PLAYING WITH EDGED TOOLS.
"Thinkest thou there dwells no courage but in breasts
That set their mail against the ringing spears
When helmets are struck down? Thou little knowest
Of nature's marvels."
--MRS. HEMANS.
Miss Petronilla Lawless was an exceedingly precocious, an exceedingly
courageous, and an exceedingly self-possessed young lady, as our readers
are aware, yet now her brave heart for one moment seemed to die within
her, and a terrified shriek arose and was barely suppressed on her lips.
The hour, the scene, the darkness, the danger, might have made an older
and stronger person quail. Alone in the woods, where no scream for help
could be heard, with the gloom of Hades all around, save when the blue
blaze of the heat-lightning flashed for a moment through the darkness,
helpless and alone, in the power of a fierce, blood-thirsty negro. For
one instant, a deadly inclination to swoon came over her; but the next,
"coward and boaster," as she heard the words from Ranty's lips, came
borne to her ear, nerving her heart with new courage and her childish
arms with new strength.
"Am I a coward and boaster, as he said?" she mentally exclaimed, while
her eye lit fiercely up. "Yes, I am, if I scream and faint; so I won't
do either. It wasn't for nothing I learned to shoot and carry pistols
about, and Ranty won't call me a coward again, if I die for it!"
All these thoughts had passed through her mind in half an instant, and
now the dauntless little amazon sat erect on her horse, and one little
brown hand dropped to the pistol she carried in her belt.
The black, meanwhile, had held her rearing steed firmly by the
bridle-rein.
"Come, get off with you!" said the negro, gruffly. "I'll look after you
for a few days, Miss Pet. Come; I've got a place all ready for you in
here."
Now, Pet was too young and guileless to fear any worse fate than
robbery, imprisonment, or, perhaps, death; but as the negro attempted to
pass one arm around her waist and lift her from her saddle, her face
blanched with horror and loathing, and shrinking back she shrieked:
"Let me go--let me go, I tell you! I'll kill you if you don't let me
go!"
"Oh come, now, missy--none o' this. Little kittens spit and snap, but we
ain't afraid of 'em. You've got to come! so you may as well come at
once."
"Lift her off, and carry her 'long. No use a-standin' foolin' here!"
said another deep, guttural voice.
"Let me alone! I tell you let me alone! I'll murder you, if you don't!"
screamed Pet, passionately, her finger closing hard on the trigger.
"Oh, I'm getting tired of this yer!" exclaimed the black, as he resigned
the horse to his companion.
And, going over to Pet, he flung his arm around her and attempted to
lift her from her saddle.
A flash of lightning at that instant revealed the black, shining visage
plainly to Pet as his face was upraised to hers.
Her teeth were clenched hard, her pistol was raised, one swift short
prayer for help, and the brave little amazon fired!
A loud cry, that arose even above the sharp report, burst from the lips
of him who held the horse, as he let go the reins and sprung toward his
wounded companion.
The frightened Arabian, the moment he felt himself released, bounded
madly away, and in five minutes Pet was beyond danger.
The cottage on the Barrens was the nearest habitation; but all was dark
there, and the family had evidently retired to rest.
While Pet paused to deliberate a moment whether she would rouse them up
or ride home to Heath Hill, she chanced to turn her eyes in the
direction of the White Squall--as the old sailor, Admiral Havenful, had
named his huge white palace of painted wood--and perceived a long line
of red light streaming from one of the windows far over the dry level
moor.
"Uncle Harry's up yet!" exclaimed Pet. "I'll go there, and stay all
night. Gee up, Starlight! You have carried me out of danger once
to-night; just take me to 'Old Harry's,' as Deb says, and then you may
put your head under your wing and go to sleep as fast as you like."
As if he had understood her, her fleet steed bounded furiously over the
heath; and five minutes later, Pet was standing knocking away with the
butt-end of her whip on the door, loud enough to waken the dead.
The terrific thumping brought three or four servants scampering to the
door; and close at their heels, holding a bedroom candlestick high over
her head, came the "grand seigneur" of the household, himself looking
slightly bewildered at this attempt to board him by force.
