University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

The interruption of this scene came from old Holmes, who
cried to his companion, on the high key in which it was
usual for him to speak:—

“This is downright bad, Shabbakuk — we'll never get
our leases a'ter this!”

“Nobody can say”—answered Tubbs, giving a loud hem,
as if determined to brazen the matter out. “Maybe the
gentleman will be glad to compromise the matter. It's
ag'in law, I believe, for any one to appear on the highway
disguised—and both the 'Squire Littlepages, you'll notice,
neighbour Holmes, be in the very middle of the road, and
both was disguised, only a minute ago.”

“That's true.—D'ye think anything can be got out o'
that? I want profitable proceedin's.”

Shabbakuk gave another hem, looked behind him, as if
to ascertain what had become of the Injins, for he clearly
did not fancy the real `article' before him, and then he answered:

“We may get our farms, neighbour Holmes, if you'll
agree, as I'm willin' to do, to be reasonable about this matter,
so long as 'Squire Littlepage wishes to hearken to his
own interests.”

My uncle did not deign to make any answer, but, knowing
we had done nothing to bring us within the view of the
late statute, he turned towards the Indians, renewing his
offer to them to be their guide.

“The chiefs want very much to know who you are, and
how you two came by double scalps,” said the interpreter,
smiling like one who understood for his own part, the nature
of a wig very well.

“Tell them that this young gentleman is Hugh Littlepage,
and that I am his uncle. Hugh Littlepage is the
owner of the land that you see on every side of you.”

The answer was communicated, and we waited for its
effect on the Indians. To our surprise, several of them soon
gathered around, evidently regarding us both, with interest
and respect.

“The claims of a landlord seem to be better understood
among these untutored savages, than among your own
tenants, Hugh,” said my uncle. “But there goes old
Holmes, the inbred rogue, and his friend Shabbakuk, back
to the woods; we may have an affair on hand with his
Injins.”

“I think not, sir. It does not appear to me that there is
valour enough in that tribe, to face this. In general, the
white man is fully a match for the redskin; but it may be
doubted whether chiefs like these, would not prove too much
for twice their number of varlets, of the breed of yonder
skulking scoundrels.”

“Why do the chiefs manifest so much interest in us?”
asked my uncle, of the interpreter. “Is it possible that they
pay so much respect to us, on account of our connection
with this estate?”

“Not at all—not at all. They know the difference between
a chief and a common man well enough, it is true,”
was the answer; “and twenty times, as we have come
down through the country, have they expressed their surprise
to me, that so many common men should be chiefs,
among the pale-faces; but, they care nothing for riches.
He is the greatest man among them, who is best on a war
path, and at a council-fire; though they do honour them
that has had great and useful ancestors.”

“But, they seem to betray some unusual and extraordinary
interest in us, too; perhaps they are surprised at seeing
gentlemen in such dresses?”

“Lord, sir, what do men care for dresses, that are used
to see the heads of factories and forts, half the time dressed
in skins. They know that there be holidays and vorkin'days;
times for every-day wear, and times for feathers and
paint. No—no—they look at you both, with so much interest,
on account of their traditions.”

“Their traditions! What can these have to do with us?
We have never had anything to do with Indians.”

“That's true of you, and may be true of your fathers;
but it's not true of some of your ancestors. Yesterday, after
we had got to our night's stopping-place, two of the chiefs,
this smallish man with the double plate on his breast, and
that elderly warrior, who has been once scalped, as you can
see by his crown, began to tell of some of the treacheries of
their own tribe, which was once a Canada people. The
elderly chief related the adventures of a war-path, that led
out of Canada, across the large waters, down to a settlement
where they expected to get a great many scalps, but
where in the end they lost more scalps than they found;
and where they met Susquesus, the upright Onondago, as
they call him in that tongue, as well as the Yengeese owner
of the land, at this very spot, whom they called by a name
something like your own, who was a warrior of great courage
and skill by their traditions. They suppose you to be
the descendants of the last, and honour you accordingly;
that's all.”

