THE NEW HOME.
"Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres the cottage had crowned,
Green rushes were strewed on the floor;
The casements sweet woodbine crept wantonly round,
And decked the sod-seats at the door."
--CUNNINGHAM.
With that last terrible denunciation on her lips, Ketura had fled from
the room, from the house, out into the night.
Half delirious with mingled triumph, fiendish joy, and the pitch of
passion into which she had wrought herself, she walked with rapid,
excited strides along, heedless of whither she went, until she suddenly
ran with stunning force against another pedestrian who was coming toward
her.
The force of the concussion sent the unfortunate individual sprawling,
with rather unpleasant suddenness, on his back; while the gipsy herself,
somewhat cooled by the shock, paused for a moment and grasped a
lamp-post to steady herself.
"Good gracious!" gasped a deeply aggrieved voice from the pavement, "if
this ain't too bad! To be run into this way and pitched heels over head
on the broad of one's back without a minute's warning! Why, it's a
shame!" reiterated the voice, in a still more aggrieved cadence, as its
owner, a pale young man with a carpet-bag, slowly began to pick himself
up.
The gipsy, having recovered from the sudden collision, was about to
hurry on without paying the slightest attention to the injured owner of
the carpet-bag, when that individual, catching a full view of her face,
burst out in amazement:
"Why, if it ain't Mrs. Ketura! Well, if this isn't real surprising! How
_do_ you do? I _am_ glad to see you, I'm sure; and I dare say it was all
an accident. I hope you have been quite well since I saw you last,
ma'am," said the pale young man, politely; "I've been _very_ well
myself, I'm obliged to you."
"Who are you?" said the gipsy, impatiently, scanning his mild, freckled
frontispiece with her stiletto-like eyes.
"Why, you haven't forgotten me, have you?" said the young man,
straightening out his beaver, which had got stove in during the late
catastrophe; "why, I'm O. C. Toosypegs! I dare say you didn't expect to
see me here, but we haven't left England yet, you know. We're going the
day after to-morrow, aunt Prisciller and me; and I'm glad of it, too,
for this here London ain't what it's cracked up to be. I had my pocket
picked at least twenty times since I came here. They took my watch, my
pocketbook, and my jack-knife, and didn't even leave me so much as a
pocket-handkerchief to wipe my nose." And Mr. Toosypegs, who evidently
considered this the climax of human depravity, gave his hat a fierce
thump, that sent that astonished head-piece away down over his eyes with
rather alarming suddenness.
"I don't know you--let me pass," said the gipsy, harshly, trying to walk
away from him; but Mr. Toosypegs quickened his pace likewise, and kept
up with her.
"Why, you _do_ know me, Mrs. Ketura, and I hope you haven't went and
forgotten me so soon," said Mr. Toosypegs, in a deeply-injured tone.
"Don't you recollect that nasty wet night, a little over two years ago,
when you was walking along the north road, and I made Mr. Harkins, who
is a real nice man, only a little hasty at times, take you in and drive
you to town? You didn't seem in very good spirits that night, and I was
real sorry for your trouble--I really was, Mrs. Ketura."
The gipsy made no reply. Bitterly her thoughts went back to that
night--that long, desolate, sorrowful night--when she had bidden her son
a last farewell. She had had her revenge; she had wrenched cries of
anguish from those who had tortured her; but oh! what revenge could
remove the gnawing at her heart? what vengeance could restore her her
son? With one of those hollow groans that seem rending the heart they
burst from, her head dropped on her bosom. There was a world of anguish
and despair in the sound, and it went right to the simple heart of the
really kind Mr. Toosypegs.
"There, now, _don't_ take on so about it," he began, piteously; "it's
real distressing to listen to such groans as that. Everything happens
for the best, you know; and though, as I remarked at the time to my
friend Mr. Harkins, it was real disagreeable of them to take and send
your son away, when he didn't want to go, still it can't be helped now,
and there's no use whatever in making a fuss about it. As my uncle, who
hadn't the pleasure of your acquaintance, has left me two thousand
pounds, I should be real glad to aid you as far as money will go, and
you needn't mind about giving me your note for it either. I ain't
particular about getting it back again, I'm very much obliged to you."
