One of his first visits after reaching home was to his old black “Mammy,” in the tiny cottage, with its prolific garden-spot, on the outskirts of the town, in which Mr. Allan had installed her and her husband, “Uncle Billy,” before leaving Virginia.

“Mammy” was expecting him.  With one half of her attention upon the white cotton socks she was knitting for her spouse and the other half on the gate of her small garden through which her “chile” would come, she sat in her doorway awaiting him.  She was splendidly arrayed in her new purple calico and a big white apron, just from under the iron.  Her gayest bandanna “hankercher” covered her tightly “wropped” locks from view and the snowiest of “neckerchers” was crossed over her ample bosom.  Her kind, black countenance was soft with thoughts of love.

“Uncle Billy,” too, was spruced for the occasion.  Indeed, he was quite magnificent in a “biled shut,” with ruffles, and an old dresscoat of “Marster’s.”  His top-boots were elaborately blacked, and a somewhat battered stove-pipe hat crowned his bushy grey wool.  Each of the old folks comfortably smoked a corn-cob pipe.

“Mammy” saw her boy coming first.  She could hardly believe it was he—­he was so tall—­but she was up and away, down the path, in a flash.  Half-way to the gate that opened on the little back street, she met him and enveloped him at once in her loving arms.

“Bless de Lord, O my soul!” she repeated over and over again in a sort of chant, as she held him against her bosom and rocked back and forth on her broad feet, tears of joy rolling down her face.

“De probable am returned,” announced Uncle Billy, solemnly.

“G’long, Billy,” she said, contemptuously.  “He ain’ no probable.  He jes’ Mammy’s own li’l’ chile, if he is growed so tall!”

“I’se only ‘peatin’ what de Good Book say,” replied Uncle Billy, with dignity.

Edgar was crying too, and laughing at the same time.

“Howdy, Uncle Billy,” said he, stretching a hand to the old man as soon as he could extricate himself from Mammy’s embrace.  “My, my, you do look scrumptious!  How’s the rheumatiz?”

“Now jes’ heah dat!  Rememberin’ uv de ole man’s rheumatiz arter all dis time!” exclaimed the delighted Uncle Billy. “’Twus mighty po’ly, thankee, li’l Marster, but de sight o’ you done make it better a’ready.  I ’clar ‘fo’ Gracious, if de sight of you wouldn’ be good for so’ eyes!  Socifyin’ wid dem wile furren nations ain’ hu’t you a bit—­’deed it ain’t!”

“How did you expect them to hurt me, Uncle Billy?” asked Edgar, laughing.

“I was ‘feard dey mought make a Injun, or sum’in’ out’n you.”

“G’long, Billy,” put in his wife, with increased contempt, “Marse Eddie ain’ been socifyin’ wid no Injuns—­he been socifyin’ wid kings an’ queens’ settin’ on dey thrones, wid crowns on dey haids an’ spectres in dey han’s!  Come ‘long in de house, Honey, an’ set awhile wid Mammy.”