“Youn’ mist’ess,” said Pompous, slowly drawing himself up, “ef yo’ ’nounce de word as he is not to be ’mitted inter dis house, he better not try dat yacket on me. Ef he do, he’ll jes’ fink a ton o’ bricks has fell on him, he will.” “Very likely; but I wish to avoid a scene. Go, therefore, out of the back kitchen door, around the house, and meet him on the outside.” “Yes, youn’ mist’ess; an’ wot mus’ I tell him?” “Nothing from me. Just order him to leave the premises.” “But ef he ax arter yo’?” “Refuse to answer any questions.” “Ef he gimme his keerd?” “Refuse to take it. Tell him to go.” “But s’pose he ’clines to go, ef he is sich a gran’ willyun?” “Unchain Tiger.” “Oh, Loramity, youn’ mist’ess! Tige would kill he!” “Keep the chain firmly in your hand. I do not wish to have the wretch torn to pieces.” “Oh! I mus’ on’y t’reaten ’im, to sca’ ’im, like? But den ef he ain’t sca’ one bit, an’ ’fuse fo’ to go?” “Then loose the dog on him.” “Loramity, youn’ mist’ess! Dat dog yeat her dinner offen him!” “Then I hope it won’t give her a fit of indigestion.” “Youn’ mist’ess, ’taine no joke. ’Deed, Tige is a wusser sabbidge debbil now she’s a-nussin’ ob her pups, dan ebber she was ’fo’. She’ll mucilage dat po’ sinner!” “The man takes his life in his own hands when he trespasses on these premises. The dog is here to guard them. If Hanson does not go when he is told to go, he must take the consequences,” said the young lady impatiently. “But there is not the slightest danger,” she added; “the man has an excellent pair of heels, and will use them. He is a champion runner. Go, now, and send him away—peaceably, if you can, with the dog at his heels, if you must,” Roma concluded, as she sank down in her easy-chair, watched by the two children, who stood, hand in hand, before her, awed into unusual stillness by the strange excitement of their “lady.” Roma took no notice of them. She was too deeply absorbed in her own profound indignation to do so. Pompous strutted solemnly out of the room, and out of the back door of the kitchen, which he carefully closed behind him. He was in great trouble. The agonizing question with him was this—if he should have to loose that beast on that man, and she should kill him, should he, Pompous Pirate, be hanged for it? He feared he should. He had only obeyed his mistress’ orders, but the law was very “onsartin,” he reflected, gloomily shaking his head. This brought him around to the front of the house. Hanson was standing on the porch, looking about him while waiting for his knock to be answered. The two men recognized each other instantly, simultaneously. “Oh! you are there, are you?” exclaimed Hanson. “I have been knocking here for the last ten minutes. It began to look as if there was nobody at home. How do you do, Pontius?” and Hanson held out his hand in a friendly manner.