“And so it’s mother’s doings, hey?” said he, violently pulling the bell-rope, and then walking up and down the room until Corinda appeared in answer to his summons.

“How many blacks are there in the kitchen?” he asked.

“Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly,” answered Corinda.

“Very well.  Tell every man of them to come up here, quick.”

Full of wonder Corinda departed, carrying the intelligence, and adding that “Marster John looked mighty black in the face”, and she reckoned some on ’em would catch it, at the same time, for fear of what might happen, secretly conveying back to the safe the piece of cake which, in her mistress’ absence, she had stolen!  Aunt Milly’s first thought was of the frosted candlesticks, and by way of impressing upon Corinda a sense of what she might expect if in any way she implicated her, she gave her a cuff in advance, bidding her “be keerful how she blabbed”, then heading the sable group, she repaired to the chamber, where John Jr. was awaiting them.

Advancing toward them, as they appeared in the doorway, he said, “Take hold here, every one of you, and move these things back where they came from.”

“Don’t, oh don’t,” entreated Mabel, but laying his hand over her mouth, John Jr. bade her keep still, at the same time ordering the negroes “to be quick.”

At first the younger portion of the blacks stood speechless, but Aunt Milly, comprehending the whole at once, and feeling glad that her mistress had her match in her son, set to work with a right good will, and when about dusk Mrs. Livingstone came home, she was astonished at seeing a light in the parlor chamber, while occasionally she could discern the outline of a form moving before the window.  What could it mean?  Perhaps they had company, and springing from the carriage she hastened into the house, meeting ’Lena in the hall, and eagerly asking who was in the front chamber.

“I believe,” said ’Lena, “that my cousin is not pleased with the change, and has gone back to the front room.”

“The impudent thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, ignorant of her son’s return, and as a matter of course attributing the whole to Mabel.

Darting up the stairs, she advanced toward the chamber and pushing open the door stood face to face with John Jr., who, with hands crammed in his pockets and legs crossed, was leaning against the mantel, waiting and ready for whatever might occur.

“John Livingstone!” she gasped in her surprise.

“That’s my name,” he returned, quietly enjoying her look of amazement.

“What do you mean?” she continued.

“Mean what I say,” was his provoking answer.

“What have you been about?” was her next question, to which he replied, “Your eyesight is not deficient—­you can see for yourself.”

Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone now turned upon Mabel, abusing her until John Jr. sternly commanded her to desist, bidding her “confine her remarks to himself, and let his wife alone, as she was not in the least to blame.”