“Well, suh, I ain’t had no such worriment sence de Sherman army come ’long. I dunner what got inter Marse Judge Bascom. He been gwine on des like yuther folks, settin’ ’roun’ en talkin’ ’long wid hisse’f, en den all of er sudden he break out en shave en dress hisse’f, en go visitin’ whar he ain’t never been visitin’ befo’. I done year ’im say p’intedly dat he ain’t never gwine come yer les’n de Place b’long ter ’im. Do he look downhearted, suh?” “No,” said Underwood, “I can’t say that he does. He seems to be very well satisfied. He has called several times for Wesley. I have heard you called Jesse, but perhaps the Judge knows you as Wesley. There are several negroes around here who answer to different names.” “No, suh,” said Jesse, scratching his head. “I ain’t never been call Wesley sence I been bornded inter de worl’. Dey was er nigger name Wesley what use ter go ’long wid Marse Judge Bascom en wait on ’im when I wuz er little boy, but Wesley done been dead too long ago ter talk about. I dunner what make folks’s min’ drop back dat ’a’way. Look like dey er sorter fumblin’ ’roun’ tryin’ fer ter ketch holt er sump’n ne’r what done been pulled up out’n reach.” “Well,” said Underwood, “the Judge is in the house. See if he wants anything; and if he asks about his daughter, tell him she will be here directly.” When Jesse went into the house he found the Judge lying on a lounge in the hall. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be dozing; but Jesse’s movements aroused him. “Ah! is that you, Wesley? Where is your Miss Mildred?” “She comin’, suh; she comin’ right now.” “Very well, very well. You must make yourself at home here,” he said to Francis Underwood, who had followed Jesse. “I am somewhat dilapidated myself, but my daughter will entertain you. Wesley, I believe I will go to my room. Lend me your arm.” “Allow me to assist you,” said Underwood; and so between the two the old man was carried to the room that had been his own when the house was his. It happened to be Underwood’s room, but that made no difference. It belonged once more to the Judge in his disordered fancy, and thither he went. After a while Miss Sophie came, bringing Mildred. Just how she had explained matters to the poor girl no one ever knew, but it must have been in some specially sympathetic way, for when Francis Underwood assisted the ladies from the carriage Miss Bascom appeared to be the less agitated of the two. “The Judge is as comfortable as possible,” Underwood said cheerily. “Jesse is with him, and I think he is asleep. His nervousness has passed away.” “Oh, do you think he is seriously ill?” exclaimed Mildred, clasping her hands together. “Certainly not, just now,” said Francis Underwood. “The doctor has been here, and he has gone away apparently satisfied. Sister, do you take charge of Miss Bascom, and show her how to be at home here.”