"Sit down by the fire, little lady. There. That's nice. Put your dolly right here. Maybe she's cold, too. Now, then, suah you'se fixed so fine you can tell me who 'tis you've come to see," said the man.
"What is your name, boy?" inquired Josephine.
"Peter, missy. My name's Peter."
"Well, then, Peter, don't be stupid. Or are you deaf, maybe?" she asked.
"Land, no, missy. I'se got my hearin' fust class," he replied, somewhat indignantly.
"I have come to see my Uncle Joe. I wish to see him now. Please tell him," she commanded.
The negro scratched his gray wool and reflected. He had been born and raised in the service of the family where he still "officiated," and knew its history thoroughly. His present master was the only son of an only son, and there had never been a daughter. No, nor wife, at least to this household. There were cousins in plenty, with whom Mr. Joseph Smith was not on good terms. There were
