Todd led the way and the two crossed the park and struck out for the lower part of the city, near Jones Falls, into a district surrounded by one-and two-story houses inhabited by the poorer class of whites and the more well-to-do free negroes.  Here the streets, especially those which ran to the wharves, were narrow and ill-paved, their rough cobbles being often obstructed by idle drays, heavy anchors, and rusting anchor-chains, all on free storage.  Up one of these crooked streets, screened from the brick sidewalk by a measly wooden fence, stood a two-story wooden house, its front yard decorated with clothes-lines running criss-cross from thumbs of fence-posts to fingers of shutters—­a sort of cat’s-cradle along whose meshes Aunt Jemima hung her wet clothes.

On this particular day what was left of St. George Temple’s wardrobe and bed linen, with the exception of what that gentleman had on his back, was either waving in the cool air of the morning or being clothes-pinned so that it might wave later on.

Todd’s anxious face was the first to thrust itself from around the corner of a sagging, sloppy sheet.  The two had entered the gate in the fence at the same moment, but St. George had been lost in the maze of dripping linen.

“Go’way f’om dar, you fool nigger, mussin’ up my wash!  Keep yo’ black haid off’er dem sheets, I tell ye, ‘fo’ I smack ye!  An’ ye needn’t come down yere a-sassin’ me ’bout Marse George’s clo’es, ’cause dey ain’t done—­” (here Temple’s head came into view, his face in a broad smile).  “Well, fer de lan’s sakes, Marse George.  What ye come down yere fer?  Here—­lemme git dat basket outer yo’ way—­No, dem hands ain’t fit fer nobody to shake—­My!—­but I’s mighty glad ter see ye!  Don’t tell me ye come fer dat wash—­I been so pestered wid de weather—­nothin’ don’t dry.”

He had dodged a wet sheet and had the old woman by the hand now, her face in a broad grin at sight of him.

“No, aunty—­I came down to pay you some money.”

“You don’t owe me no money—­leastwise you don’t owe me nothin’ till ye kin pay it,” and she darted an annihilating glance at Todd.

“Yes, I do—­but let me see where you live.  What a fine place—­plenty of room except on wash-days.  All those mine?—­I didn’t know I had that many clothes left.  Pick up that basket, Todd, and bring it in for aunty.”  The two made their way between the wet linen and found themselves in front of the dwelling.  “And is this all yours?”

“De fust flo’ front an ‘back is mine an’ de top flo’ I rents out.  Got a white man in dere now dat works in de lumber yard.  Jes’ come up an’ see how I fixed it up.”

“And tell me about your sister—­is she better?” he continued.

The old woman put her arms akimbo:  “Lawd bress ye, Marse George!—­who done tol’ ye dat fool lie!  I ain’t got no sister—­not yere!”

“Why, I thought you couldn’t come back to me because you had to nurse some member of your family who had kittens, or some such misery in her spine—­wasn’t that it, Todd?” said St. George trying to conceal a smile.