During this well-meant attempt at consolation, not one word of which the
gipsy had heard, Mr. Toosypegs had been fumbling uneasily in his
pockets, and shifting his carpet-bag in a fidgety manner from one hand
to the other. Having managed at last to extract a plump pocketbook from
some mysterious recess inside of his coat, he held it out to his
companion; but she, with her eyes gloomily fixed on the ground, seemed
so totally oblivious of both himself and it, that, with a comical
expression of distress, he was forced to replace it again where it came
from.
"Now I _wouldn't_ mind it so much if I was you, you know," he resumed,
in a confidential tone. "Where's the good of making a time when things
can't be helped? I'm going to sail for America the day after
to-morrow, in a great, nasty, tarry ship, and I _would_ like to see you
in good spirits before I go. It would make it a great deal nicer if I
thought you weren't taking on."
The last words caught her ear. She lifted her haggard face and fixed her
piercing eyes so suddenly full upon him, that, with an alarmed "Lord
bless me," he sprung back and gazed upon her in evident terror.
"Going to America, are you?--to-morrow?" she asked, rapidly.
"Why--a--no, sir--that is, yes, ma'am," stammered Mr. Toosypegs, his
self-possession considerably shaken by those needle-like glances.
With lightning-like rapidity there flashed through the gipsy's mind a
scheme. London was no longer a safe place for her; she was liable to be
arrested, now, at any moment, and with her half-completed revenge this
was not to be thought of. She felt her best course would be, to leave
England altogether for some years; and she determined to avail herself
of the present opportunity.
"If I go with you to America, will you pay my passage?" she abruptly
asked, transfixing Mr. Toosypegs with her lightning eyes.
"Why, of course, with a great deal of pleasure," responded the young
man, with alacrity; "it will make it real pleasant to have you with us
during the passage, I'm sure," said Mr. Toosypegs, who felt politeness
required of him to say as much, though his conscience gave him a severe
twinge for telling such a fib. "Perhaps, as we start the day after
to-morrow, you wouldn't mind coming and stopping with us until then,
so's to have things handy. Aunt Prisciller will be delighted to make
your acquaintance, I know," concluded Mr. Toosypegs, whose conscience,
at this announcement, gave him another rebuking pinch.
"There will be two children to bring," said the gipsy, hurriedly: "I
must go for them."
"Half price," muttered Mr. Toosypegs, _sotto voce_; "what _will_ aunt
Prisciller say?"
"I will meet you here by daybreak the day after to-morrow," said the
gipsy, stopping suddenly. "Will you come?"
"Why, certainly," responded Mr. Toosypegs, who was too much in awe of
her to refuse her anything she might ask; "I'll be in this precise spot
by daybreak the day after to-morrow, though I don't approve of early
rising as a general thing; it ain't nice at all."
"Very well, I will be here--you need come with me no further," said
Ketura, dismissing him with a wave of her hand; and ere he could
expostulate at this summary dismissal, she turned a corner and
disappeared.
That night a trusty messenger was dispatched by Ketura to the gipsy camp
for little Raymond, who arrived the following night. His free, gipsy
life seemed to agree wonderfully well with that young gentleman, who
appeared in the highest possible health and spirits; his rosy cheeks and
sparkling black eyes all aglow from the woodland breezes. Five years old
now, he was tall and well-grown for his age, could climb the highest
trees like a squirrel, set bird-traps and rabbit-snares, and was as
lithe, supple, and active as a young deer. The eyes of Ketura lit up
with pride as she gazed upon him; and for the first time the idea
occurred to her that he might live to avenge his father's wrongs when
she was dead. She would bring him up to hate all of the house of De
Courcy; that hate should grow with his growth until it should become the
one ruling passion and aim of his life, swamping, by its very intensity,
every other feeling.
Master Raymond, who seemed quite as chary of caresses as his grandmother
herself, met her with a good deal of indifference; but no sooner did he
see little Erminie, than a rash and violent attachment was the result.
