A GROWL FROM UNCLE JACKY.
The next day, Easter Monday, brought a messenger from Lytton Lodge; a
messenger who was no other than Mithridates, commonly called "Taters,"
once a servant of Frederick Fanning, the landlord of White Perch Point,
but now a hired hand of John Lytton's.
Mithridates, or Taters, rode an infirm-looking old draft horse, with a
dilapidated saddle and bridle, and wore a hat and coat exceedingly
shabby for a gentleman's servant.
He also led a second horse, furnished with a side-saddle.
He dismounted at the carriage-steps, tied the horses to a tree, and
boldly went to the front door and knocked.
Jerome opened it, and administered a sharp rebuke to the messenger for
presuming to knock at the visitors' door instead of at the servants'.
"If I'd a come to the servants' I'd rapped at the servants' door; but as
I have comed to the white folks' I rap at dere door. Here; I've fotch a
letter from Marse Jacky Lytton to his niece, Miss Lorrer," said Taters,
pompously.
"Give it to me then, and I'll take it in to her," said Jerome.
"Set you up with it! I must 'liver of this here letter with my own hands
inter her own hands," said Taters, stoutly.
"Well, come along, for a fool! You're a purty looking objick to denounce
into the parlor, a'n't you now?" said Jerome, leading the way.
At that moment, unseen by Jerome, but distinctly seen by Taters, a face
appeared at the head of the stairs for an instant, but meeting the eye
of Taters turned white as death and vanished.
Taters uttered a terrible cry and sank, ashen pale and quaking with
horror, at the foot of the steps.
"Why, what in the name of the old boy is the matter with you, man? Have
you trod on a nail or piece of glass, or anything that has gone through
your foot, or what is it?" demanded Jerome, in astonishment.
"Oh, no, no, no! it's worse'n that--it's worse'n that! It's no end
worse'n that! Oh, Lor'! oh, Lor'! oh, Lor'!" cried Taters, holding his
knees and sawing backward and forward in an agony of horror.
"Ef you don't stop that howlin' and tell me what's the matter of you I'm
blessed ef I don't get a bucket of ice water and heave it all over you
to fetch you to your senses!" exclaimed the exasperated Jerome.
"Oh, Lor', don't! Oh, please don't! I shill die quick enough now without
that!" cried Taters, writhing horribly.
"What's the matter, you born iddiwut?" roared Jerome, in a fury.
"Oh, I've seen a sperrit--I've seen a sperrit! I've seen the sperrit of
my young mistress! And it's a token of my death!" wailed the negro boy
in agony.
"What's that you say--a sperrit? A sperrit in this yer 'spectable,
'sponsible house? Lookee here, nigger: mind what you say now, or it'll
be the wus for you! A sperrit in this yer ginteel family as never had a
crime or a ghost inter it! The Cavendishers nebber 'mits no crimes when
der living, nor likewise don't walk about ondecent after der dead. And
der a'n't no sperrits here," said Jerome, with ire.
"Oh, I wish it wasn't--I wish it wasn't! But it was a sperrit! And it's
a token of my death--it's a token of my death!" howled Taters.
And now at last the noise brought the three young ladies out of the
drawing-room.
"What is the matter here, Jerome?" inquired Mrs. Cavendish. "Has any one
got hurt? Who is that man?"
"Ef you please, Miss Emma, no one a'n't got hurt, though you might a
thought, from the squalling, that there was a dozen pigs a killin'. And
that man, miss, is a born iddiwut, so he is--begging your pardon,
miss!--and says he's seed a sperrit in this yer harristocraterick house,
where there never was a sperrit yet," explained Jerome, with a grieved
and indignant look.
"But who is the man? What is he doing here? And what does he want?"
inquired the young lady.
"The man is a born iddiwut, Miss Emma, as I telled you before; that's
who the man he is! And he's a making of a 'fernal fool of hisself;
that's what he's doing here! And he deserves a good hiding; and that's
what he wants!" said Jerome, irately.
Miss Cavendish passed by the privileged old family servant, and went up
to the man himself and inquired:
"Who are you, boy? What brings you here? And what ails you?"
"Oh, miss! I'm Taters, I am. And I come to fetch a letter from Marse
Jacky Lytton to Miss Lorrer. And I seen a sperrit at the top o'them
stair steps. And that's what's the matter of me," cried the boy.