“And, is it possible that these untutored beings have traditions
as reliable as this?”

“Lord, if you could hear what they say among themselves,
about the lies that are read to them out of the pale-face
prints, you would I'arn how much store they set by
truth! In my day, I have travelled through a hundred
miles of wilderness, by a path that was no better, nor any
worse, than an Indian tradition of its manner of running;
and a tradition that must have been, at least, a hundred
summers old. They know all about your forefathers, and
they know something about you, too, if you be the gentleman
that finds the upright Onondago, or the Withered Hemlock,
in his old age, with a wigwam, and keeps it filled with food
and fuel.”

“Is this possible! And all this is spoken of, and known
among the savages of the Far West?”

“If you call these chiefs, savages,” returned the interpreter,
a little offended at hearing such a term applied to his
best friends and constant associates. “To be sure they
have their ways, and so have the pale-faces; but Injin ways
be not so very savage, when a body gets a little used to

them. Now, I remember it was a long time before I could
get reconciled to seeing a warrior scalp his enemy; but as I
reasoned on it, and entered into the spirit of the practice, I
began to feel it was all right.”

I was walking just in front of my uncle, for we were in
motion again on our way to the wood, but could not help
turning and saying to him with a smile—

“So it would seem that this matter of the `spirit' is to
be found in other places besides the legislature. There is
the `spirit of scalping,' as well as the `spirit of the institutions!”'

“Ay, Hugh, and the `spirit of fleecing,' as a consequence
of what is profanely termed the last. But, it may be well
to go no nearer to the wood, than this spot. The Injins I
have told you of are in these bushes in front, and they are
armed — I leave you to communicate with them in any manner
you please. They are about twenty in number.”

The interpreter informed his chiefs of what had been said,
who spoke together in earnest consultation for a moment.
Then Prairiefire, himself, plucked a branch off the nearest
bush, and holding it up he advanced close to the cover, and
called out aloud, in some one, or in many of the different
dialects with which he was acquainted. I saw by the
moving of their branches, that men were in the bushes; but
no answer of any sort was made. There was one savage
in our band, who betrayed manifest impatience at these
proceedings. He was a large, athletic Iowa chief, called in
English Flintyheart, and, as we subsequently learned, of great
renown for martial exploits. It was always difficult to hold
him in, when there was a prospect of scalps, and he was
now less restrained than common, from the circumstance of
his having no superior of his own particular tribe present.
After Prairiefire had called two or three times in vain to the
party in the cover, Flintyhead stepped out, spoke a few
words, with energy and spirit, terminating his appeal by a
most effective, not to say appalling, whoop. That sound
was echoed back by most of the band, when they all broke
off, right and left, stealing more like snakes than bipeds to
the fences, under cover of which they glanced forward to
the wood, in which every man of them buried himself, in the
twinkling of an eye In vain had the interpreter called to

them, to remind them where they were, and to tell them
that they might displease their Great Father, at Washington;
and Prairiefire stood his ground, exposed to any shot the
supposed foe might send at him; on they went, like so many
hounds that have struck a scent too strong to be held in restraint
by any whipper-in.

“They expect to find Injins,” said the interpreter, in a
sort of despair, “and there's no holdin' 'em back. There
can be no enemies of their'n down here-a-way, and the agent
will be awfully angry if blood is drawn; though I shouldn't
mind it a bit if the party was some of them scoundrels, the
Sauks and Foxes, whom it 's often a marcy to kill. It 's
different down here, however, and I must say I wish this
hadn't happened.”

My uncle and myself just waited long enough to hear
this, when we rushed forward, along the highway, and entered
the wood, joined by Prairiefire, who, fancying by our
movement that all was right, now raised such a whoop himself
as to demonstrate it was not for want of `knowing how'
that he had hitherto been silent. The road made a curve
at the very point where it penetrated the forest, and being
fringed with the bushes already mentioned, the two circumstances
shut out the view of what was passing behind the
scenes, until we reached the turn, where a common halt of
the wagons had been made, when the whole view burst
upon us at once in all its magnificence.