"Law! if it ain't Miss Pet!" ejaculated the man who admitted her. "Might
'a' known 'twar she; nobody else would come thumpin' like dat. Fit to
t'ar de ruff off!"
"Don't be afraid, Uncle Harry; it's only me!" said Pet, as she came in
dispersing the darkeys by a grand flourish of her whip.
"Port your helm!" exclaimed the admiral, still slightly bewildered, as
he held the candlestick aloft and stared at Pet with all his eyes.
"Well, how can I port my helm out here, I want to know?" cried Pet,
testily. "Look at these niggers gaping, as if I had two heads on me, and
you, standing staring at me, with that old candlestick over your head,
that's got no candle in it. Here! go along with you! Be off with you!"
And again Pet flourished her whip among them, in a way that had the
effect of speedily sending them flying to the kitchen regions, while she
gave her passive uncle a push that sent him into the parlor from which
he had just emerged.
This done, Pet followed him, shut the door with a bang, flung her whip
across the room, and dropped, with a long, deep breath of relief and
security, into an arm-chair.
The admiral sunk into another, still holding the candlestick in his
hand, and never removing his eyes from her face. Thus they sat for some
minutes, she gazing on the floor, he gazing in helpless bewilderment on
her; and while they are thus engaged, we will take the liberty of
glancing round the parlor of the White Squall.
Like the sitting-room of Miss Priscilla Toosypegs, there was a
"plentiful scarcity" of the ornamental, and, unlike hers, a great
preponderance of the useless. The floor was covered by a thick, dark
carpet; the windows were shaded by blue-paper blinds; the walls were as
white as the largest possible amount of whitewash could make them, and
adorned by pencil draughts of ships, brigs, schooners, corvettes, and
every other kind of vessel that ever delighted the heart of a sailor and
puzzled an uninitiated female to describe.
Over the mantel-piece was a huge painting of a straw colored and pink
man-of-war, on a blue-green sea, blazing away at a terrified-looking
little cutter, on whose deck could be seen a gentleman and a lady, both
considerably taller than the mainmast. This work of art was the pride
and glory of the admiral, and was displayed to every stranger who
visited the White Squall as something that might make even the great old
masters look to their laurels.
Deer-antlers bristled in various corners, and five or six huge cages,
filled with owls, parrots, hawks, and a dozen other strange birds, hung
from the ceiling, while the model of a ship, some three feet long, with
all her sails set, her cargo and crew most probably under the
hatches--for none were visible on deck--and apparently all ready for
sea, stood on the mantel-piece, right under _the_ painting.
A huge, wide fireplace, in which, despite the warmth of the evening, a
bright fire was burning, occupied one corner of the apartment, and close
beside this sat Admiral Havenful, in his elbow-chair, still staring at
his niece.
The admiral was a man of fifty or so, short, stout, plethoric, with a
rubicund face, a jolly sailor's swagger, and a simple, good-natured
look, naturally, that made every heart warm toward him. Very rich, very
generous, and very easily "taken in," he was the guardian-angel of all
the poor in the neighborhood. The admiral had never married, and had
only quitted the service a few years before to settle down and end his
days in the pride of his heart, his huge, white, eye-blinding "White
Squall." A fondness for whisky-punch, children, and nautical phrases,
were the most noticeable traits in the old man's character. His niece,
Pet Lawless, had never ceased to astonish him, from the first moment he
saw her, and now he sat hopelessly gazing at her, and trying to make out
what could have brought her there at that hour of the night, looking so
pale and excited.
Pet, with her dark eyes fixed on the floor, was uneasily wondering
whether she had killed the man she had shot at, and shuddering to think
what a dreadful thing it was to shed blood, even in self-defense.
"Oh, I hope--I do hope I haven't killed him!" she exclaimed at last,
involuntarily, aloud.
"Killed who? Firefly?" inquired the astounded admiral.
"Uncle Harry," said Pet, looking abruptly up, "I've gone and killed a
man!"
This startling announcement so completely overwhelmed the worthy
admiral, that he could only give vent to his feelings by a stifled
"Stand from under!"
"Yes, I just have; and I expect they'll hang me for it, now. Ranty said
I was to be hung, but who would think he could really tell fortunes?"
