I remember when the Ku Klux run in on my old master.

Something of a similar nature once happened in the old master's time.

His arm was arrested, and the grave old master pointed to windward.

They found their dear old master on his knees in the schoolhouse.

The only person who remained cool and collected was the old master.

The war was gettin' hot then and old master was in debt.

His old master sold the place and went to Monticello and died.

The old master called them together and told them they was free.

And so I began to serve and guide my new old master.

Here, in his corner, her old master permits himself to be proud.

I sought my old master's house, and reached it in an hour.

His old master asked him how he became so rich and prosperous.

Whom do I love in the works of that dear old master?

The boy watched the expression on his old master's face with dread.

The moments of their old master, they said, were most assuredly numbered.

She had served my old master faithfully from youth to old age.