He's our dog. He's stayin' wif Miss Ferney Foster what
libes down beyond de blacksmith's on de other side de pike. He don't
lak it no better'n we do; he's homesick, too."
They had reached a pretentious white gateway, and Uncle Jimpson,
recalled to a sense of his duties, drew himself up from his slouching
posture, crooked his elbow and rounded the curve as if he had been
driving a tally-ho. Through the bare trees above them blazed the
magnificent proportions of Angora Heights, with its pretentious
assembly of stables, garage and servants' quarters in the rear.
"Ye gods!" exclaimed the stranger under his breath; "is this all of
it?"
"Naw, _sir_!" Uncle Jimpson denied emphatically; "if hit wuz daytime
you could see de Ramparts an' de Estanade. Over dere is de Lygoon.
'Tain't nothin' shore 'nuff but our ole pond where we uster ketch
bullfrogs, but Mrs. Sequin she tole me to call hit de Lygoon. You see
dem carvins ober de door? Dat figger goin' up dat Egyptions stairway
is John Dark. Didn't you nebber heah 'bout John Dark? He wuz a woman
what fit a battle onct."
"Cut around to the side there, out of the way of the motors," directed
the stranger, who seemed much more concerned in making a quiet
entrance into the mansion than in studying its architectural features.
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