For the first time in my life I had spent three months from my father’s hearth-stone, and could have welcomed the dog who had once passed the threshold of my home, been patted by my sisters, or who had looked into the face of my mother—as an old friend. Without staying to inquire who my visiters could be, I went eagerly forward, my hand half extended in welcome, and with all the dear feelings of home stirring about my heart. It certainly was a damper—the sight of that lean gossiping little man, our town miller—with the marks of his occupation whitening his hatband, lying in the seams of his coat, and marking the wrinkles in his boots—a personage who had ground some fifty bushels of wheat for my father, during his lifetime, but with whom I had never known the honor of exchanging a dozen consecutive words on that or any other subject. There he sat, very diminutive and exceedingly perpendicular on one of the hall chairs, with his feet drawn under him, and his large bell-crowned hat standing on the carpet by his side. Planted against the wall, and on a direct file with himself, sat his better half, one of the most superlatively silly and talkative patterns of humanity that I have ever been in contact with. In order to be a little genteel—as she called it—Mrs. Johnson had honored the visit with her best gown, a blazing calico with an immense pattern running over it, which, with a Leghorn bonnet lined with pink and trimmed with blue, white silk gloves much too small for her hands, and morocco shoes ready to burst with the wealth of feet they contained, composed the _tout ensemble_, which few persons could have looked upon once without feeling particularly desirous for a second survey. The appearance of Mr. Johnson and Mrs. Johnson was vulgar enough in all conscience without the aid of their hopeful progeny, in the shape of two little Johnsons, with freckled faces and sun-burnt locks, who sat by the side of their respectable mamma, in jackets of blue cotton, striped trowsers much too short, and with their dear little feet perched on the chair-rounds squeezing their two unfortunate wool hats between their knees and gazing with open mouths through the drawing-room door. It certainly was an exquisite group for the halls of an aristocratic and fastidious man like Colonel M.; I dared not look toward him as he stood giving some directions to Tom, but went forward with an uncomfortable suspicion that the negro was exhibiting rather more of his teeth than was exactly necessary in his master’s presence.