Awed by this courtly phrase, no less than by the shining bald head and portly figure that stood before them, the black cohort slowly withdrew, and, straggling back, resumed their position at the lawn-gate to await the arrival of the carriages. “I see Miss Fanny” (Mrs. Carter). “D’yar she sets, and Marse George” (Mr. C.), “and two more ladies.” “_I_ see her, _I_ see Marse George,” chirped the sable chorus in deferential undertones. “Sarvant, Miss Fanny!” spoke up one older and bolder than the rest. “Sarvant, Miss Fanny; sarvant, Marse George,” echoed the dusky maniple. “How d’ye do, children, how d’ye do!” responded she, affably nodding to a familiar face here and there in the groups that lined the road on either side. “Yonder Marse Jack!” shouted a little fellow, getting the start of the rest, who were grinning upon Mrs. Carter as though she were their guest. “Yonder Marse Jack a-drivin’ de hind carriage!” Coming up between the rows, I nodded from side to side. The flash of ivories and of smiling eyes seemed to illumine the twilight. Perhaps the light was in my heart—it used to be so,—but let _that_ pass, too. Greetings over, our party dispersed to dress for dinner. The new arrivals were seven or eight in number: Mr. and Mrs. Carter and their daughter Alice,—Alice with the merry-glancing hazel eyes; then Mary Rolfe, demure, reserved, full of subdued enthusiasm, the antithesis of Alice, but “adoring” her—girls will talk so—and adored by her in turn; then the teller of this tale, making five. In addition there were two or three young ladies,—all very charming,—but as they were not destined to play any marked part in our drama, why describe, or even name them? Only two of our guests had ever before spent Christmas at Elmington,—Mr. and Mrs. Carter. Mrs. Carter was a kind of far-off Virginia cousin of ours, and it was an understood thing between her and my grandfather that she should come down to Elmington every Christmas and matronize his household; else, a houseful of girls, whom he exceedingly enjoyed having around him, would have been less attainable. And a merrier soul, and one who knew better how to make young people enjoy themselves, could hardly have been found. Mr. Carter, an excellent, silent, sober man of business, could rarely spend more than a week with us; but his jovial spouse never gave us less than a month of her charming chaperoning; and, on one occasion, I remember, the unceasing entreaties of the young people constrained her to prolong her visit and theirs, from week to week, till two full months had elapsed. The net result, direct and indirect, of that particular campaign was four marriages, if I recollect aright,—so that Elmington had an established reputation, among the girls, as a lucky place; of which my grandfather was not a little proud.