“Yes, sar; dat’s jis’ where it is. In de old ages of my pilgrimage I did take a young gal for a wife, according to King David and Abishey, to keep me warm in my old days—which warm she _do_ keep me, sar, as yer may see for yerself, my head is all of an inf’amation now wid de warmin’ up she gib me yes’day. An’ I offen do wonder to myself, thinking of my own thoughts inside of myself, how was dat de way young Abishey kept ole King David warm—wid de broomstick an’ de hoe handle, let alone sometimes de shovel and de tongs also,” said the old man in reflective tone. “Well, I never heard that preached on, as ever I can remember; but now you put it to me, I should not wonder if it was so; for ‘sich is life,’ you see,” gravely replied John. And then, after a few moments of quiet thought, he added: “But, ’Si, this catamount of yours shall not be let to clapper-claw your body off your soul! I’ll see to it ’Sias! I’ll see to it!” “Now, Marse John, don’t yer do no sich a thing. Don’t yer go interferin’ ’tween man an’ wife, ’tain’t no good! I don’t want no white man to interfere ’tween me an’ Sereny, an’ any colored ge’man try to do it—well dere! Sereny’d settle _him_! Now, Marse John, I is ready for any sarvice as yer would like to have me to do, an’ _able_ for it, too! Dese here woun’s and bruzes is all on the outside, an’ looks worse dan dey feels. To be sure de head is de worse, for it do feel mighty hot: but den it is also mighty hard. I was born wid a hard head, marster, so dey used to tell me, an’ it’s been gettin’ harder an’ harder ebery year all my life, for a hund’ed and fifty year, more or less, marster; till now it’s done got dat hard as it can stan’ even Sereny’s broomstick and hoe handle. So now I is ready for yer, marster,” cheerfully concluded this war-worn veteran. John Palmer had taken out his paper of instructions and was reading them. “Here we are,” he exclaimed, folding up and replacing the document in his pocket. “Here is our first duty, in the first line, to open and air the house from garret to cellar, to build small wood fires in every chimney, to burn out the cobwebs and dry the dampness; afterwards to take time and thoroughly clean the house. Well! the opening and airing and fire-kindling will be enough to begin with to-day. It will take us until noon, and then we must move into our own quarters in the Red Wing. Now, then, suppose we begin with the rooms on this floor? What do you say, Susan?” “Certainly, John—unlock the doors! We are every one of us _aching_ to see the closed parlors,” answered the woman. John gave the big bunch of keys to old ’Sias, saying: “As you know the locks better than I do, you must unlock the doors for us.” The old man selected a key, fitted it, and opened a door on the right hand and admitted the whole party to a long, dark, sombre drawing-room, whose close air and musty smell immediately drove the women and children back into the hall, leaving only John and old ’Sias to enter together.