Peter called twice before he heard the shuffle of house slippers, and
then saw the Captain's dressing-gown at the piazza steps.
"Is that you, Peter?" came a querulous voice.
"Yes, Captain. I was told you wanted to see me."
"You've been deliberate in coming," criticized the old gentleman,
testily. "I sent you word by some black rascal three days ago."
"I just received the message to-day." Peter remained discreetly at the
gate.
"Yes; well, come in, come in. See if you can do anything with this
damnable lamp."
The old man turned with a dignified drawing-together of his dressing-
gown and moved back. Apparently, the renovation of a cranky lamp was the
whole content of the Captain's summons to Peter.
There was something so characteristic in this incident that Peter was
moved to a vague sense of mirth. It was just like the old regime to call
in a negro, a special negro, from ten miles away to move a jar of ferns
across the lawn or trim a box hedge or fix a lamp.
Peter followed the old gentleman around to the back piazza facing his
study.
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