Back at the house Uncle Casper was sweeping the broad, marble-laid porch, keeping time to the swing of the broom with a quavering song. Uncle Casper’s vocal efforts were reserved for such times as he was certain of being unheard. He had strict ideas of propriety and considered singing beneath the dignity of his office. That is why, when he heard a swishing of skirts at the door, he ceased abruptly in the middle of a bar and muttered objurgations over a wisp of thread which, caught in a splinter of the lintel, obstinately refused to yield to the broom. “Good-morning, Uncle.” He turned with well-simulated surprise. “Good-mawnin’, Miss Margey.” “You seem very happy this morning, Uncle.” “Ma’am?” “Didn’t I hear you singing a moment ago?” “Singin’? Me singin’?” He looked so distressed that Margaret regretted her suspicion. “No’m; yo’ didn’t hear _me_ singin’; no’m, I don’ sing. Mus’ have been some of them lazy, triflin’ niggers at ther stable, Miss Margey. I got somethin’ better to do than be a-singin’.” “Have the gentlemen been gone long?” “’Bout a half-hour, miss. I reckon they down by ther creek now; I heard they guns a-poppin’ bit ago.” “Mamma’s tray is ready and you can take it up now. Are the lamps ready?” “Yes’m; they’s on ther table.” He gave a final flourish of the broom, looked scathingly at the obdurate thread and moved toward the door. Margaret, who had been looking out across the sunlit lawn with smiling eyes, turned to him. “Uncle, has Mister Phil said anything to you――――” She paused at a loss. “I mean do you think he has noticed anything different from――from what he was used to?” Uncle Casper rubbed his chin reflectively and brought his grizzled eyebrows together. “No’m; least he ain’t said nothin’ to me. Don’ see how he could notice anythin’ diff’rent, Miss Margey. You ’n’ me’s been mighty ca’ful, ain’t we?” “Yes, I reckon we have, Uncle; but――but―――― Oh, I do hope he won’t find out that we’re――not so rich as we were!” “No’m; ain’t no use in his worryin’ ’bout it, is they? Reckon they’s a heap o’ things fo’ him ter worry ’bout anyhow; reckon bein’ edicated’s mighty tryin’ sort o’ process――’rithmatic――Latin――French――grammar――depo’tment――all they lessons mus’ be pow’ful wearin’ on him. But don’ yo’ trouble, Miss Margey, we’ll git on all right. Hens is layin’ right nice, Cicely ’lows, an’――――” He paused to laugh softly and shake his head. “Reckon, though, if that they Mister No’th stays very long they hens’ll git discouraged; he done eat fo’ aigs fo’ his breakfas’ this mawnin’!” “If we get short of them, Uncle, maybe they’ll let us have some at the East Farm,” said Margaret, smiling. “Yes’m. Don’ yo’ be a-troublin’, Miss Margey; I gwine say a word to they hens; I gwine tell ’em ’bout this yer Mister No’th bein’ mighty fond o’ aigs. They’s pow’ful reason’ble hens, Miss Margey!”