"Killed a man! St. Judas Iscariot!" ejaculated the dismayed admiral.
"When, Flibbertigibbet?"
"To-night; not fifteen minutes ago. I expect he's as dead as a herring
by this time!" said Pet, planting her elbows on her knees, dropping her
chin in her hands, and gazing moodily into the fire.
Admiral Havenful glanced appealingly at the candlestick; but as that
offered no clue to the mystery, he took off his hat, scratched his head
(or, rather, his wig; for he wore one), and then clapped it on again,
and turned briskly to his niece.
"Now, little hurricane! just shake out another reef or so--will you? I'm
out of my latitude altogether."
"Well, I guess you'd have been more out of it, if you had been caught as
I was to-night," said Pet, with a sort of gloomy stoicism. "I was coming
through the woods, you know, between Dismal Hollow and the Barrens,
when, all of a sudden, two great, big, black niggers jumped from behind
the trees, and caught hold of my horse."
With something like a snort of terror and dismay, the admiral sprung to
his feet, and brandished the candlestick fiercely over his head, while
waiting for what was to come.
"Body of Paul Jones! And what did you do, whirligig?"
"Why, I told them to let go, and they wouldn't; and then I took a
pistol, and shot one of them!" exclaimed Pet, with flashing eyes.
"Hoorah!" shouted the admiral, waving the candlestick delightedly above
his head. "I knew there was some of the Havenful blood in you! Three
cheers for Flibbertigibbet!"
"Then my horse started, and ran off, and I came right straight here,"
concluded Pet, her cheeks and eyes lighting up at the exciting
recollection.
"Hoorah for little Bombshell!" roared the admiral, as he sprung forward,
and catching Pet's hand, gave it a squeeze that nearly crushed the
little digits. "You ought to have been a boy, Firefly! By Saint
Christopher Columbus! you are a female hero, Pet!"
"Well, but it isn't nice to kill a man, or even a nigger! I hope he
ain't dead," said Pet, uneasily.
"Never you mind the monkey! Served him right if he is! I do hope he's
gone to 'Davy's locker,' where he'll get a warmer welcome. Why, he would
have killed you, Pet!"
"I expect he would; though I don't see where would be the good of
killing a little thing like me," said Pet, thoughtfully humane. "I say,
uncle, I'd like to go and see if he's dead!"
"And may I be swung to the yard-arm if I let you go a step! Does the
girl want to get killed again?" said the admiral, puffing up and down
the room, with his hands stuck in his pockets, like a stranded porpoise.
"No; the girl doesn't want to get killed," said Pet, crossly. "I'm not
going to be killed so easily, thank you! But it seems to me you might
mount two or three of the servants, and let them come with me; and I
will call for Ray Germaine; and we'll all go together to the woods, and,
maybe, catch those runaway niggers that are frightening the lives out of
people. I shot one of 'em, I know; and we can track him by his bleeding.
There's a reward offered, too, for whoever takes them up; and who knows
but I may get it?"
"Set fire to the reward! That's a good notion, though, about going in
search of them when they're wounded, Pet. Oh, you're a jewel,
Flibbertigibbet, and no mistake about it! There ought to be a song made
about you. I'll go, too; and there's no time to lose. Pipe all hands,
Firefly, while I go and look for my boots."
"Now, why couldn't he say 'Call the servants,' as well as 'Pipe all
hands'? which hasn't a sensible sound at all," said Pet, as she arose to
obey. "Here, you! Jake, Tom, Bob!" she added, opening the door, and
shouting at the top of her lungs, "come here as fast as you can. There's
murder in the camp!"
"Tumble up!" roared the admiral, from within.
"Tumble up!" repeated Pet, imitating the old sailor's gruff roar as well
as she could. "Uncle says so."
Jake, and Tom, and Bob, most probably thinking, from the uproar, the
house was on fire, "tumbled up" accordingly, precipitating themselves
over one another, in their eagerness to be first on the field of battle.
"Clear out, and saddle four horses, and arm yourselves with
boarding-pikes and cutlasses!" commanded the admiral, fastening a rusty
sword to his side, and sticking a couple of pistols in his belt. "And
then mount, and ride round to the front door, and stand by for further
orders. Oh, the blamed black villain! He deserves to walk the plank, if
ever any one did!"
