“Well, sonny, scared of mules, are you?” The speech is a stately drawl very different from the nasal twang of Eliphalet’s bringing up.  “Reckon you don’t come from anywhere round here?”

“No, sir,” said Eliphalet.  “From Willesden, Massachusetts.”

“Come in on the ’Louisiana’?”

“Yes, sir.”  But why this politeness?

The elderly gentleman lighted a cigar.  The noise of the rushing mules had now become a distant roar, like a whirlwind which has swept by.  But Eliphalet did not stir.

“Friends in town?” inquired the gentleman at length.

“No, sir,” sighed Mr. Hopper.

At this point of the conversation a crisp step sounded from behind and wonderful smile came again on the surface.

“Mornin’, Colonel,” said a voice which made Eliphalet jump.  And he swung around to perceive the young captain of the Louisiana.

“Why, Captain Lige,” cried the Colonel, without ceremony, “and how do you find yourself to-day, suh?  A good trip from Orleans?  We did not look for you so soon.”

“Tolluble, Colonel, tolluble,” said the young man, grasping the Colonel’s hand.  “Well, Colonel, I just called to say that I got the seventy bales of goods you wanted.”

“Ephum” cried the Colonel, diving toward a counter where glasses were set out,—­a custom new to Eliphalet,—­“Ephum, some of that very particular Colonel Crittenden sent me over from Kentucky last week.”

An old darkey, with hair as white as the Colonel’s, appeared from behind the partition.

“I ’lowed you’d want it, Marse Comyn, when I seed de Cap’n comin’,” said he, with the privilege of an old servant.  Indeed, the bottle was beneath his arm.

The Colonel smiled.

“Hope you’se well, Cap’n,” said Ephum, as he drew the cork.

“Tolluble, Ephum,” replied the Captain.  “But, Ephum—­say, Ephum!”

“Yes, sah.”

“How’s my little sweetheart, Ephum?”

“Bress your soul, sah,” said Ephum, his face falling perceptibly, “bress your soul, sah, Miss Jinny’s done gone to Halcyondale, in Kaintuck, to see her grandma.  Ole Ephum ain’t de same nigger when she’s away.”

The young Captain’s face showed as much disappointment as the darkey’s.

“Cuss it!” said he, strongly, “if that ain’t too bad!  I brought her a Creole doll from New Orleans, which Madame Claire said was dressed finer than any one she’d ever seen.  All lace and French gewgaws, Colonel.  But you’ll send it to her?”

“That I will, Lige,” said the Colonel, heartily.  “And she shall write you the prettiest note of thanks you ever got.”

“Bless her pretty face,” cried the Captain.  “Her health, Colonel!  Here’s a long life to Miss Virginia Carvel, and may she rule forever!  How old did you say this was?” he asked, looking into the glass.

“Over half a century,” said Colonel Carvel.

“If it came from the ruins of Pompeii,” cried Captain Brent, “it might be worthy of her!”