A rout of a `grand army' could scarcely have been more
picturesque! The road was lined with vehicles, in full
retreat, to use a military term, or, to speak in the more
common parlance, scampering off. Every whip was in
active use, every horse was on the run, whilst half the
faces were turned behind their owners, the women sending
back screams to the whoops of the savages. As for the
Injins, they had instinctively abandoned the woods, and
poured down into the highway, speed like theirs demanding
open ground for its finest display. Some had leaped into
wagons, piling themselves up among those virtuous wives
and daughters of that portion of the honest yeomanry who
had collected to devise the means of cheating me out of my
property. But, why dwell on this scene, since the exploits
of these Injins, for the last six years, have amply proved

that the only thing in which they excel, is in running away.
They are heroes when a dozen can get round a single man
to tar and feather him; valiant as a hundred against five or
six, and occasionally murderers, when each victim can be
destroyed by five or six bullets, to make sure of him. The
very cowardice of the scoundrels should render them loathsome
to the whole community; the dog that has spirit only
to hunt in packs being cur at the bottom.

I must add one other object to the view, however. Holmes
and Shabbakuk brought up the rear, and both were flogging
their devoted beast as if his employers—I dare not call them
masters,' as I might be accused of aristocracy for using so
offensive a term in this age of common-sense liberty, while
`employers' is a very significant expression for the particular
occasion—as if his `employers,' then, had left something
behind them, at `Little Neest,' and were hurrying
back to obtain it before it fell into other hands. Old Holmes
kept looking behind, as if chased by the covenants of forty
leases, while the “Spirit of the Institutions,” headed by two
governors, and “the honourable gentleman from Albany,”
was in full pursuit. If the “Spirit of the Institutions” was
really there, it was quite alone; for I looked in vain for the
exhibition of any other spirit. In much less time than it has
taken me to write this account, the road was cleared, leaving
my uncle, myself, and Prairiefire, in quiet possession; the
latter uttering a very significant “hugh!” as the last wagon
went out of sight in a cloud of dust.

It was but a moment, however, before our own tribe, or
tribes would be more accurate, came down upon us, collecting
in the road at the very spot where we stood. The victory
had been bloodless, but it was complete. Not only had
the savage Indians completely routed the virtuous and much-oppressed-by-aristocracy
Injins, but they had captured two
specimens of virtue and depression in the persons of as
many of the band. So very significant and expressive was
the manner of the captives, that Flintyheart, into whose
hands they had fallen, not only seemed to hold their scalps
in contempt, but actually had disdained to disarm them.
There they stood, bundles of calico, resembling children in
swaddling-clothes, with nothing partaking of that natural
freedom of which their party love to boast, but their legs,

which were left at perfect liberty, by way of a dernier resort.
My uncle now assumed a little authority, and commanded
these fellows to take off their disguises. He might
as well have ordered one of the oaks, or maples, to lay down
its leaves before the season came round; for neither would
obey.

The interpreter, however, whose name was Manytongues,
rendered into English from the Indian dialects, was a man
of surprisingly few words, considering his calling, on an
occasion like this. Walking up to one of the prisoners, he
first disarmed him, and then removed his calico hood, exposing
the discomfited countenance of Brigham, Tom Miller's
envious labourer. The “hughs!” that escaped the
Indians were very expressive, on finding that not only did
a pale-face countenance appear from beneath the covering,
but one that might be said to be somewhat paler than common.
Manytongues had a good deal of frontier waggery
about him, and, by this time he began to comprehend how
the land lay. Passing his hand over Josh's head, he coolly
remarked—

“That scalp would be thought more of, in Iowa, than it's
ra-ally worth, I'm thinking, if truth was said. But let us
see who we have here.”

Suiting the action to the words, as it is termed, the interpreter
laid hold of the hood of the other captive, but did not
succeed in removing it without a sharp struggle. He effected
his purpose, assisted by two of the younger chiefs, who
stepped forward to aid him. I anticipated the result, for I
had early recognised the goar; but great was the surprise
of my uncle when he saw Seneca Newcome's well-known
face developed by the change!

