He’s joompin’ oor the tops o’ sthools, the both forninst an’ back! 
  He’ll lave yez pick the blessed flure, an’ walk the straightest
    crack! 
  He’s liftin’ barrels wid his teeth, and singin’ “Garry Owen,”
  Till all the house be strikin’ hands, sence Chairley Burke’s in
    town.

  The Road-Yaird hands comes dhroppin’ in, an’ niver goin’ back;
  An’ there ’s two freights upon the switch—­the wan on aither track—­
  An’ Mr. Gearry, from The Shops, he’s mad enough to swear,
  An’ durst n’t spake a word but grin, the whilst that Chairley’s
    there!

  Oh!  Chairley!  Chairley!  Chairley Burke! ye divil, wid yer ways
  O’ dhrivin’ all the throubles aff, these dark an’ gloomy days! 
  Ohone! that it’s meself, wid all the griefs I have to drown,
  Must lave me pick to resht a bit, sence Chairley Burke’s in town!

“Before we turn back, now,” said the smiling Major, as I stood lingering over the indefinable humor of the last refrain, “before we turn back I want to show you something eminently characteristic.  Come this way a half dozen steps.”

As he spoke I looked up, to first observe that we had paused before a handsome square brick residence, centering a beautiful smooth lawn, its emerald only littered with the light gold of the earliest autumn leaves.  On either side of the trim walk that led up from the gate to the carved stone ballusters of the broad piazza, with its empty easy chairs, were graceful vases, frothing over with late blossoms, and wreathed with laurel-looking vines; and, luxuriantly lacing the border of the pave that turned the further corner of the house, blue, white and crimson, pink and violet, went fading in perspective as my gaze followed the gesture of the Major’s.

“Here, come a little further.  Now do you see that man there?”

Yes, I could make out a figure in the deepening dusk—­the figure of a man on the back stoop—­a tired looking man, in his shirt-sleeves, who sat upon a low chair—­no, not a chair—­an empty box.  He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and the hands dropped limp.  He was smoking, too, I could barely see his pipe, and but for the odor of very strong tobacco, would not have known he had a pipe.  Why does the master of the house permit his servants to so desecrate this beautiful home?  I thought.

“Well, shall we go now?” said the Major.

I turned silently and we retraced our steps.  I think neither of us spoke for the distance of a square.

“Guess you didn’t know the man there on the back porch?” said the Major.

“No; why?” I asked dubiously.

“I hardly thought you would, and besides the poor fellow’s tired, and it was best not to disturb him,” said the Major.

“Why; who was it—­some one I know?”

“It was Tommy.”

“Oh,” said I, inquiringly, “he’s employed there in some capacity?”