No: this is something, or
somebody, _young_. But since when did Ariel take to tobacco?"
"Let's go down-stairs," I suggested, "and wait for that old darky,
if he is a real darky and ever means to return." I did not fancy
those big forlorn rooms, with their great beds that didn't seem made
for people to sleep and dream in, but to stay awake and worry over
their sins--and then die in.
The down-stairs halls had grown darker, and the rain came down in a
gray sheet, so that the open window seemed a hole cut into it. The
tray we had left on the window-ledge was gone. In its place was
nothing more romantic than a freshly filled and trimmed kerosene
lamp, two candles, and a box of matches.
When our Jehu finally returned he rummaged out some firewood from
the sooty kitchen and built us a fire in the hall. He was a pleasant
old negro, garrulous and kindly, by name Adam King, or, as he
informed us, "Unc' Adam" to all Hyndsville folks.
"Uncle Adam," Alicia asked, while he was drying himself before the
blazing logs, "Uncle Adam, who's the violinist around here?"
Uncle Adam looked at the Yankee lady a bit doubtfully. The old
fellow was slightly deaf, but he would have died rather than admit
it.
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