All this time, the admiral had been going panting and puffing round,
like a whale, arming himself with every conceivable weapon he could lay
hands on, and vociferating, alternately, to himself, to "heave to!" and
"stand from under!"
Pet had run out, and sprung upon Starlight, while the three alarmed
servants rode behind her. And in a few moments the admiral made his
appearance, and got astride a solemn, misanthropic-looking old roan,
with many grimaces and contortions; for the admiral did not believe in
riding himself, and would sooner have faced a tornado, any day, on the
broad Atlantic, than ride three yards on horseback.
The night was still intensely dark, but perfectly calm, and by the
command of Petronilla, the men had provided dark lanterns. All were now
ready; but the admiral, like most generals leading his troops to
battle, considered it his duty to make a speech. Short, concise speeches
on the eve of a battle are, I believe, most efficacious, and, acting on
this conviction, Admiral Havenful's was brief, pithy and to the point,
beginning with an adjuration to his horse:
"Sho, Ringbone, sho! Steady's the word, and steady it is! You are now
going to fight the battles of your country, my boys, under the glorious
Stars and Stripes. We ain't got 'em here, but that's no matter. The
enemy's before you; give 'em a raking broadside first, and then board
'em, sword in hand. The eyes of all the world are upon you now--or would
be only they are sleeping about this time! Clap on all sail; and scud
before the wind! Hoorah! Gee up, Ringbone!"
The effect of this spirited address could not be seen in the dark, and
resolved at all hazards to practice what he preached, the admiral gave
both heels a simultaneous dig into the ribs of his gloomy-looking steed,
which had the effect of setting that ominously-named animal off at a
shuffling dog-trot, or, rather, something between a trot and a canter,
partaking of the nature of both, but being, in reality, neither. Up and
down our fat admiral was churned, while groan after groan was jerked
from his jolted bosom by the uneasy motion of his steed.
"She--pitches--like--an--old--hulk--on--a--swell!" came churned, word by
word, like short grunts, from the lips of the admiral. "Straight--up--
and--down--, and--I'll--be--capsized--directly--by--the--confounded--
old--brute!"
"Can't you hurry, uncle?" exclaimed Pet, impatiently, reining in her
fiery horse with difficulty, to the dead march of the admiral. "Here
we're going along like a funeral or a mourning procession, or a
pilgrimage, or anything else that's slow and stupid. Can't you put some
life into that spavined, knock-kneed, ring-boned, wheezy old nag of
yours with your whip and spurs?"
"I--I'm--jolted--to--death--already--Pet.
Every--timber--in--this--old--hulk--is--sprung.
Couldn't--go-a--step--further--if--old--Neptune--was--to--rise--from
the--ocean--and--ask--it--of--me--as--a--particular--favor!" grunted the
jolted admiral.
"Well, then, I can't wait. Starlight won't be held in," said Pet. "I'll
ride on to old Barrens Cottage, and wake up Ray. He'll have time to be
up, and dressed, and mounted, before you reach there, at this solemn
shuffle."
And off went Pet. A very few minutes brought her to the cottage.
Alighting from her horse, she rapped more decorously than was her wont,
fearing to alarm Erminie.
Softly a window was raised above, and a night-capped head and a sooty
face was popped out and a frightened voice demanded:
"Who's dar?"
"It's me, Lucy--Pet Lawless. Come down and open the door."
"Golly!--What on yeth brings dat little debbil here, this onsarcumcised
hour ob de night?" muttered Lucy, as she popped her black head in again,
and shut down the window.
A moment after, and the door was opened by Lucy and Pet admitted. Lucy
held a lamp in her hand, which displayed her in her _robe de nuit_, and
showing more black ankles than grace.
"Now, then! Is Ray in bed?" abruptly demanded Petronilla.
But Lucy, who expected this nocturnal visit was to announce some one was
dead, or dying, on hearing this indecorous question, set down her lamp
in silence, and looked scandalized and indignant.
"Well--don't you hear me? Is Ray in bed?" repeated our impatient Nimrod,
in a higher key.
