the servants’ quarters or outbuildings (which were around to the rear of the house), but only the imposing façade with its wings and offices.
Now it was early morning; Colonel Birchall Parker had arisen, and his servant was shaving him. He sat by the open window in his dressing-gown, and with slippers on his feet. His wig, a voluminous mass of finely curled black hair, hung from the block ready for him to put on. The sunlight came in at the open window, the warm mellow breeze just stirring the linen curtains drawn back to either side and bringing with it the multitudinous sounds of singing birds from the thickets beyond the garden. The bed-clothes were thrown off from a mountainously high bed, and the wooden steps, down which Colonel Parker had a little while before descended from his couch to the bare floor, were still standing beside the curtained bedstead. The room had all the confused look of having just been slept in.
Colonel Parker held the basin under his chin while the man shaved him. He had a large, benevolent face, the smooth double chin just now covered with a white mass of soap-suds. As he moved his face a little to one side to receive the razor he glanced out of the open window. “I see the schooner is come back again, Robin,” said he.
“Yes, your honor,” said the man, “it came back last night.”
“Were there any letters?”
“I don’t know, your honor; the schooner came in about midnight, and Mr. Simms is not about yet.” The man wiped the razor as he spoke and began whetting it to a keener edge. “Mr. Richard came up with the schooner, your honor,” said he.
“Did he?”
“Yes, your honor, and Mr. Simms fetched up a lot of new servants with him. They’re quartered over in the empty store-house now. Will your honor turn your face a little this way?”
The noises of newly awakened life were sounding clear and distinct through the uncarpeted wainscoted spaces of the house – the opening and shutting of doors, the sound of voices, and now and then a break of laughter.
The great hall and the side rooms opening upon it, when Colonel Parker came down-stairs, were full of that singularly wide, cool, new look that the beginning of the morning always brings to accustomed scenes. Mr. Richard Parker, who had been down from his room some time, was standing outside upon the steps in the fresh, open air. He turned as Colonel Parker came out of the doorway. “Well, brother Richard,” said Colonel Parker, “I am glad to see you; I hope you are well?”
“Thank you, sir,” said the other, bowing, but without any change in his expression. “I hope you are in good health, sir?”
“Why, yes,” said Colonel Parker, “I believe I have naught to complain of now.” He came out further upon the steps, and stood at a little distance, with his hands clasped behind him, looking now up into the sky, now down the vista between the trees and across the river.
There was a sound of fresh young voices echoing through the upper hall, then the noise of laughter, and presently the sound of rapid feet running down the uncarpeted stairway. Then Eleanor Parker burst out of the house in a gale, caught her father by the coat, and standing on her tip-toes, kissed both of his cheeks in rapid succession.
Two young girl visitors and a young man of sixteen or seventeen followed her out of the house, the girls demurely, the young man with somewhat of diffidence in the presence of Mr. Richard Parker.
“My dear,” said Colonel Parker, “do you not then see your uncle?”
“Why, to be sure I do,” said she, “but how could you expect me to see anybody until I had first kissed you. How do you do, Uncle Richard?” and she offered him her cheek to kiss.
Mr. Richard Parker smiled, but, as he always did, as though with an effort. “Why, zounds, Nell!” said he, “sure you grow prettier every day; how long do you suppose ’twill be before you set all the gentlemen in the colony by the ears? If I were only as young as Rodney, yonder, I’d be almost sorry to be your uncle, except I would then not have the right to kiss your cheek as I have just done.”
The young girl blushed and laughed, with a flash of her eyes and a sparkle of white teeth between her red lips. “Why, Uncle Richard,” said she, “and in that case, if you were as handsome a man as you are now, I too would be sorry to have you for nothing better than an uncle.”
Just then a negro appeared at the door and announced that breakfast was ready, and they all went into the house.
Mistress Parker, or Madam Parker, as she was generally called, followed by her negro maid carrying a cushion, met them as they entered the hall. The three younger gentlemen bowed profoundly, and Madam Parker sank almost to the floor in a courtesy equally elaborate.
She was a thin little woman, very nervous and quick in her movements. She had a fine, sensitive face, and, like her daughter, very dark eyes, only they were quick and brilliant, and not soft and rich like those of the young girl.
The morning was very warm, and so, after breakfast was over, the negroes carried chairs out upon the lawn under the shade of the trees at some little distance from the house. The wide red-brick front of the building looked down upon them where they sat, the elder gentlemen smoking each a long clay pipe of tobacco, while Madam Parker sat with them talking intermittently. The young people chatted together in subdued voices at a little distance, with now and then a half-suppressed break of laughter.
“I hear, brother Richard,” said Colonel Parker, “that Simms brought up a lot of servants from Yorktown.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Parker, “there were about twenty altogether, I believe. And that brings a matter into my mind. There was one young fellow I would like very much to have if you can spare him to me – a boy of about sixteen or seventeen. I have no house-servant since Tim died, and so, if you have a mind to part with this lad, sir, I’d like mightily well to have him.”
“Why, brother Richard,” said Colonel Parker, “if Simms hath no use for the boy I see no reason why you should not have him. What hath Simms done with him?”
“He is with the other servants over at the old store-house, I believe, sir; Simms had them sent there last night. May I send for the lad, that you may see him?”
“I should be glad to see him,” said Colonel Parker.
Jack had come up from Yorktown packed with the other servants in the hold of the schooner. The hatch was tilted to admit some light and air, but he could see nothing of whither he was being taken, and his only sense of motion was in the slant of the vessel, the wind, and the rippling gurgle of the water alongside.
He had been wakened from a deep sleep to be marched past a clustering group of darkly black trees, across a grassy stretch of lawn, in the silent and profoundly starry night, to a brick building into which he and his companions were locked, as they had been locked in the old warehouse at Yorktown.
Now, as he followed the negro through the warm, bright sunlight, he gazed about him, half bewildered with the newness of everything, yet with an intense and vivid interest. He had seen really nothing of Marlborough as he had been marched up from the landing place at midnight with his companions the night before. As the negro led him around the end of the building, he gazed up curiously at the wide brick front. Then he saw that there was a party of ladies and gentlemen sitting in the shade across the lawn. He followed the negro as the other led him straight toward the group, and then he halted at a little distance, not knowing just what was expected of him.
Mr. Richard Parker beckoned to him. “Come hither, boy,” said he, “this gentleman wants to see you.” Jack obeyed, trying not to appear ungainly or uncouth
