The barking of a house dog brought out a negro boy, to whom Robinson instantly addressed the query,
"Is your master at home?"
"No, sir. He's got his horse, and gone off more than an hour ago."
"Where is your mistress?"
"Shelling beans, sir."
"I didn't ask you," said the sergeant, "what she is doing, but where she is."
"In course, she is in the house, sir," replied the negro with a grin.
"Any strangers there?"
"There was plenty on em a little while ago, but they've been gone a good bit."
Robinson, having thus satisfied himself as to the safety of his visit, directed the boy to take his horse and lead him up to the door. He then entered the dwelling.
"Mistress Ramsay," said he, walking up to the dame, who was occupied at a table, with a large trencher before her, in which she was plying that household thrift which the negro described; "luck to you, ma'am, and all your house! I hope you haven't none of these clinking and clattering bullies about you, that are as thick over this country as the frogs in the kneading troughs, that they tell of."
"Good lack, Mr. Horseshoe Robinson," exclaimed the matron, offering the sergeant her hand. "What has brought you here? What news? Who are with you? For patience sake, tell me!"
"I am alone," said Robinson, "and a little wettish, mistress," he added, as he took off his hat and shook the water from it; "it has just sot up a rain, and looks as if it was going to give us enough on 't. You don't mind doing a little dinner work of a Sunday, I see—shelling of beans, I s'pose, is tantamount to