"A spirit! Jerome, do you think he's been drinking?" inquired the young
lady in a low, frightened voice.
For an answer Jerome, without the least hesitation, seized Taters by the
head, pulled open his jaws, and stuck his own nose into the cavity and
took an audible snuff. Then, releasing the head, he answered:
"No, miss, he a'n't been drinking nuffin. His breff's as sweet as a
milch cow's. I reckon he must be subjick to epperliptic fits, miss, by
the way he fell down here all of a suddint, crying out as he'd seen a
sperrit."
"You said you had a letter, boy. Where is it?" inquired Emma.
"Here, miss! Here it is! I'll give it to you, though I wouldn't give it
to him there!" answered Taters, with a contemptuous glance toward
Jerome.
Emma took the letter, which was inclosed in a wonderfully dingy yellow
envelope, and she read the superscription, and then called to Laura,
saying:
"Come here, my dear. Here is a letter from Lytton Lodge for you."
Laura Lytton, who, with Electra, had been standing just within the
drawing-room door, near enough to observe the group, but not to hear the
whole of their conversation, now came when she was called and received
her letter.
"It is from dear Uncle Jacky," she said, with an affectionate smile, as
she recognized the handwriting.
And then she asked the messenger a multitude of questions, which he was
too much agitated to answer coherently, until at length Miss Cavendish
said:
"Jerome, take the poor fellow into the kitchen and give him something to
eat and drink. There is nothing like beef and beer to exorcise evil
spirits. And when he is rested and refreshed we will see him again."
And Jerome took Taters rather roughly by the shoulder and pulled him
upon his feet and carried him along the hall through the back door
toward the kitchen.
"Will you excuse me now, dear Emma, while I read my uncle's letter?"
inquired Laura, as she retreated to the drawing-room.
"Certainly," smiled Miss Cavendish, following her guests.
Laura went into the recess of a bay-window and opened the dingy yellow
envelope and read as follows:
"LYTTON LODGE, April --, 18--.
"MY DEAR NIECE:--I think my nephew, Alden, has a more correcter
ideer of what is jue to kin and kith than what you have shown.
"Alden is spending his Easter holidays along of me and his
relations.
"But you haven't been nigh the house since you left it to go to
school. You do seem to be so wrapped up in the Cavendishers as
not to think anything of your own folks.
"Now I can tell you what it is. The Lyttonses are a great deal
older and better family than all the Cavendishers that ever
lived. I don't care if they was governors of the state.
"I have heard my grandfather, who was a scholar, say that the
Lyttonses was landed gentry in the old country long before the
Cavendishers followed of their lord and marster William the
Conkerer across the channil. And so I don't approve of your
sliting of the Lyttonses for them there Cavendishers. Spesherly
as you're a Lytton yourself. And if we don't respect ourselves
and each other no one a'n't a going to respect us.
"And talking of that, what do you think Hezekiah Greenfield, the
landlord of the Reindeer, went and done to me last week?
"Why, he came over and asked me could I supply his tavern with
fruits and vegetables during the summer season at the market
price, saying--quite as if he was a making of me a kind proposal
instead of offering of me a black insult--that he'd rather deal
with me, and I should have his money, than any one else, if so be
I was willing to do business.
"Now what do you think I answered him?
"Why, I set the bull-dog on him! I did that! And it was good for
him as he scrambled up on his horse and made off double-quick, or
he'd been torn to pieces before you could say Jack Robinson.
"That'll learn the tavern-keeper to insult a gentleman next time
by offering to buy his garden stuff!
"But what I'm writing to you for, my dear, now, is this. I think
you ought to come to see us, anyhow. You must come, if it's only
for two or three days, to see your old grandmother, and all your
relations, and to meet Alden, who is here, as I said. I have sent
Taters on horseback with a led horse and a side-saddle for you.
Come back along of him to-morrow morning. And give my honorable
compliments to the old madam and Miss Cavendish. Because, mind
you, I'm not a saying as the Cavendishers a'n't a good,
respectabil family; only I do say as they are not so good as the
Lyttonses, and they never was and never will be; and they know it
themselves, too. Well, your dear grandma, and your dear aunties
and cousins, all sends their love to you, with many good wishes.
So no more at present from your affeckshunit uncle,
"JOHN LYTTON."