MR. DAN DUFF IN CONVULSIONS.
Jan had said somebody might be going dead while the parish was being
scoured for him; and, in point of fact, Jan found, on reaching home,
that that undesirable consummation was not unlikely to occur. As you
will find also, if you will make an evening call upon Mrs. Duff.
Mrs. Duff stood behind her counter, sorting silks. Not rich piece silks
that are made into gowns; Mrs. Duff's shop did not aspire to that
luxurious class of goods; but humble skeins of mixed sewing-silks, that
were kept tied up in a piece of wash-leather. Mrs. Duff's head and a
customer's head were brought together over the bundle, endeavouring to
fix upon a skein of a particular shade, by the help of the one
gas-burner which flared away overhead.
"Drat the silk!" said Mrs. Duff at length. "One can't tell which is
which, by candle-light. The green looks blue, and the blue looks green.
Look at them two skeins, Polly; which _is_ the green?"
Miss Polly Dawson, a showy damsel with black hair and a cherry-coloured
net at the back of it--one of the family that Roy was pleased to term
the ill-doing Dawsons, took the two skeins in her hand.
"Blest if I can tell!" was her answer. "It's for doing up mother's green
silk bonnet, so it won't do to take blue. You be more used to it nor me,
Mrs. Duff."
"My eyes never was good for sorting silks by this light," responded Mrs.
Duff. "I'll tell you what, Polly; you shall take 'em both. Your mother
must take the responsibility of fixing on one herself; or let her keep
'em till the morning and choose it then. She should have sent by
daylight. You can bring back the skein you don't use to-morrow; but mind
you keep it clean."
"Wrap 'em up," curtly returned Miss Polly Dawson.
Mrs. Duff was proceeding to do so, when some tall thin form, bearing a
large bundle, entered the shop in a fluster. It was Mrs. Peckaby. She
sat herself down on the only stool the shop contained, and let the
bundle slip to the floor.
"Give a body leave to rest a bit, Mother Duff! I be turned a'most inside
out."
"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Duff, while Polly Dawson surveyed her
with a stare.
"There's a white cow in the pound. I can't tell ye the turn it give me,
coming sudden upon it. I thought nothing less, at first glance, but it
was the white quadruple."
"What! hasn't that there white donkey come yet?" demanded Polly Dawson;
who, in conjunction with sundry others of her age and sex in the
village, was not sparing of her free remarks to Mrs. Peckaby on the
subject, thereby aggravating that lady considerably.
"You hold your tongue, Polly Dawson, and don't be brazen, if you can
help it," rebuked Mrs. Peckaby. "I was so took aback for the minute,
that I couldn't neither stir nor speak," she resumed to Mrs. Duff. "But
when I found it was nothing but a old strayed wretch of a pounded cow, I
a'most dropped with the disappointment. So I thought I'd come back here
and take a rest. Where's Dan?"
"Dan's out," answered Mrs. Duff.
"Is he? I thought he might have took this parcel down to Sykes's, and
saved me the sight o' that pound again and the deceiver in it. It's just
my luck!"
"Dan's gone up to Verner's Pride," continued Mrs. Duff. "That fine
French madmizel, as rules there, come down for some trifles this
evening, and took him home with her to carry the parcel. It's time he
was back, though, and more nor time. 'Twasn't bigger, neither, nor a
farthing bun, but 'twas too big for _her_. Isn't it a-getting the season
for you to think of a new gownd, Mrs. Peckaby?" resumed Mother Duff,
returning to business. "I have got some beautiful winter stuffs in."
"I hope the only new gownd as I shall want till I gets to New Jerusalem,
is the purple one I've got prepared for it," replied Mrs. Peckaby. "I
don't think the journey's far off. I had a dream last night as I saw a
great crowd o' people dressed in white, a-coming out to meet me. I look
upon it as it's a token that I shall soon be there."
"I wouldn't go out to that there New Jerusalem if ten white donkeys
come to fetch me!" cried Polly Dawson, tossing her head with scorn. "It
_is_ a nice place, by all that I have heard! Them saints--"
A most appalling interruption. Snorting, moaning, sobbing, his breath
coming in gasps, his hair standing up on end, his eyes starting, and his
face ghastly, there burst in upon them Master Dan Duff. That he was in
the very height of terror, there could be no mistaking. To add to the
confusion, he flung his arms out as he came in, and his hand caught one
of the side panes of glass in the bow window and shattered it, the
pieces falling amongst the displayed wares. Dan leaped in, caught hold
of his mother with a spasmodic howl, and fell down on some bundles in a
corner of the small shop.
Mrs. Duff was dragged down with him. She soon extricated herself, and
stared at the boy in very astonishment. However inclined to play tricks
out of doors, Mr. Dan never ventured to play them, in. Polly Dawson
stared. Susan Peckaby, forgetting New Jerusalem for once, sprang off her
stool and stared. But that his terror was genuine, and Mrs. Duff saw
that it was, Dan had certainly been treated then to that bugbear of his
domestic life--a "basting."
"What has took you now?" sharply demanded Mrs. Duff, partly in
curiosity, partly in wrath.
"I see'd a dead man," responded Dan, and he forthwith fell into
convulsions.
They shook him, they pulled him, they pinched him. One laid hold of his
head, another of his feet; but, make nothing of him, could they. The
boy's face was white, his hands and arms were twitching, and froth was
gathering on his lips. By this time the shop was full.
"Run across, one of you," cried the mother, turning her face to the
crowd, "and see if you can find Mr. Jan Verner."