human flesh and bone and brains condemned to his
service for life; for Malachi was free to come and
go and had been so privileged since the day the old
Horn estate had been settled twenty years before,
when Richard had given him his freedom with the
other slaves that fell to his lot; not that kind of a
servitor at all, but his comrade, his chum, his friend;
the one man, black as he was, in all the world who
in laying down his life for him would but have
counted it as gain.

Just before tea Mrs. Horn, with a thin gossamer
shawl about her shoulders, would come down from
her bedroom above and join her husband. Then
young Oliver himself would come bounding in, always
a little late, but always with his face aglow and
always bubbling over with laughter, until Malachi,
now that the last member of the family was at home,
would throw open the mahogany doors, and high tea
would be served in the dining-room on the well-
rubbed, unclothed mahogany table, the plates, forks,
and saucers under Malachi's manipulations touching
the polished wood as noiselessly as soap-bubbles.

Tea served and over, Malachi would light the candies
in the big, cut-glass chandelier in the front parlor
--the especial pride of the hostess, it having hung
in her father's house in Virginia.

After this he would retire once more to his pantry,