Seneca—or, it might be better now to use his own favourite
orthoepy, and call him Seneky, at once, for he had a
particularly sneaking look as the emerged from under the
calico, and this would be suiting the sound to appearances—
Seneky, then, was in a “mingled tumult,” as it is called,
of rage and shame. The first predominated, however, and,
as is only too common in cases of military disasters, instead
of attributing his capture to circumstances, the prowess of
his enemies, or any fault of his own, he sought to mitigate his
own disgrace by heaping disgrace on his comrade. Indeed,

the manner in which these men went at each other, as
soon as unsacked, reminded me of two game cocks that are
let out of their bags within three feet of each other, with this
exception — neither crowed.

“This is all your fault, you cowardly dog,” said Seneky,
almost fiercely, for shame had filled his face with blood.
“Had you kept on your feet, and not run me down, in your
haste to get off, I might have retreated, and got clear with
the rest of them.”

This assault was too much for Joshua, who gained spirit
to answer by its rudeness and violence, not to say injustice;
for, as we afterwards ascertained, Newcome had actually
fallen in his eagerness to retreat; and Brigham, so far
from being the cause of his coming down, had only prevented
his getting up, by falling on top of him. In this
prostrate condition they had further fallen into the hands of
their enemies.

“I want nothin' from you, 'Squire Newcome,” answered
Joshua, quite decidedly as to tone and manner; “your cha
racter is well known, all up and down the country.”

“What of my character? — What have you got to say
ag'in' me or my character?” demanded the attorney at law,
in a tone of high defiance. “I want to see the man who
can say anything ag'in' my character.”

This was pretty well, considering that the fellow had actually
been detected in the commission of a felony; though
I suppose that difficulty would have been gotten over, in a
moral sense, by the claim of being taken while struggling
in defence of human rights, and the “spirit of the institutions.”
The defiance was too much for Brigham's patience,
and being fully assured, by this time, that he was not in
much danger of being scalped, he turned upon Seneca, and
cried, with something more than spirit, with downright rancour—

“You're a pretty fri'nd of the poor man, and of the
people, if truth must be said, an't you? Everybody in the
county that's in want of money knows what you be, you
d—d shaver.”

As the last words came out, Seneky's fist went in upon
Brigham's nose, causing the blood to flow freely. My uncle

Ro now thought it time to interfere, and he rebuked the
irritated lawyer with dignity.

“Why did he call me a d—d shaver, then?” retorted
Seneky, still angry and red. “I'll stand that from no
man.”

“Why, what harm can there be in such a charge, Mr.
Newcome? You are a member of the bar, and ought to
understand the laws of your country, and cannot stand in
need of being told that it has been decided by the highest
tribunal of your State that it is no reproach to be called a
shaver! Some of the honourable members of that learned
body, indeed, seem to think, on the contrary, that it is matter
of commendation and congratulation. I am ashamed of
you, Mr. Newcome—I'm quite ashamed of you.”

Seneky muttered something, in which I fancied I understood
the words “the Court of Errors be d—d,” or “the
Court of Errors” might go to some very bad place, which
I will not name; but I will not take on myself that any
man of decency could really use such irreverent language
about a body so tru y eminent, though a person in a passion
is sometimes disposed to forget propriety. My uncle now
thought it time to put an end to this scene; and, without
deigning to enter into any explanations, he signified to Manytongues
his readiness to lead his chiefs to the point where
they desired to go.

“As to these two Injins,” he added, “their capture will
do us no honour; and now we know who they are, they can
be taken at any time by the deputy sheriffs or constables.
It is hardly worth while to encumber your march with such
fellows.”