"Miss Pet Lawsliss," said Lucy, drawing herself up stiffly, and
forgetting that her costume was more light than dignified, "you may
t'ink dis yer is mighty fine, to come at de dead hours ob de night, to
ax if young mars'r's in bed, but it's somefin I wouldn't do, ef I is
brack. Bress my soul! I's allers tooken care not to be cotched in sich
wices; but young ladies, now-a-days, as have no 'spect for demselves,
can't be 'spected--"
"Why, you hateful old thing!" exclaimed Pet, angrily. "I'd like to know
what business you have lecturing me? Vices, indeed! I declare! I have a
good mind to lay my whip over your shoulders! Is Master Ray in bed? Tell
me, or I'll--leave you to guess what I'll do to you."
The noise of voices in violent altercation now brought Erminie to the
scene of action, looking like an angel in her flowing snowy night-dress.
"Why, Pet, what is the matter?" she asked in alarm.
"Nothing, only I want Ray. Is he in bed? If he is, wake him up."
"He is not home. He and Ranty went away somewhere, after tea, and
haven't come back. We thought they had gone to Heath Hill. Oh, Pet! has
anything happened to them?" said Erminie, clasping her hands.
"Not as I know of. Like as not they're at Heath Hill. I haven't been
there, myself, since early this morning. Now, don't get frightened and
be a goose, Minnie! I wanted Ray to help me in a splendid piece
of--of--mischief; but as he's not in, it's no matter. Good-night, and
pleasant dreams. I'm off."
And off she was, like a shot, slamming the door behind her, after her
usual fashion, and just succeeded in springing into her saddle as the
slow cavalcade came tramping up.
Slowly as they rode, a short time brought them now to the forest-road.
Just as they entered it, a figure came rushing out, shouting:
"Help! help! whoever you are, or he'll bleed to death!"
"Why, it's Ranty!" exclaimed Pet, in amazement, as she recognized the
voice.
At the same moment, one of the men, lifting his lantern, let its rays
stream upon the new-comer, and all started to behold a black, shining,
ebony face.
"It's a nigger!" howled the admiral. "Blow him out of the water, boys!"
"It's not a nigger!" shouted the voice of Ranty. "If this soot was off,
I'd be as white as you, if not considerably whiter. Come along; he'll
die soon, if he's not dead already--poor fellow!"
"Who'll die? Who are you talking about? Oh, Ranty! who is it?" exclaimed
Pet, growing faint and sick with sudden apprehension.
"Why, Ray Germaine, to be sure! You'll have something to brag of, Pet
Lawless, after going and shooting Ray Germaine--won't you, now? I always
knew your lugging pistols round, like a female Blackbeard, would come
to no good, and now, when you're sentenced to State Prison for life,
we'll see how you like it. I wish to gracious there wasn't a girl in the
world!" vociferated Ranty, with a subdued howl of mingled grief and
indignation.
For one dreadful moment, Pet reeled and nearly fell from her saddle.
Then, with a long, wild, passionate cry, she leaped from her horse, and
sped like an arrow from a bow into the woods.
She had not far to go. By one of the fitful flashes of sheet-lightning
that at intervals illumined the dark, she saw a dark, slender boyish
form lying motionless on the dew-drenched grass. The next instant, she
was kneeling beside him, holding his head on her breast, and clasping
his cold, stiff form in a wild, passionate embrace, as she cried out:
"Oh, Ray! I never meant it! I never, _never_ thought it was you! Oh,
Ray! I shall die if you do!"
"Yes, it's all very well to take on and make a fuss now," said Ranty,
savagely, giving her a pull away; "but if you kneel hugging him there,
and keep 'never, nevering' till doom's day, it won't bring him to. Get
out of this, and if you want to do any good, jump on Starlight and ride
off as if Satan was after you (as he always is, I do believe), to
Judestown, for a surgeon."
"Oh, Ranty! do you think he will die?" exclaimed Pet, in a tone of such
piercing anguish, that it thrilled through every heart but the angry one
of Ranty, who considered she deserved to be punished for what she had
done.