Accustomed to the dirty, dusky gipsy babies, who rolled all day unheeded
in the grass, this little snowy-skinned, golden-haired, blue-eyed infant
seemed so wondrously lovely that he had to give her sundry pokes with
his finger to convince himself she was real, and not an illusion. Miss
Erminie did not seem at all displeased by these attentions, but favored
him with a coquettish smile, and with her finger in her rosy mouth, gave
him every encouragement he could reasonably expect on so short an
acquaintance. Being left alone together, Master Raymond, who did not
altogether approve of her wasting her time, lying blinking at him in her
cradle, began to think it was only a common act of politeness she owed
him to get up, and seeing no symptoms of any such intention on the young
lady's part, he resolved to give her a hint to that effect. Catching
her, therefore, by one little plump leg and arm, he gave her a jerk that
swung her completely out, and then grasping her by the waist, he dumped
her down on the floor beside him, upon which she immediately clapped
another finger in her mouth; and there they sat, silently staring at
each other, until both were dispatched to bed.
Early in the morning Master Raymond and Miss Erminie found themselves
awakened from an exceedingly sound slumber, and undergoing the
unpleasant operation of dressing. The young gentleman kicked and plunged
manfully for a while, but finding it all of no use, he gave up the
struggle and yielded to fate in a second nap. Erminie, after crying a
little, followed his example; and the gipsy, taking her in her arms, and
followed by one of the tribe bearing the sleeping Raymond, hurried to
the trysting-place.
There they found Mr. Toosypegs, looking green and sea-sick already, from
anticipation. In a few words the gipsy gave him to understand that she
wished to go on board immediately--a proposition which rather pleased
Mr. Toosypegs, who was inwardly afraid she might desire to be brought to
his house, where she would be confronted by Miss Toosypegs, of whom he
stood in wholesome awe.
Half an hour brought them to the pier where the vessel lay, and
consigning little Raymond to the care of one of the female passengers,
she sought her berth with Erminie. Until England was out of sight she
still dreaded detection; and, therefore, she sat with feverish
impatience, longing to catch the last glimpse of the land wherein she
was born. She watched every passing face with suspicion, and in every
out-stretched hand she saw some one about to snatch her prize from her;
and involuntarily her teeth set, and she held the sleeping child in a
fiercer clasp.
Once she caught a passing glimpse of Mr. Toosypegs, a victim to "green
and yellow melancholy" in its most aggravated form, as he walked toward
his berth in an exceedingly limp state of mind and shirt-collar. Mr.
Toosypegs knew what sea-sickness was from experience; he had a distinct
and sad recollection of what he endured the last time he crossed the
Atlantic; and with many an ominous foreboding, he ensconced himself in
an arm-chair in the cabin, while the vessel rose and fell as she danced
over the waves. Silently he sat, as men sit who await the heaviest blow
Fate has in store for them. Suddenly a stentorian voice from the deck
rose high above the creaking and straining of ropes and trampling of
feet, with the words, "Heave ahead." Mr. Toosypegs gave a convulsive
start, an expression of intensest anguish passed over his face, and
suddenly clapping his handkerchief to his mouth, he fled into the silent
depths of the state-room, where, hidden from human view, what passed was
never known.
"Well, I never!" ejaculated a tall, thin, sharp female, with a sour
face, and a cantankerous expression of countenance generally, who sat
with her hands folded over a shiny-brown Holland gown, as upright as a
church-steeple and about as grim. "Well, I never! going hand being
sea-sick hafore he's ten minutes hon board, which his something none of
the family hever 'ad before, hand I've been hover to Hireland without
hever thinking of such a thing; lying there on the broad hof his back,
leaving me a poor, lone woman, and groanin' hevery time this dratted
hold ship gives a plunge, which is something that's not pleasant for a
hun-protected female to be, having a lot hof disagreeable sailors,
smefling of oakum and tar and sich, has hif he couldn't wait to be
sea-sick hafter we'd land. Ugh!" And Miss Priscilla Dorothea
Toosypegs--for she it was--knit up her face in a bristle of the sourest
kinks, and punctuated her rather rambling speech by sundry frowns of the
most intensely acid character.
