Now it was a mere blotch moving in the sun and dust; then clearer; and then out of the cloud of light, flying sand came the clatter of hoofs on the pavement, the whir of wheels, and ahead of the rest of the party two dark Numidian outriders in bright red mantles appeared, pricking along their white African steeds.

Chloe clapped her little hands, steadied her water-pot, and sprang up on the staging of the treadmill beside Mago.
"It is he!" she cried.

"It must be Master Drusus coming back from Athens!" She was a bit excited, for an event like the arrival of a new master was a great occurrence in the monotonous life of a country slave.
The cortege was still a good way off.
"What is Master Drusus like ?" asked Chloe "Will he be kind, or will he be always whipping like Mamercus ?" "He was not in charge of the estate," replied Lais, the older woman, "when he went away to study at Athens[3] a few years ago.

But he was always kind as a lad.

Cappadox, his old body-servant, worshipped him.
I hope he will take the charge of the farm out of the steward's hands." [3] A few years at the philosophy schools of that famous city were almost as common to Roman students and men of culture as "studying in Germany" to their American successors.
"Here he comes!" cried Hasdrubal.