The chiefs assented to this proposal, too, and we quitted
the woods in a body, leaving Seneky and Joshua on the
ground. As we subsequently learned, our backs were no
sooner turned, than the last pitched into the first, and
pounded him not only until he owned he was “a shaver,”
but that he was “a d—d shaver” in the bargain. Such
was the man, and such the class, that the deluded anti-renters
of New York wish to substitute, in a social sense,
for the ancient landlords of the country! A pretty top-sheaf
they would make to the stack of the community, and

admirably would the grain be kept that was protected by
their covering! One would like to see fellows of this moral
calibre interpreting their covenants; and it would be a useful,
though a painful lesson, to see the change effected for a
twelvemonth, in order to ascertain, after things had got back
into the old natural channel, how many would then wish to
“return, like the dog to his vomit, or the sow to her wallowing
in the mire.”

After giving some directions to Manytongues, my uncle
and I got into our wagon and drove up the road, leaving the
Indians to follow. The rendezvous was at the Nest, whither
we had now determined to proceed at once, and assume our
proper characters. In passing the rectory we found time
to stop and run in, to inquire after the welfare of Mr. and
Miss Warren. Great was my joy at learning they had
gone on to the Nest, where they were all to dine. This
intelligence did not tend to lessen the speed of Miller's horse,
or my horse it would be better to say, for I am the real
owner of everything on the Nest Farm, and shall probably
so remain, unless the “spirit of the Institutions” gets at my
property there, as well as in other places. In the course
of half an hour we drove on the lawn, and stopped at the
door. It will be recollected that the Indians had our wigs,
which had been left by my uncle and myself in their hands,
as things of no further use to us. Notwithstanding our
dresses, the instant we presented ourselves without these
instruments of disguise we were recognized, and the cry
went through the house and grounds that “Mr. Hugh had
come home!” I confess I was touched with some signs of
interest and feeling that escaped the domestics, as well as
those who belonged out of doors, when they saw me again
standing before them in health, if not in good looks. My
uncle, too, was welcome; and there were a few minutes
during which I forgot all my grounds for vexation, and
was truly happy.

Although my grandmother, and sister, and Mary Warren,
all knew what the cry of “Mr. Hugh has got home”
meant, it brought everybody out upon the piazza. Mr.
Warren had related the events of the day, as far as he was
acquainted with them; but even those who were in the secret,
were surprised at our thus returning unwigged, and in

our proper characters. As for myself, I could not but note
the manner in which the four girls came out to meet me.
Martha flew into my embrace, cast her arms around my
neck, kissing me six or eight times without stopping. Then
Miss Colebrooke came next, with Ann Marston leaning on
her arm, both smiling, though greatly surprised, and both
bright, and pretty, and lady-like. They were glad to see
me, and met my salutations frankly and like old friends;
though I could see they did not fancy my dress in the least,
Mary Warren was behind them all, smiling, blushing, and
shy; but it did not require two looks from me to make certain
that her welcome was as sincere as that of my older
friends. Mr. Warren was glad to have it in his power to
greet us openly, and to form an acquaintance with those, to
whose return he had now been looking with anxiety and
hope, for three or four years.

A few minutes sufficed for the necessary explanations, a
part of which, indeed, had already been made by those who
were previously in the secret; when my dear grandmother
and Patt insisted on our going up to our old room, and of
dressing ourselves in attire more suitable to our stations.
A plenty of summer clothes had been left behind us, and
our wardrobes had been examined that morning in anticipation
of our soon having need of them; so that no great time
was necessary to make the change. I was a little fuller
than when I left home, but the clothes being loose, there
was no difficulty in equipping myself. I found a handsome
blue dress coat, that did very well, and vests and pantaloons,
ad libitum. Clothing is so much cheaper in Europe than
at home, that Americans who are well supplied, do not often
carry much with them when they go abroad; and this had
been a rule with my uncle all his life. Each of us, moreover,
habitually kept a supply of country attire at the Nest,
which we did not think of removing. In consequence of
these little domestic circumstances, as has been said, there
was no want of the means of putting my uncle and myself
on a level with others of our class, as respects outward appearance,
in that retired part of the country, at least.

The apartments of my uncle and myself were quite near
each other, in the north wing of the house; as that which
looked in the direction of a part of the meadows under the

cliff, the wooded ravine, and the wigwam, or cabin, of the
“Upright Onondago.” The last was very plainly in view,
from the window of my dressing-room; and I was standing
at the latter, contemplating the figures of the two old fellows,
as they sat basking in the sun, as was their practice of an
afternoon, when a tap at the door proved to be the announcement
of the entrance of John.