To describe that voyage is not my intention; suffice it to say, that it
was an unusually speedy one. On the following morning, the gipsy had
appeared on deck with little Erminie, whose gentle beauty attracted
universal attention, as her nurse's dark, stern, moody face did fear and
dread. Many hands were held out for her, and Ketura willingly gave her
up, and consented to the request of a pleasant-faced young girl who
offered to take charge of her until they should land. Master Raymond had
already become prime favorite with all on board, more particularly with
the sailors; and could soon run like a monkey up the shrouds into the
rigging. At first he condescended to patronize Erminie occasionally; but
on discovering she could not climb--in fact, could not even stand on
her feet properly--he began to look down on her with a sort of lofty
contempt. On the fifth day, Mr. Toosypegs made his appearance on deck, a
walking skeleton. Everybody laughed at his wobegone looks; and so deeply
disgusted was Miss Priscilla by his sea-green visage, that it seemed
doubtful whether she would ever acknowledge the relationship again.
As every one but Miss Priscilla laughed at him, and she scolded him
unmercifully, the unhappy young man was forced to fly for relief to
Ketura, whose silent grimness was quite delightful compared with either
of the others. Feeling that she owed him something for his kindness, she
listened in silence to all his doleful complaints; and this so won upon
the susceptible heart of that unfortunate youth, that he contracted
quite an affection for her--just as a lap-dog has been known to make
friends with a tiger before now.
"What do you intend to do when you get to America, Mrs. Ketura?" he
asked one day as they sat together on the deck.
"I have not thought about it," she answered indifferently.
"You'll have to do something, you know," insinuated Mr. Toosypegs.
"People always do something in America. They're real smart people there.
_I'm_ an American, Mrs. Ketura," added Mr. Toosypegs, complacently.
A grim sort of smile, haft contempt, half pity, passed over the face of
the gipsy.
"Telling fortunes pays pretty well, I guess, but then it isn't a nice
way to make a living; and besides that little baby would be real
inconvenient to lug round with you, not to speak of that dreadful little
boy who climbs up that main-topgallant bowsprit--or whatever the nasty
steep thing's name is. No; I don't think telling fortunes would be
exactly the thing."
"I shall manage some way; don't bother me about it," said gipsy,
impatiently.
"What do you say to coming with us to Dismal Hollow? There's plenty of
room around there for you; and I should be real glad to have you near,
so that I could drop in to see you now and then."
Mr. Toosypegs was sincere in saying he would like it this time; for her
stern, fierce character had a strange sort of fascination for him, and
he really was beginning to feel a strong attachment to her.
The real kindliness of his tone, his simple generosity, touched even the
granite heart of the hard gipsy queen. Lifting her eyes, that all this
time had been moodily gazing into the dashing, foam-crested waves, she
said, in a softer voice than he ever expected to hear from her lips:
"I thank you and accept your offer, and more for _their_ sake, however,
than my own"--pointing to the children. "I could make my way through the
world easily enough, but they are young and tender, and need care. I
will go with you."
She turned away as she ceased, as if there was no more to be said on the
subject, and again looked fixedly down into the wide waste of waters.
"It's real good of you to say so, Mrs. Ketura, and I'm very much obliged
to you," said Mr. Toosypegs with a brightening up of his pallid
features. "We will land at New York, and after that, go to Dismal Hollow
_via_ Baltimore, which means, Mrs. Ketura," said Mr. Toosypegs,
interrupting himself, to throw in a word of explanation, "'by way of'
It's Latin, or Greek, I guess, though I never learned either. Ugh! ain't
Latin nice, though!" added the owner of the sickly complexion, with a
grimace of intensest disgust. "I tried it for six weeks one time, with
an apothecary; and then, as it began to throw me into a decline, I gave
it up. Not any more. I'm very much obliged to you."
