They were now in the yard, which was so filled with farming utensils that the driver found it difficult to effect a passage up to the door.  The gentlemen were about concluding to alight where they were, when Mr. Middleton was heard calling out, “Ho, thar, driver, don’t run agin that ar ox-cart; turn a leetle to the right, can’t ye?  Now be keerful and not run afoul of the plaguey lye leech.  I b’lieve the niggers would move the hut, Josh and all, into the yard, if they could only make a raise!”

Mr. Stafford and Frank looked eagerly out at the speaker, who fully realized Frank’s idea of him.  His beard was as long and black as a rapid growth of three weeks could make it.  As Julia had feared, he was dressed in his favorite bagging pants, which hung loosely, even around his huge proportions, and looked as if fitted to some of his outbuildings.  He was very warm and he wore neither coat nor vest, while his feet, whose dimensions we have mentioned before, were minus either shoes or stockings.  He appeared in the doorway buttoning one of his suspenders.  The truth was he had spied the carriage in the distance, and as his linen was none the cleanest he hastened to change, and was now putting the finishing touch to his toilet.  When he caught sight of the occupants of the carriage he thought to himself, “Thar’s a heap on ’em.  Nancy’ll have to rout the whole gang of niggers, field hands and all, to huntin’ hin’s nests after eggs enough for dinner.”

By this time the gentlemen had alighted, and Mr. Middleton went forward to receive them.  “How d’ye do, how d’ye do?” said he; “I’m mighty glad you’ve come.  I wish you’d brought the whole city.”

“We came pretty near it, I think,” said Mr. Miller, at the same time presenting Mr. Stafford and Mr. Cameron.

Mr. Middleton continued talking, as if replying to Mr. Miller’s first remark.  “No consequence, no consequence, Mr. Stafford, Mr. Cameron, how are you?  The more the merrier.  I s’pose they’ve told you all about Josh, so I needn’t make b’lieve any—­but come in—­the house looks better inside than it does out.”  “Ho, Luce,” continued he, “where the old boy is your mistress?  Tell her thar’s heaps of folks here, and mind tell Aunt Judy to get us up a whalin’ dinner.”

Here he stopped to take breath for a moment, and then proceeded.  “You must excuse my rig, gentlemen, or rather, you must excuse what ain’t rigged; mebby if I’d known all you city buggers was comin’, I’d a kivered my bar feet.”

“You go barefoot for comfort?” said Mr. Miller.

“Why, yes, mainly for that, I suppose,” answered Mr. Middleton, “for I’ve got such fetchin’ big corns on my feet that I ain’t goin’ to be cramped with none of your toggery.  My feet happen to be clean, for I washed them in the watering trough this mornin’.  How d’ye leave my gals?”

“They are well,” answered Mr. Miller, “or rather Julia is, and Fanny is improving every day.”