Chad had solved the mystery,--Aunt Nancy came yesterday.
I found the table set for four, its chief feature being a tray bearing
a heap of eggshell cups and saucers I had not seen before, and an
old-fashioned tea-urn humming a tune all to itself.
"De colonel's out, but he comin' back d'rektly," Chad said eagerly,
all out of breath with excitement. Then followed the information that
Mr. Fitzpatrick was coming to breakfast, and that he was to tell Miss
Nancy the moment we arrived. He then reduced the bulge in his outside
pocket by thrusting his big hands into his white gloves, gave a sidelong
glance at the flower in his buttonhole, and bore my card aloft with
the air of a cupbearer serving a princess.
A soft step on the stair, the rustle of silk, a warning word outside:
"Look out for dat lower step, mistress--dat's it;" and Miss Nancy
entered the room.
No, I am wrong. She became a part of it; as much so as the old andirons
and the easy chairs and the old-fashioned mantelpieces, the snowy
curtains and the trailing vine.
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