Three days after that the vessel touched the wharf at New York. And
after two days' delay, which Mr. Toosypegs required to get his "land
legs" on, they set off for Baltimore.
In due course of time that goodly city was reached, and one week after,
the whole party arrived at Judestown--a thriving country town on the
sea-coast, called then after the first settler, but known by another
name, now.
Driving through the town, they reached the suburbs, and entered a more
thinly-settled part of the country. Gleaming here and there through the
trees, they could catch occasional glimpses of the bright waters of the
Chesapeake, and hear the booming of the waves on the low shore.
Turning an abrupt angle in the road, they drove down a long, steep,
craggy path, toward a gloomy mountain gorge, at sight of which Mr.
Toosypegs so far forgot himself as to take off his hat and wave it over
his head, with a feeble "Hooray for Dismal Hollow!" which so scandalized
that strict Christian, his aunt, that she gave him a look beneath which
he wilted down, and was heard no more.
"What an ugly old place! I won't go there!" exclaimed little Raymond,
with a strong expression of contempt.
And truly it did not look very inviting. The mountain, which, by some
convulsion of nature, seemed to have been violently rent in twain, was
only passable by a narrow, dangerous bridle-path. Down in the very
bottom of this deep, gloomy gorge, stood an old, time-worn building of
what had once been red brick, with dismal, black, broken window
shutters, that at some far-distant time might have been green. A range
of dilapidated barns and outhouses spread away behind, and in front,
some hundred yards distant, ran a slender rivulet, which every spring
became swollen into a foaming torrent.
Here the sun never penetrated; no living creature was to be seen, and a
more gloomy and dismal spot could hardly have been found in the wide
world. Even the gipsy queen looked round with a sort of still amaze that
any one could be found to live here, while Miss Priscilla elevated both
hands in horror, and in the dismay of the moment was surprised into the
profanity of exclaiming: "Great Jemimi!"
"It's the ugliest old place ever was, and I won't go there!" reiterated
Master Raymond, kicking viciously at Mr. Toosypegs, to whom, with an
inward presentiment, he felt he owed his coming.
"It _is_ rather dull-looking, now," said Mr. Toosypegs, apologetically;
"but wait till we get it fixed up a little, after a spell. The niggers
have let things go to waste since I went away."
"Humph! Should think they had!" said Miss Priscilla, with a disdainful
sniff. "Nothing but treeses, and rockses, and mountainses split him two;
hand what your blessed father, which lies now a hangel in some nasty,
swampy graveyard, could have been thinking habout, with that 'orrid
little river hafore the door, to build a 'ouse in sich a spot, which
must hoverflow hevery time hit rains, his more than I can tell--drowning
us hin hour beds, as it will be sure to do some fine morning or hother.
Wah! wah!" And with this final expression of disgust, given in a tone of
scorn no words can express, the ancient virgin suffered herself to be
handed from the wagon by her dutiful nephew and deposited in a
mud-puddle before the door to the great benefit of her stockings and
temper.
The noise of wheels, a very unusual noise there--brought some half-score
of lean, hungry-looking curs from some unseen region, who instantly
began a furious yelping and barking. Miss Priscilla set up a series of
short, sharp little screams, and jumped up on a rock in mortal terror;
little Erminie, terrified by the noise, began to cry; Master Raymond
yelled to the dogs at the top of his lungs, and plunged headforemost in
among them; Mr. Toosypegs went through all the phases of the potential
mood--"exorting, entreating, commanding,"--and a general uproar ensued
that would have shamed Babel.
The hubbub and din roused the inmates, at last, as it might very easily
have done the Seven Sleepers themselves.
A shuffling tread of feet was heard within, and then a trembling voice
demanded:
"Who dar?"
"It's me. Open the door, for goodness' sake!" exclaimed Mr. Toosypegs,
in an agony of supplication.
"We's got yarms, and dar ain't notting in de house for you to rob, so
you'd better go 'way," said a quavering voice, that evidently strove in
vain to be courageous.
"_Will_ you open the door? I tell you it's only _me_!" shouted the
deeply-exasperated Mr. Toosypegs, seizing the handle of the door and
giving it a furious shake.
