The old darky appeared in the doorway pushing a little wagon like a reclining-chair on wheels, and in it sat Hamilton Swift, Junior. My first impression of him was that he was all eyes: I couldn't look at anything else for a time, and was hardly conscious of the rest of that weazened, peaked little face and the under-sized wisp of a body with its pathetic adjuncts of metal and leather. I think they were the brightest eyes I ever saw--as keen and intelligent as a wicked old woman's, withal as trustful and cheery as the eyes of a setter pup. “HOO-ray!” Thus the Honorable Mr. Beasley, waving a handkerchief thrice around his head and thrice cheering. And the child, in that cricket's voice of his, replied: “Br-r-ra-vo!” This was the form of salutation familiarly in use between them. Beasley followed it by inquiring, “Who's with us to-day?” “I'm MISTER Swift,” chirped the little fellow. “MIS-TER Swift, if you please, Cousin David Beasley.” Beasley executed a formal bow. “There is a gentleman here who'd like to meet you.” And he presented me with some grave phrases commendatory of my general character, addressing the child as “Mister Swift”; whereupon Mister Swift gave me a ghostly little hand and professed himself glad to meet me. “And besides me,” he added, to Beasley, “there's Bill Hammersley and Mr. Corley Linbridge.” A faint perplexity manifested itself upon Beasley's face at this, a shadow which cleared at once when I asked if I might not be permitted to meet these personages, remarking that I had heard from Dowden of Bill Hammersley, though until now a stranger to the fame of Mr. Corley Linbridge. Beasley performed the ceremony with intentional elegance, while the boy's great eyes swept glowingly from his cousin's face to mine and back again. I bowed and shook hands with the air, once to my left and once to my right. “And Simpledoria!” cried Mister Swift. “You'll enjoy Simpledoria.” “Above all things,” I said. “Can he shake hands? Some dogs can.” “Watch him!” Mister Swift lifted a commanding finger. “Simpledoria, shake hands!” I knelt beside the wagon and shook an imaginary big paw. At this Mister Swift again shook hands with me and allowed me to perceive, in his luminous regard, a solemn commendation and approval. In this wise was my initiation into the beautiful old house and the cordiality of its inmates completed; and I became a familiar of David Beasley and his ward, with the privilege to go and come as I pleased; there was always gay and friendly welcome. I always came for the cigar after lunch, sometimes for lunch itself; sometimes I dined there instead of down-town; and now and then when it happened that an errand or assignment took me that way in the afternoon, I would run in and “visit” awhile with Hamilton Swift, Junior, and his circle of friends.