“Take care, Mark,” said Mr. Weston, “don’t cut about with that whip, while all these children are so near.”

“If I didn’t, sir,” said Mark, “some of ’em would a been scrunched under the carriage wheels ’fore now.  These little niggers,” he muttered between his teeth, “they’re always in the way.  I wish some of ’em would get run over.”  Mark’s wife was not a very amiable character, and she had never had any children.

“Hurrah! daddy, is that you?” said an unmistakeable voice proceeding from the lungs of Bacchus the younger.  “I been dansin juba dis hole blessed day—­I so glad you come.  Ask mammy if I aint?”

“How is your mother, Bacchus?” said Mr. Weston, looking out the window.

“Mammy, she’s well,” said the young gentleman; “how’s you, master?”

“Very well, I thank you, sir,” said Mr. Weston.  “Go down there and help pick up the sugar-plums.”

Bacchus the elder, now slid down from the seat by Mark, and took a short cut over to his cabin.

“Poor Aunt Phillis!” said Mrs. Weston, looking after him, “I hope she will get well.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Weston, “I had forgotten Phillis on this happy day.  There is something, you see, Anna, to make us sigh, even in our happiest moments.

“But you shall not sigh, dearest uncle,” said Alice, kissing his hand, “for Aunt Phillis will get well now that we are all back.  Oh, there is Cousin Janet, and little Lydia—­I wish the carriage would stop.”

“You are the most perfect child I ever saw, Alice,” said Mrs. Weston.  “I think you are out of your senses at the idea of getting home.”

The carriage wheeled round, and William let down the steps, with a face bright as a sunflower.  Miss Janet stood at the top of the portico steps, in her dove-colored gown, and her three-cornered handkerchief, with open arms.  Alice bounded like a deer, and was clasped within them.  Then Mrs. Weston, then Ellen; and afterwards, the aged relatives warmly embraced each other.  Little Lydia was not forgotten, they all shook hands with her, but Alice, who stooped to kiss her smooth, black cheek.  William was then regularly shaken hands with, and the family entered the large, airy hall, and were indeed at home.

Here were collected all the servants employed about the house, each in a Sunday dress, each greeted with a kind word.  Alice shook hands with them two or three times over, then pointing to the family pictures, which were arranged along the hall, “Look at them, uncle,” said she; “did you ever see them so smiling before?”

They went to the drawing-room, all but Alice, who flew off in another direction.

“She is gone to see Phillis,” said Mr. Weston, gazing after her.  “Well, I will rest a few moments, and then go too.”