Cautiously the door was partly opened, a terrified voice was heard to
whisper: "You hit dem wid de poker arter I fire," and then the frowning
muzzles of two huge horse-pistols met their dismayed eyes.
"Don't shoot--it's ME!" yelled the terror-stricken Mr. Toosypegs; but
his words were lost in the bang! bang! of the pistols as they went off.
"Oh, Lord, have mercy on me! I'm shot!" shrieked the unhappy Mr.
Toosypegs, as he dropped like a stone in the mud, and lay motionless.
"Hand me de brunderingbuss--quick, Pomp! Dar's more o' dem," again
whispered the chattering voice; and once more the warlike individual
within blazed away, while Miss Priscilla lay kicking in the strongest
hysterics, and Mr. Toosypegs, flat on his face in the mud, lay as rigid
and still as a melancholy corpse.
So completely amazed was the gipsy queen by all this, that she stood
motionless, with Erminie in her arms. Now the door was slowly opened,
and a negro's face, gray with terror, was protruded. His round, goggle
eyes, starting from his head with fear, fell on the prostrate forms of
Miss Priscilla and her unfortunate nephew.
"Two ob dem gone, bress de Lord!" piously ejaculated Cuffee. "It takes
me for to do de bisiness. Well, bress Mars'r! if I ain't had a fight
for't." Then catching sight of the gipsy, he paused suddenly, and jumped
back, and raised the discharged blunderbuss, but no effort could make it
go off a second time.
"Are you mad, fellow?" exclaimed the deep, commanding voice of Ketura.
"Would you murder your master?"
"Young mars'r hab gone; an'ef you don't cl'ar right out dar'll be more
blood shed!" exclaimed the negro, still keeping his formidable weapon
cocked.
"I tell you this is your master!" impatiently exclaimed Ketura. "He
arrived to-day; and now you have shot him."
Slowly the blunderbuss was lowered, as if the conviction that she might
be speaking the truth was slowly coming home to the mind of her hearer.
Cautiously he left his post of danger and approached his prostrate foe.
Gathering courage from his apparent lifelessness, he at last ventured to
turn him over, and all smeared and clotted with mud, the pallid features
of Mr. Toosypegs were upturned to the light. His arms were stretched
stiffly out by his side, as much like a corpse as possible; his eyes
were tightly closed; ditto his lips, all covered with soft mud.
There was no mistaking that face. With a loud howl of distress, the
negro threw himself upon the lifeless form of poor Mr. Toosypegs.
"Ah! You've got your elbow in the pit of my stomach!" exclaimed the
corpse, with a sharp yell of pain. "Can't you get out of that, and let
me die in peace?"
For the first time in two years the gipsy, Ketura, laughed. In fact,
they would have been more than mortal who could have beheld that
unspeakably-ludicrous scene without doing so.
Miss Priscilla stopped her hysterical kicking and plunging, and raised
herself on her elbow to look.
The negro, with a whoop of joy that might have startled a Shawnee
Indian, seized Mr. Toosypegs, who had shut his eyes and composed himself
for death again, save an occasional splutter as the mud went down his
throat, and swinging him over his shoulder as if he had been a limp
towel, rushed with him in triumph into the house.
"He warn't dead, then, hafter hall?" said Miss Priscilla, sharply, in a
voice that seemed made of steel-springs. "Well, I never! Going hand
fright'ning respectable parties hout their wits with 'orrid black
niggers, firing hoff of pistols hand cannons; lying there in the mud
making believe dead; hand shooting me somewhere--for I can feel the
balls hinside hof me; spoiling a good new suit hof clothes, rolling
there like a pig, and not dead, hafter hall; hand that there nigger
shooting away like mad hall the time, which his a mercy to be thankful
for! Wah! wah!"
And, with her usual look of sour disgust immeasurably heightened, Miss
Priscilla gathered up her own muddy skirts and marched, like a loaded
rifle all ready to go off, into a long, black, chill, littered hall.
