"I'd like you to begin to pack up these things, please, to-morrow." The old servant's mouth fell open.
"You're goin' to--to what, sir ?" he stammered.
"Move--_move_, I said." William spoke with unusual harshness.
Pete wet his lips.
"You mean you've sold the old place, sir ?--that we--we ain't goin' to live here no longer ?" "Sold?
Of course not! _I'm_ going to move away; not you." If Pete could have known what caused the sharpness in his master's voice, he would not have been so grieved--or, rather, he would have been grieved for a different reason.

As it was he could only falter miserably: "_You_ are goin' to move away from here!" "Yes, yes, man! Why, Pete, what ails you?
One would think a body never moved before." "They didn't--not you, sir." William turned abruptly, so that his face could not be seen.

With stern deliberation he picked up an elaborately decorated teapot; but the valuable bit of Lowestoft shook so in his hand that he set it down at once.

It clicked sharply against its neighbor, betraying his nervous hand.
Pete stirred.
"But, Mr.William," he stammered thickly; "how are you--what'll you do without--There doesn't nobody but me know so well about your tea, and the two lumps in your coffee; and there's your flannels that you never put on till I get 'em out, and the woolen socks that you'd wear all summer if I didn't hide 'em.

And--and who's goin' to take care of these ?" he finished, with a glance that encompassed the overflowing cabinets and shelves of curios all about him.
His master smiled sadly.