“Well, John, my good fellow,” I said, laughingly; “I
find a wig makes a great difference with your means of recognizing
an old friend. I must thank you, nevertheless,
for the good treatment you gave me in my character of a
music-grinder.”

“I am sure, Mr. Hugh, you are heartily welcome to my
services, come as you may to ask them. It was a most
surprisingest deception, sir, as I shall ever hadmit; but I
thought the whole time you wasn't exactly what you seemed
to be, as I told Kitty as soon as I went down stairs: `Kitty,'
says I, `them two pedlars is just the two genteelest pedlars
as hever I see in this country, and I shouldn't wonder if
they had known better days.' But, now you have been to
see the hanti-renters with your own eyes, Mr. Hugh, what
do you think of them, if I may be so bold as to ask the
question?”

“Very much as I thought, before I had been to see them.
They are a set of fellows who are canting about liberty, at
the very moment when they are doing all they can to discredit
its laws, and who mistake selfishness for patriotism;
just as their backers in the State government are doing, by
using the same cant, when their object is nothing but votes.
If no tenant had a vote, this question would never have
been raised, or dreamt of—but I see those two old fellows,
Jaaf and Sus, seem to enjoy themselves still.”

“Indeed they do, sir, in the most surprisingest manner!
They was both antiquities, as we says in Hengland, when
I came to this country, sir — and that was before you was
born, Mr. Hugh — an age agone. But there they sits, sir,
day in and day out, looking like monumentals of past
times. The nigger” — John had been long enough in the
country to catch the vernacular—“The nigger grows uglier
and uglier every year, and that is most of a change I can
see in him; while I do think, sir, that the Indian grows

'andsomer and 'andsomer. He 's the 'andsomest old gentleman,
sir, as I knows of, far and near!”

“Old gentleman!” What an expressive term that was,
in this case! No human being would ever think of calling
Jaaf an “old gentleman,” even in these “aristocratic” days,
when “gentlemen” are plentier than blackberries; while
any one might feel disposed thus to describe Susquesus.
The Onondago was a gentleman, in the best meaning of the
word; though he may, and certainly did, want a great
deal in the way of mere conventional usages. As for John,
he never would have used the word to me, except in a case
in which he felt the party had a claim to the appellation.

“Susquesus is a magnificent sight, with his grey or
white head, fiery eyes, composed features, and impressive
air,” I answered; “and Jaaf is no beauty. How do the
old men get on together?”

“Why, sir, they quarrel a good deal—that is, the nigger
quarrels; though the Indian is too much above him to mind
what he says. Nor will I say that Yop actually quarrels,
sir, for he has the greatest possible regard for his friend;
but he aggravates in the most surprisingest manner — just
like a nigger, howsever, I do suppose.”

“They have wanted for nothing, I trust, during my absence.
Their table and other comforts have been seen to
carefully, I hope?”

“No fear of that, sir, so long as Mrs. Littlepage lives!
She has the affection of a child for the old men, and has
everything provided for them that they can possibly want.
Betty Smith, sir—you remember Betty, the widow of the old
coachman, that died when you was at college, sir — well,
Betty has done nothing, these four years, but look after
them two old men. She keeps everything tidy in their
hut, and washes it out twice a week, and washes their
clothes for them, and darns, and sews, and cooks, and
looks after all their comforts. She lives hard by, in the
other cottage, sir, and has everything handy.”

“I am glad of that. Does either of the old men ever
stray over as far as the Nest House now, John?” Before
I went abroad, we had a visit from each, daily.”

“That custom has fallen away a little, sir; though the
nigger comes much the oftenest. He is sure to be here

once or twice a week, in good weather. Then he walks
into the kitchen, where he will sit sometimes for a whole
morning, telling the hardest stories, sir — ha, ha, ha! — yes,
sir, just the hardest stories one ever heard!”