Half a dozen frightened darkies were crouching in the further corner,
and on these Miss Priscilla turned the muzzle of the rifle, and a sharp
volley of oddly-jumbled up sentences went off in tones of keenest irony.
"Yes; you may stand there, you hugly black leeches, hafter shooting us
hevery one--though looks ain't hof no consequence in this horrid place;
hand hif you don't get 'ung for it some day, my name hain't Priscilla
Dorothea Toosypegs! Perhaps you'll show me where my nevvy his, which
you've shot so nicely, hand make a fire, hafter keeping hus rolling hin
the mud, getting our death hof cold in this 'orrid cold 'ouse, which,
being a respectable female, hand not a pig, I hain't used to; hand
Hamerica mud hain't the nicest thing I ever saw for to eat; so maybe
you'll get hus some dinner, hand show me to where my nevvy his, hif you
please," concluded Miss Priscilla, in tones of most cutting irony.
The terrified servants understood enough of this singular address to
know Miss Toosypegs wished for a fire, her dinner, and her nephew. An
old woman, therefore, in a gaudy Madras turban, advanced, and led the
way up a rickety flight of stairs into a comfortless-looking room, with
a damp, unaired odor, where, on a bed, lay the mortal remains of O. C.
Toosypegs, with the darkey--whose name I may as well say at once was
Cupid--giving him a most vigorous rubbing, which extorted from the dead
man sundry groans and grimaces and encouraged Cupid to still further
exertions.
The loaded rifle advanced to the bedside, and a second volley went off.
"Come, Horlander Toosypegs, get hup hout o' that, lying there in this
musty hold room, face and hall plastered hover with mud, which his
enough to give you the rheumatism the longest day you live, without the
first spark hof a fire--so it is!"
"I'm dying, Aunt Priscilla; stay with me to the last!" in the faintest
whisper, responded Mr. Toosypegs, languidly opening his eyes, and then
shutting them again.
"Dying? Wah, wah!" grunted Miss Priscilla, catching him by the shoulder
and shaking him with no gentle hand. "Pretty corpse you'll make, hall
hover with mud, hand looks has much like dying has I do."
"De brunderingbuss an' de pissels war only loaded wid powder--no shot in
'em at all. 'Deed, old missus, he ain't hurted the fustest mite, only he
t'inks so."
"Hold!" shrieked Miss Priscilla, turning fiercely upon Cupid. "You
impident black nigger, you! to call me hold! Leave the room this very
minute, hand never let me see your hugly, black face hagain!"
"Come--you are not hurt--get up!" said Ketura, going over to the
bedside, as poor Cupid, crestfallen, slunk away. "There is not a hair of
your head injured. Up with you!"
"Am I not shot?" demanded Mr. Toosypegs, bewildered. "Did the bullet not
enter my brain?"
"You never had any for it to enter," said the gipsy, encouragingly.
"Look yourself; there is neither wound nor blood."
"No; but it's bleeding inwardly," said Mr. Toosypegs, with a hollow
groan. "Oh, I know I'm a dead man!"
"Chut! I have no patience with you! Get up, man! you are as well as
ever!" impatiently exclaimed Ketura.
Slowly Mr. Toosypegs, who had immense faith in Ketura, lifted first one
arm and then another to see if either were powerless. Satisfied on this
point, he next lifted each leg; and finding, to his great astonishment,
that his limbs were all sound, he carefully began to raise himself up in
bed. No torrent of blood followed this desperate attempt, as he expected
there would be; and the next minute, Mr. Orlando Toosypegs stood, safe
and sound, on the floor, looking about as sheepish a young gentleman as
you would find from Maine to Florida.
"You thought you was gone--didn't you?" said the little witch, Raymond,
with a malicious chuckle of delight, as he watched the chopfallen hero
of the pallid features.
Miss Toosypegs merely contented herself with a look of lofty contempt
more withering than words, and then rustled out to rouse up the "hugly
black leeches" on the subject of dinners and fires.