"Of course, he'll die," said Ranty, jerking her away, "if he's not dead
already--as I expect he is! Go for the surgeon--will you? They'll want
him for the coroner's inquest, which must sit on the body to-morrow
morning. And after you've sent the doctor to the cottage, the best thing
you can do is to go and give yourself up to the sheriff and save him the
trouble of coming to the house after you. Be off, now, and ride fast, if
you ever want to atone for the mischief you have done. If you break your
neck on the way it will be the greatest blessing bestowed on America
since the Declaration of Independence was signed. Here, you fellows! off
and get some branches, and spread your coats on them, and make a litter
to carry poor Ray home."
"Go for the doctor, Pet," whispered the admiral. "I've got out of my
reckoning again, somehow. Don't see where the wind sits, for my part."
Without a word, Pet leaped into her saddle and darted off, according to
Ranty's directions, as if "Satan was after her." And then, superintended
by Ranty, a rude litter was made and the cold, rigid form of Ray placed
upon it. The negroes carefully raised it on their shoulders, and headed
by Ranty and the admiral, the melancholy cavalcade set out for the
cottage.
"How, in the name of Beelzebub, did this all happen?" was the worthy
admiral's first question, as he rode along beside his afflicted nephew.
"It's my opinion Beelzebub, or some other of them old fellows, has had a
hand in it, all through," said Ranty, with another suppressed howl of
grief. "The way of it, you see, Uncle Harry, was this: Pet would go to
Dismal Hollow this morning in spite of all we could say or do. We told
her there were savage negroes in the woods who would send her to kingdom
come as fast as they would look at her; but it was only a heaving away
of breath and eloquence to talk to her. Go she would and go she did.
Well, I persuaded Ray to play a practical joke on her by blacking our
faces and waylaying her on her road home, to see whether or not she was
as courageous as she pretended to be, Ray consented, and we stopped her
here, and by George! before we knew what we were about she fired at Ray,
and then dashed off before you could say 'Jack Robinson.' Ray fell like
a stone, and I, with a yell like an Indian war-whoop, rushed up to him,
and raised him up, and asked him if he was killed. He said 'no' but that
he thought he was pretty badly wounded in the shoulder, and I could feel
his coat all wet with blood. If I had been a grown-up man, the way I
would have sworn at Pet, just then, would have been a caution; but as I
wasn't, I contented myself with wishing I had a hold of her for about
five minutes--that was all! A little later, Ray went and fainted as dead
as a mackerel, and there we were, left like the two 'Babes in the Wood,'
and I expect, like those unfortunate infants, the robins might have made
us a grave, if you hadn't come along in the nick of time to my relief. I
didn't like to leave poor Ray wounded, and helpless, and alone there,
and I couldn't carry him home; so I was in just the tallest sort of a
fix I ever want to be in again. So there's the whole story, preface,
marginal notes, dedication and all."
"Keep her round a point or so," said the admiral, thoughtfully; "I see
breakers ahead!"
"Where?" asked Ranty, looking involuntatrily in the direction of the
sea.
"If old Mother Ketura finds out Firefly has shot her boy, there'll be
mutiny among the crew," said the admiral, in a mysterious whisper;
"don't tell her."
"What will I say, then?" said Ranty; "suppose I tell her he and I were
fighting a duel in a peaceable, friendly sort of way, just to keep our
hand in, eh?"
"No, no, Ranty, boy! Stick to the truth; every lie you tell is recorded
in the great log-book up above--" here the admiral removed his glazed
hat reverentially. "Say he was shot accidentally----"
"On purpose," interrupted Ranty.
"Or say he was shot by mistake--so he was, you know."
"All right! I'll fix it up; trust me to get up a work of fiction founded
on fact, at a moment's notice! Here we are at the cottage. Now for it!"
Ranty knocked, and again the window up above was raised; and the same
sable head, a second time aroused from its slumbers, was protruded, and
in sharp, irritated tones demanded:
"Who's dar now, I'd like ter know?"
"A mighty polite beginning," muttered Ranty--then raising his
voice--"it's me, Lucy--Ranty Lawless."
"Ugh! might have known it was a Lawless! Never seed such a rampageous
set--comin' and rousin' people out der beds dis hour de night. Fust de
sister, den de brudder; fust de 'un, den de udder," scolded Lucy, quite
unconscious she was making poetry; "what in de name of Marster does yer
want?"
