One morning, as I sat warming my feet by the prison stove, I heard a
slow, measured tread on the stone walk, like some one pacing off the
length of the building. When it came near to me I looked, to see the
Master stalking along in pompous dignity.
There was what he probably supposed to be authority in his bearing.
I arose and stood respectfully before him. I supposed he had commands of
some kind, for me, from his appearance.
He went along without changing his gait, or turning his head, into the
kitchen.
I really did not know what etiquette to observe on this state occasion;
but I slowly followed him. He marched round, looking over the place in
silent inspection; then came directly before me, and made a dead halt.
He did not speak for a moment, and I, to relieve the embarrassment,
asked,--
"Does the place look to suit you?"
"When it don't, I shall tell you," he answered gruffly.
"It is more pleasant to be told when we have pleased, than when we have
not."