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“Don’t worry about me,” laughed Douglas, as the two men stepped into the hall. “I’ve camped out in much worse places than this room.”

“Well, good night. I’ll be here the first thing in the morning,” and Brett pulled open the door and ran down the steps.

As Douglas replaced the night latch on the front door, Joshua joined him.

“I brunged yo’ dis ’comfort’,” raising a soft eiderdown quilt, which he carried tucked on his left arm. “I thought yo’ might like it over yo’ on der sofa.”

“Thanks very much,” exclaimed Douglas, taking it from him.

Joshua followed him to the library door. “I ain’t goin’ ter bed,” he explained. “I couldn’t sleep no-how,” the soft, drawling voice held a touch of pathos, “Marse James was mighty kind ter me—and thirty years is a mighty long time ter be ’sociated in de fam’bly. So I jes’ reckon I’ll sit on der window-seat in der hall. Ef yo’ want anythin’ jest let me know, Marse Hunter.”

“All right, Joshua. I’ll leave this door open, so you can call me if I am needed. Good night.”