“See dat now! Comin’ home, dat’s wot it is; natyve air, an’ dat. ’Scuse me, young marse, an’ let me sit down, wiv yo’ ’mission. I’s sort o’ out o’ breaf, yunnin’ so fas’,” panted the woman. “Certainly, good Martha; make yourself comfortable.” “Hopes yo’ fin’s yo’ breakfas’ good an’ yelishin’, young marse,” said the cook, as she modestly sat down on the cricket. “The best breakfast, as well as the best night’s rest, I have had for many a day. Your coffee and your butter and your rolls cannot be surpassed,” said Harcourt heartily. “P’oud ter hear yo’ say so, sah—but,” she inquired, dubiously, and ravenous for praise, like all her race, “anyfing de matter wid de ham or de hominy or de sweet taters, or de fr’ed chicken?” “Why, no. They are all delicious—perfectly delicious.” “Moughty p’oud ter year yo’ say so, sah, moughty p’oud.” “But, Martha, I have been longing to ask you how is your mistress? Well, this morning, I hope, by your manner?” “P’opper well, sah. Peert as pussy, de ole madam is.” “You did not tell her that I had come?” “Hi! young marse, who yo’ fink is a fool? Not me! No, sah, I didn’t tell de ole madam, who was as’eep up yere in de log house. If I had, dere wouldn’ been no holdin’ her back, no, sah. She’d ’a’ t’ied to walk down herse’f.” “My poor, dear mother! How soon now can I see her, I wonder?” “Soon’s ebber yo’ like, sah. De ole madam hab finis’ her breakfas’—an’ doane she yeat hearty? Umph! umph! It would do yo’ good ter see her,” said Martha, smacking her own lips in gastronomic sympathy. Harcourt was not pleased to be told this. He had heard that abnormal appetite often attended cases of softening of the brain. “An’ now,” continued Martha, “she is sot down to her stockin’ an’ ball o’ yarn, an’ she knittin’ away like a cherrybim. Yo’ can go see her soon’s ebber yo’s done yo’ breakfas’.” “I have done my breakfast, and I will go at once,” said Harcourt; and he arose quickly and hurried into the bedroom to get his overcoat—the handsome one he had worn on his defeated wedding tour, and had carefully preserved that he might appear well dressed in the presence of his mother. “Wan’ me ter go long o’ yo’, young marse?” inquired Martha when he re-entered the kitchen, ready for his walk. “Yes; I wish you to go before me to your mistress, and tell her I am there—close by. I do not wish to take her quite by surprise. And besides, as a matter of imperative courtesy, I must present myself to her kind hostess on first going to the house.”