Now he was scrubbing the back stairs.

His brush bumped noisily against the steps, and the sound of its scouring was nearly drowned by the jerky tune which the old fellow sung through his nose as he worked.
A carriage drove slowly down the road and stopped at the gate with the scissors; then, in obedience to some command from within, the vehicle drove on to the smaller gate beyond.

An old man with white hair and bristling mustache slowly alighted.

The master had come home.

He put out his hand as if to ring the bell, then on second thought drew a key from his pocket and fitted it in the lock.