“Look at dat wine, will ye, Marse George,” he shouted, “all racked up on dern shelves?  Dat come f’om Mister Talbot Rutter wid dis yere cyard—­” and he handed it out.

St. George reached over, took it from his hand, and read it aloud: 

“With the compliments of an old friend, who sends you herewith a few bottles of the Jefferson and some Sercial and old Port—­and a basket or two of Royal Brown Sherry—­nothing like your own, but the best he could scare up.”

Soon the newly polished and replated knocker began to get in its liveliest work:  “Mrs. Richard Horn’s compliments, and would St. George be pleased to accept a basket of Maryland biscuit and a sallylunn just out of the oven.”  Mrs. Bowdoin’s compliments with three brace of ducks—­“a little late in the season, my dear St. George, but they are just up from Currytuck where Mr. Bowdoin has had extremely good luck —­for Mr. Bowdoin.”  “Mrs. Cheston’s congratulations, and would Mr. Temple do her the honor of placing on his sideboard an old Accomack County ham which her cook had baked that morning and which should have all the charm and flavor of the State which had given him birth—­” and last a huge basket of spring roses from Miss Virginia Clendenning, accompanied by a card bearing the inscription—­“You don’t deserve them, you renegade,” and signed—­“Your deserted and heart-broken sweetheart.”  All of which were duly spread out on the sideboard, together with one lone bottle to which was attached an envelope.

Before the day was over half the club had called—­Richard acting master of ceremonies—­Kate and old Prim—­(he seemed perfectly contented with the way everything had turned out)—­doing the honors with St. George.  Pawson had also put in an appearance and been publicly thanked—­a mark of St. George’s confidence and esteem which doubled his practice before the year was out, and Gadgem—­

No, Gadgem did not put in an appearance.  Gadgem got as far as the hall and looked in, and, seeing all the great people thronging about St. George, would have sneaked out again to await some more favorable occasion had not Harry’s sharp eyes discovered the top of his scraggly head over the shoulders of some others, and darted towards him, and when he couldn’t be made to budge, had beckoned to St. George, who came on a run and shook Gadgem’s hand so heartily and thanked him in so loud a voice—­(everybody in the hall heard him)—­that he could only sputter—­ “Didn’t do a thing, sir—­no, sir—­and if I—­” and then, overwhelmed, shot out of the door and down the steps and into Pawson’s office where he stood panting, saying to himself—­“I’ll be tuckered if I ain’t happier than I—­yes—­by Jingo, I am.  JIMminy-CRIMminy what a man he is!”

And so the day passed and the night came and the neighbors took their leave, and Harry escorted Kate back to Seymours’ and the tired knocker gave out and fell asleep, and at last Todd said good-night and stole down to Jemima, and St. George found himself once more in his easy chair, his head in his hand, his eyes fixed on the dead coals of a past fire.