"I done 'speck, seh, yo go roun' to de back," said the negro, as Croyden put his foot on the step. "Ole Mose 'im live dyar. I'll bring 'im heah, ef yo wait, seh." "Who is old Mose--the caretaker?" said Croyden. The place was looked after by a real estate man of the village, and neither his father nor he had bothered to do more than meet the accounts for funds. The former had preferred to let it remain unoccupied, so as to have it ready for instant use, if he so wished, and Croyden had done the same. "He! Mose he's Cun'l Duval's body-survent, seh. Him an' Jos'phine--Jos'phine he wif', seh--dey looks arfter de place sence de ole Cun'l died." Croyden nodded. "I'll go back." They followed the right hand path, which seemed to be more used than its fellow. The servants' quarters were disclosed at the far end of the lot. Before the tidiest of them, an old negro was sitting on a stool, dreaming in the sun. At Croyden's appearance, he got up hastily, and came forward--gray-haired, and bent. "Survent, seh!" he said, with the remains of what once must have been a wonderfully graceful bow, and taking in the stranger's attire with a single glance. "I'se ole Mose. Cun'l Duval's boy--seh, an' I looks arfter de place, now. De Cun'l he's daid, yo knows, seh. What can I do fur yo, seh?" "I'm Mr. Croyden," said Geoffrey. "Yass, seh! yass, seh!" the darky answered, inquiringly. It was evident the name conveyed no meaning to him. "I'm the new owner, you know--since Colonel Duval died," Croyden explained. "Hi! yo is!" old Mose exclaimed, with another bow. "Well, praise de Lawd! I sees yo befo' I dies. So yo's de new marster, is yo? I'm pow'ful glad yo's come, seh! pow'ful glad. What mout yo name be, seh?" "Croyden!" replied Geoffrey. "Now, Moses, will you open the house and let me in?" "Yo seen Marster Dick?" asked the darky. "You mean the agent? No! Why do you ask?" "Coz why, seh--I'm beggin' yo pa'den, seh, but Marster Dick sez, sez he, 'Don' nuvver lets no buddy in de house, widout a writin' from me.' I ain' doubtin' yo, seh, 'deed I ain', but I ruther hed de writin'." "You're perfectly right," Croyden answered. "Here, boy!--do you know Mr. Dick? Well, go down and tell him that Mr. Croyden is at Clarendon, and ask him to come out at once. Or, stay, I'll give you a note to him." He took a card from his pocketbook, wrote a few lines on it, and gave it to the negro. "Yass, seh! Yass, seh!" said the porter, and, dropping the grip where he stood, he vanished. Old Mose dusted the stool with his sleeve, and proffered it. "Set down, seh!" with another bow. "Josh won' be long." Croyden shook his head. "I'll lie here," he answered, stretching himself out on the grass. "You were Colonel Duval's body-servant, you say." "Yass, seh! from de time I wuz so 'igh. I don' 'member when I warn' he body-survent. I follows 'im all th'oo de war, seh, an' I wus wid 'im when he died." Tears were in the darky's eyes. "Hit's purty nigh time ole Mose gwine too."