“Why what can he have to say of that nature, that it
seems to amuse you so?”

“According to his notion, sir, everything in the country
is falling away, and is inferior like to what it may have
been in his young days. The turkeys arn't so large, sir;
and the fowls is poorer, sir; and the mutton isn't so fat,
sir; and sich sort of enormities.”

Here John laughed very heartily, though it was plain
enough he did not much fancy the comparisons.

“And Susquesus,” I said, “he does not share in his
friend's criticisms?”

“Sus never enters the kitchen, sir, at all. He knows that
all the quality and upper class come to the great door of the
house, and is too much of a gentleman to come in at any
other entrance. No, sir, I never saw Sus in the kitchen or
hoffices, at all; nor does Mrs. Littlepage 'ave his table set
anywhere but in the hupper rooms, or on the piazza, when
she wishes to treat him to anything nice. The old gentleman
has what he calls his traditions, sir, and can tell a great
many stories of old times; but they ar'n't about turkeys, and
'orses, and garden-stuff, and such things as Yop dwells on
so much, and so uncomfortably.”

I now dismissed John, after again thanking him for his
civilities to one of my late appearance, and joined my uncle.
When we entered the little drawing-room, where the whole
party was waiting to meet us, previously to going to the
table, a common exclamation of pleasure escaped them all.
Martha again kissed me, declaring I was now Hugh; that
I looked as she had expected to see Hugh; that she would
now know me for Hugh, and many other similar things;
while my dear grandmother stood and parted my hair, and
gazed into my face with tears in her eyes, for I reminded
her of her first-born, who had died so young! As for the
other ladies, the two heiress-wards of Uncle Ro seemed
smiling and friendly, and willing to renew our ancient amicable
relations; but Mary Warren still kept herself in the

back-ground, though I thought by her modest and half-averted
eye, and flushed cheeks, that she sympathized as
deeply in her friend Patt's present happiness as any of the
others; possibly more deeply.

Before we went to the table I sent a servant to the top of
the house, with orders to look down the road, in order to
ascertain when my red friends might be expected. This
man reported that they were advancing along the highway,
and would probably reach the door in the course of half an
hour. They had stopped; and he thought that he could
perceive, by means of his glass, that they were painting their
faces, and otherwise arranging their toilets, in preparation
for the anticipated interview. On receiving this information
we took our seats at table, expecting to be ready to receive
the chiefs, as soon as they should arrive.

Ours was a happy dinner. For the moment, the condition
of the country and the schemes of my tenants were forgotten,
and we chatted of those nearer interests and feelings
that naturally presented themselves to our minds at such a
time. At length dear grandmother pleasantly remarked—

“You must have an instinct for the discovery of discretion,
Hugh, for no one could have made a better choice of
a confidant than you did, while going to the village, this
morning.”

Mary blushed like an Italian sky at eventide, and looked
down, to conceal her confusion.

“I do not know whether it was discretion or vanity,
grandmother,” was my answer, “for I am conscious of
feeling an unconquerable reluctance to passing for a common
music-grinder in Miss Warren's eyes.”

“Nay, Hugh,” put in the saucy Patt, “I had told you
before that you passed for a very uncommon music-grinder
in her eyes. As for the grinding, she said but little; for it
was of the flute, and of the manner in which it was played,
that Miss Warren spoke the most eloquently.”

The “Martha!” of Mary Warren, lowly, but half-reproachfully
uttered, showed that the charming girl was beginning
to be really distressed, and my observant parent
changed the discourse by a gentle and adroit expedient;
such as a woman alone knows thoroughly how to put in

practice. It was simply handing Mr. Warren a plate of
greengages; but the act was so performed as to change the
discourse.

During the whole of that meal I felt certain there was a
secret, mysterious communication between me and Mary
Warren, which, while it probably did escape the notice of
others, was perfectly evident to ourselves. This fact I felt
to be true; while there was a consciousness betrayed in
Mary's blushes, and even in her averted eyes, that I found
extremely eloquent on the same subject.