“’Fore Gaud,” cried his spouse, “I do b’lieve dat chile gwine to make everybody at Elmin’ton crazy befo’ she done. Mussiful heaven, jess look at ole mahrster, and he a-steppin’ high as a colt, and Miss Alice a-struttin’ jess like she had on a ridgimental unicorn, and a-backin’ and a-linin’ of ’em up wid her parasol! Forrard, march! Jess lissen at her sojer talk, and ain’t she a pretty little critter? No wonder Marse Charley ravin’ ’stracted ’bout her. Lor’, Dick, let de boy look!” Zip, by a dextrous ducking of his head, had just evaded the sweeping palm of his chief. “What is dese young niggers a-comin’ to?” exclaimed this virtuous personage. “Boy, don’t you see dem flies.” And he pointed to the table he had just left. “And you a-gapin’ at de white folks, ’stid o’ mindin’ your business!” One of the perquisites of Zip’s position as junior butler was waving a feather brush over the bald head of his senior when he sat at meat. Dick had elected him to this office on the plea of fotchin’ of him up in the way he should go; and, being a strict disciplinarian, had resented his abandoning the post of duty without orders. Zip made a perfunctory dash, with his brush, at the flies,—whom, by the way, he somewhat resembled in disposition; for as you shall not ruffle the temper, or even hurt the feelings of one of these, during your afternoon nap, by a slap, be it ever so violent and contumelious, if it but miss him; so Zip-Moses accounted all blows that failed to reach that anvil-shaped head of his not as insults and injuries, but clear gain rather. Zip, therefore, was not long in finding his way back, on tiptoe, to where he could get a glimpse of what was going forward on the lawn; even as that reckless insect blanches not as he tickles the somnolent nose of a blacksmith; for hath he not his weather eye upon the doughty fist of his foe? “Left face!” cried Alice; “forward, file right, march!” And her company went tumbling with bursts of laughter up the steps and into the Hall. Lucy took her seat at the piano. “Why, where is the Don?” asked my grandfather, looking round. “Lucy has a new solo for us,” said Alice,—“perhaps,—” added she, conscience-stricken. “Oho!” cried Mr. Whacker, settling himself. “What new solo?” asked Lucy. “That—what do you call it?” replied Alice, rather vaguely. “The Sonata I have been learning?” “Oh, yes; that’s what we want.” Lucy struck the opening chords and began. Charley leaned carelessly forward and whispered in Alice’s ear,— “_This_ is a solo; _that_?” And he nodded slightly in the direction of the house. “A duet. What did you think of my manœuvre?” “Immense!” NOTICE TO THE PUBLIC. BEING AN INTRODUCTION TO CHAPTER LI.