"Quite possible. Where the differences are broadly and indelibly stamped, there's no need to remind anybody that they exist." "Three months ago," said Ethan, meditatively, "I should have called such considerations absolutely un-American. However, a season at Newport, not to speak of glimpses of life in the Boston clubs and on Beacon Hill, have helped to readjust my views. Still, I didn't think I should find out here in the West"--some quick look in Mrs. Gano's face made him modify--"out here in the Great Middle States--" "You forget your father's family are Southerners, root and branch. But as to that, you will leave distinctions behind when you reach heaven, not before. And even there we are told one star differeth from another star in glory." "Well," said Ethan, smiling, "I only wish I'd brought Drouet." "A friend of yours?" "Well, yes, if I may be so bold. A more necessary friend than most. I rather missed him at first. Drouet is my valet." "There would have been accommodation for him." "You see, I didn't know. I thought you would have been scandalized." "I don't see why you should think that. My father never travelled without his body-servant. You must have had the Tallmadges in mind. They, you know, thought themselves wiser than the prophets. There was no need of hewers of wood and drawers of water. Every one would be free and equal once black slavery was abolished. Childishness! Three-fourths of the human race is in bondage to the other fourth. Whether your servant is a Frenchman and white, or an African and black, the root of the matter is the same. We exact menial services of our inferiors, being of the dominant race." The carriage drew up before the ruinous Fort, and "the dominant race" got out, while two black faces and a colored turban went scuttling back to the rear. John Gano, in a shabby old coat with a tear in the sleeve, was standing on a step-ladder, lopping off twigs with a huge pair of garden shears. "John--John! What a mad proceeding! You will take your death!" cried his mother from the carriage window. The gentleman so addressed climbed carefully down the step-ladder, while Emmie tumbled out of the carriage and ran to meet him. "What do you think, father?" she said, confidingly. "Cousin Ethan's got a valet." "A what?" "A valet," whispered Emmie. "Valet! What does he want a valet for?" In vain Emmie squeezed his arm. He spoke in a loud, astonished tone. "Ah ha! I felt it wouldn't do to produce Drouet in New Plymouth," said Ethan, who was conducting Mrs. Gano to the porch. "Well," answered his uncle, dryly, "if you were too old or too ill to wait on yourself, I should understand it." "Do come in out of the draughts, John, and don't stand talking nonsense. Your father had his body-servant before he was either old or ill, and so did my father." "That was in the antebellum days, before men realized they couldn't oppress their fellows with impunity."