Having succeeded in both objects especially in the dinner department,
which Aunt Bob, the presiding deity of the kitchen, had got up in
sublime style, Miss Priscilla was in somewhat better humor; and having
announced her intention of beginning a thorough reformation both out
doors and in, turned briskly to her nephew, who sat in a very dejected
state of mind, without so much as a word to say for himself, and
exclaimed:
"Now, Horlander, the best thing you can do is, to go immediately hand
see habout getting a 'ouse for Mrs. Ketura hand the children, which
would never survive a day in this damp hold barn; besides, being to do
some time or hother, it mayhas well be did first has last, hand save the
'spense hof a doctor's bill, which his the hunpleasantest thing hever
was stuck hin hanybody's face."
Mr. Toosypegs, who felt he would never more dare to call his soul his
own, meekly put on his hat, and said he would go and see about a cottage
he knew of which would suit Mrs. Ketura to a T. The fact was, he was
glad to escape from his aunt; and that good lady, who had classed Mrs.
Ketura and the children under the somewhat indefinite title of
"riff-raff" from the first, was equally anxious to be rid of them.
Late that evening, Mr. Toosypegs returned, with the satisfactory news
that he had obtained the cottage, which belonged, he informed them, to a
certain Admiral Havenful, who, not having any particular use for it
himself, said they might have it rent free. The cottage was furnished;
just as it had been let by its last tenant; and Mrs. Ketura might pitch
her tent there, with a safe conscience, as fast as she liked.
"You had better take one of the servants with you, too," said Mr.
Toosypegs, good-naturedly; "we have more than we want, and you will
require one to mind the baby, and fetch water, and do chores. I think
Lucy will do as well as any."
Miss Toosypegs frowned at first; but remembering, upon second thoughts,
that there was already a tribe of useless negroes and dogs, eating them
out of house and home, she gave a sharp assent, at last, to her nephew's
arrangement.
Early the next morning, Mr. Toosypegs, Ketura, Raymond, Erminie, and the
negress, Lucy, entered the wagon, and turned their backs upon Dismal
Hollow.
Half an hour's drive through a forest-road, all aglow with the leafy
splendor of early July, brought them to the seashore. Far removed from
any other habitation, stood a pretty little whitewashed cottage, a
little fairy-bandbox of a place, on a bank above the sea, nestling like
a pearl set in emeralds as it gleamed through a wilderness of vines and
shrubs. A wide, dry, arid expanse, overrun with blueberry and cranberry
vines, spread before the door toward the north, as far as the eye could
reach. Far in the distance, they could see a huge house, of a dazzling
whiteness, unshaded by tree or vine, as it stood in the full glare of
the hot sun, dazzling the eye of the gazer. This, Mr. Toosypegs gave
them to understand, was the "White Squall," the residence of Admiral
Havenful; and the dry plains spreading into the distance were very
appropriately known as the "Barrens." South and east, a dense forest
shut in the view, and to the west spread out the boundless sea.
"Now, Mrs. Ketura," said Mr. Toosypegs, in a mysterious whisper, "you
can't live upon green vines and blueberries, nor yet you can't stay in
this cottage from morning till night, you know, though I dare say Aunt
Priscilla thinks you can. Therefore you must take this purse--half of
which the admiral gave me for you last night, and the other half--well,
no matter. Then, as you'll want to go to Judestown to market, and to
church, sometimes, I'll send over the pony and the old buggy; but don't
you say a word about it to Aunt Priscilla--women don't need to know
anything, you know, as they don't always view things in their proper
light; and Aunt Priscilla's queer any way. If there's anything else you
want, just you send Lucy for it to Dismal Hollow, and you shall have it,
Mrs. Ketura, for I like you real well."
"You are very kind," said the gipsy, again touched by his good-nature;
"and I hope you will always regard yourself as one of the family."
"Hark you, Mrs. Ketura," said Mr. Toosypegs, in a tone of delight. "I
certainly will, since you wish it. I'll drop in very often. I'm very
much obliged to you."
And, waving his hand briskly, Mr. Toosypegs resumed his seat in the
wagon, and drove off again to Dismal Hollow.