had lost all patience, and at last threw up the basement window: "Go in an' shet dat do'-- 'fo' I come up dar an' smack ye--'nough ter make a body deef ter hear ye," she called, her black shining face dividing the curtains.

"How you know he's a-comin' ?" Todd leaned over the railing and peered down: "Mister Harry Rutter done tol' me--said dey all 's a-comin'-- de jedge an' Doctor Teackle an' Marse George an' de hull kit an' bilin'.