40 The Hunting Field With Horse and Hound 



How home-like and inviting it all looked. As the writer 

 came up to the front yard, all the dogs came down to meet 

 him, together Avith a negro boy who shuffled along behind, 

 grinning from ear to ear. 



"Is the master at home?" we inquire. 



"He'll be heah right smarth, I reckon. He'll be right glad 

 to see you, Sah." 



By tliis time, the dogs had inspected the writer to their 

 satisfaction, and had smoothed dowii their back hair as a sign 

 that he might pass. With the darky boy in front carrying the 

 grip, and the dogs, now wagging their welcome, we arrived 

 at the house. 



In the meantime, we had been joined at a respectable 

 distance by two or three negro claildren. Old Hannah, the 

 cook, — as one could tell by the fulness of her form — attracted 

 by the racket the dogs had been making, came around the 

 corner of the house, her hands folded under her apron, the 

 whites of her eyes shut out by a corresponding large opening 

 in the lower part of her face. Just behind her was a little 

 ebony nigger, about three years old, holding on to the corner 

 boards of the house, and sticking liis head around to see what 

 was going on. He was dressed in a single garment — a sliirt 

 that had e^adently been made for Um ^hen he was several 

 years younger. His skin was so black and shiny as to suggest 

 stove polish. Presently, his mammy spied liim and then the 

 pair disappeared around the corner, the youngster howling 

 lustily in response to the flat of his mother's bare hand on his 

 shiny black trousers, or what would have been trousers if he 

 had had a pair on. 



Just as the procession reached the lower steps of the porch, 

 the front door opened, and the JNIissis and children were there 

 to show their welcome. 



The dogs went into ecstasies about the Missis when they 

 saw the writer was welcome, as much as to say, "See what 