"To get in, you sooty goblin!" shouted Master Ranty, in a rage. "Come
down and open the door, and let us in; don't stand there asking
questions."
"Belay your jawing tackle!" roared the admiral, in a voice like distant
thunder.
"Deed, I won't den! Does yer tink I's no sort o' 'steem for myself to go
lettin' in men dis hour de night? I hasn't lived forty odd years to come
to dis in my old ages o' life." And down the window went with a bang.
Before Ranty could burst out with a speech more vigorous than proper,
the door was softly opened, and Erminie, like a stray seraph in her
white floating dress, stood before them, with a face pale with undefined
apprehension, and exclaiming, with clasped hands:
"Oh, Ranty, something has happened! what is it? I could not go asleep
after Pet left, and I felt sure something was going to happen. Where's
Ray?"
"Hush, Erminie; don't be frightened. Go in and get a light, and don't
wake your grandmother--go."
"But tell me first what has happened. I won't scream. I'll be very
good," pleaded Erminie, her face growing whiter and whiter.
"Well, then--Ray's got hurt pretty badly, and Pet's gone for the doctor.
Now don't go crying, or making a time, but light a candle, and kindle a
fire, and get some linen bandages and things; they're always wanted when
wounds are dressed. That's a good girl--worth your weight in gold not to
speak of diamonds. Hurry up!"
Pale and trembling, but soon wonderfully quiet, Erminie obeyed, but
started back with a faint cry of terror, when the light fell on the
black faces of the boys.
"Hush, Erminie! give me some soap and water 'till I wash all this black
off before the doctor comes," said Ranty. "I dare say, I ain't very
pretty to look at just now; but never mind; a good scrubbing will set it
all right. And now get some more, and wash the black off Ray's face,
too; I fancy you'll find him white enough underneath by this time."
Still trembling, and with a face perfectly colorless, Erminie obeyed;
and while Ranty was giving his frontispiece a vigorous scrubbing,
Erminie was more gently bathing that of Ray. When the dusky paint was
off, the deadly pallor of his face seemed in such striking contrast,
that she barely repressed a cry of passionate grief. Cold, and still,
and white he lay, like one already dead. Then Ranty, with a face shining
from the combined influences of sincere grief, and a severe application
of soap and water, went to the door to see, like Sister Annie in
"Bluebeard," if there was "anybody coming." Very soon he returned with
the welcome intelligence that he heard the tramp of approaching horses;
and the next moment Pet burst wildly into the room, followed by a grave,
old, baldheaded gentleman--the physician of Judestown.
"Oh, doctor, will he die?" passionately exclaimed Pet, looking up, with
a face as white as Raymond's own.
"Hope not; can't tell just yet," said the doctor, as he proceeded to rip
up Ray's coat-sleeve, and remove the saturated coat.
The wound was in the shoulder; and the doctor, with very little
difficulty, extracted the bullet, dressed the wound, and proceeded to
administer restoratives. Then seeing Pet's white, terrified face, and
with black eyes looking at him so beseechingly, he chucked her
good-naturedly under the chin, and said:
"Don't be afraid, little blackbird! Master Ray's good as half-a-dozen
dead people yet. All you have got to do is, to nurse him carefully for a
couple of weeks, and you'll see him alive and kicking as briskly as ever
by the end of that time."
"Oh, I'm so glad," said Pet, drawing a long, deep breath and dropping
into a chair, she covered her face with her hands.
The doctor now gave a few directions to Erminie, and then took his
leave. The admiral followed him to the door, and whispered:
"Doctor, will you just stand off and on around here, till the lad in
there gets seaworthy again? I'll stand the damages, and don't you say
anything about it."
The doctor nodded, and rode off; and then the admiral, seeing he could
be of no use in the cottage, mounted, with many groans and grunts,
Ringbone, and wended his way, followed by his three valorous henchmen,
to the White Squall.
"Ranty, go home," said Pet; "we don't want you. You can tell papa, if he
asks you, how it all happened, and say I ain't coming home until
to-morrow. As I've shot Ray, I'm going to stay here and nurse him; so be
off!"