"
Miss Cotton smiled somewhat satirically. "I'm afraid, your
Excellency, if you'd ever been a school teacher, you'd have found
many weeds in the garden."
"But how did you gain your freedom?" asked Quincy. "Did they pension
you?"
"Oh, no. An uncle died out West and left me enough with which to buy
an annuity. I board with the Reverend Mr. Howe. You remember him?"
"Why, certainly, I do. And here's his son, Emmanuel--have I got the
name right?"
"Yes, Governor, just right as to sound. I spell it with an 'E' and
two M's," said young Mr. Howe, as Miss Cotton moved on to tell of her
good fortune to Alice and Linda.
"How's your father, now? Does he preach every Sunday?"
"Reg'lar as clock work. Of course I couldn't tell everybody, but I
reckon he's using some old sermons that he wrote forty years ago, but
the young ones never heard them, and the old ones have forgotten."
Quincy laughed. Ministers' sons are seldom appalled by worldly ways
and, quite often, adopt them.
"This is Arthur Scates," said Mr. Strout, as he presented a young man
with sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, and an emaciated body. "He ain't
enjoyin' the best of health."
"Ah, I remember," said Quincy. "You are the young man who was to sing
at the concert when I first came here. I took your place, and that
act turned out to be the most important one in my life. I owe much of
my present happiness to you.
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