Spec' he'll be roun' ag'in purty soon--seemed ter hab sumpin' on his min'.

I'll tu'n de knob, sah.

Yere--git down, you imp o' darkness,--you Floe!--you Dandy! Drat dem dogs!--Yere, YERE!" but all four dogs were inside now, making a sweepstakes of the living-room, the rugs and cushions flying in every direction.
Although Todd had spent most of the minutes since daylight peering up and down the Square, eager for the first sight of the man whom he loved with an idolatry only to be found in the negro for a white man whom he respects, and who is kind to him, he had not neglected any of his other duties.

There was a roaring wood fire behind brass andirons and fender.
There was a breakfast table set for two--St.George's invariable custom.
"Somebody might drop in, you know, Todd." There was a big easy-chair moved up within warming distance of the cheery blaze; there were pipes and tobacco within reach of the master's hand; there was the weekly newspaper folded neatly on the mantel, and a tray holding an old-fashioned squat decanter and the necessary glasses--in fact, all the comforts possible and necessary for a man who having at twenty-five given up all hope of wedded life, found himself at fifty becoming accustomed to its loss.
St.George seized the nearest dog by the collar, cuffed him into obedience as an example to the others, ordered the four to the hearth rug, ran his eye along the mantel to see what letters had arrived in his absence, and disappeared into his bedroom.

From thence he emerged half an hour later attired in the costume of the day--a jaunty brown velveteen jacket, loose red scarf, speckled white waistcoat--single-breasted and of his own pattern and cut--dove-gray trousers, and white gaiters.