The old man took the mass of evergreens from the chimney, carried them out, and soon returned with an armfull of brush, with which he proceeded to light a fire. As the cheerful blaze crackled and ran up the chimney, diffusing light and warmth throughout the room, Susan rubbed her hands, congratulated her mistress, and set a chair near the fire for her accommodation. “Now then, old father! you _are_ a nice old man, on a longer acquaintance—how shall we get our baggage to the house?” inquired the girl. “Hem-m—Jes so, chile. Me and my ole ’oman and Sam kin fetch it.” “Sam?” “’Cisely so, honey—Island Sam, as is on a wisit to us.” “Some acquaintance of yours, I suppose. Very well, my good old father! go and attend to it, and you shall be well paid for your trouble.” “Zactly so, honey,” replied the poor old fellow, bowing himself out. When the door closed behind him, Susan took off her bonnet and shawl, put them on a chair and approached her mistress, who during these few minutes, had been sitting before the fire, in a mood of deep abstraction. “Come, Madam, permit me to relieve you of these,” she said, gently and respectfully, as she untied the ribbons and removed her lady’s bonnet, and unbuttoned and took off her mantle. Lady Montressor suffered her to proceed, and then drew a deep inspiration. “Don’t sigh, dear lady!” said Susan, mistaking the cause of her mistress’s pensiveness—“the old barn is, after all, not so bad. Means will make it very comfortable, and even now it is perfectly clean.” “Sit down, and cease to trouble yourself, child. The house does very well,” said Lady Montressor. Susan obeyed, and was very still for about fifteen minutes, at the end of which the footsteps of the men bearing the baggage were heard approaching. She hurried out to meet them. The trunks were brought in, and placed for the present in the hall, and the men went back to bring the hampers. But the old woman who had accompanied them, came into the parlor to offer her services to the lady. Going up to her, she stood and courtesied, with the customary— “Sarvint, Mist’ess.” Lady Montressor lifted her languid eyes to look at this new-comer. She was a little, old, dried up, jet-black negro, looking as though she had grown hard and strong with age. She was dressed in a bright plaid linsey petticoat, with a blue cotton short gown, and a check handkerchief tied over her head. “Sarvint, Mist’ess,” she repeated; “kin I be of any service?” “Who are you, my good woman?” asked Lady Montressor, gently. “My name’s Aunt Amphy, honey, ’deed it is, child—Aunt Amphy. I’s be known to all the country roun’, for a ’spectable, ’sponsible, age-able ole ’oman, as knows how to ’duct herself proper’—and as any lady may put conference in. ’Deed is _I_, honey.” “I do not doubt it,” said Lady Montressor, contemplating this original with a good deal of curiosity—“you said your name was——”