University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

Three months elapsed after the breakfast scene, described in the
last chapter, about dusk, one Sabbath evening, two persons might
have been seen in close conference beside the hedge under the window
of the humble cottage of the Widow Dow. The figure of one was
partly concealed by the foliage, but a close veil and a large shawl
thrown across the shoulders as if for disguise, betrayed it to be a female.
Through all her attempts at concealment, however, there shone
a certain feminine grace, which, with a particularly neat foot, and a
hall visible snowy hand betrayed her rank to be above that of a village
maiden. Her companion was a stout, good-looking young countryman,
in the plain and homespun garb of a ploughman.

`It is my wish, Davy,' said she, as if enforcing some request, and
it is for his sake, too, that it is to be done.'

`Yes, Miss Mary; but it may not turn out to be young Measter
Irvine, after all,' responded Davy Dow, whom the lapse of seven years
had little changed, save in stature and breadth of shoulders.

`I know that it is he, Davy,' said Mary Odlin, with confidence;
`the newspaper that came this morning, after stating that this distinguished
painter had returned to Philadelphia and taken a studio in
Chestnut street, describes, in one short paragraph his personal appearance,
and it is just that of Henry as my fancy would paint him as
being. My heart tells me that none but himself could have sat for
the picture. You must go, Davy.'

`Well, Miss Mary, I love Measter Irvine, thof I haint seen un for
seven years, as much as I did the day I holped him thrash the Dominie.
You must make all right with old measther here, if I go, Miss
Mary, and I'm off; and, I fegs, if he be doon to the city I'll hunt him
out, and give him the letter and ring; and I don't know which will
make him most glad to see me or get a letter from you. I'm most
sartain both on us coming together'll go noigh on to upset him.'

`You are the kind, obliging, good creature I ever thought you were,
Davy. Be speedy, and only be successful, and I will not only reward
you well, but do all in my power to forward your suit with my maid,
Bessy.

`He, ge, ge! you knows it, Miss Mary, do ye? Well, it's truth: I
does love un, and if ye can only make her say yes, some Sunday night,
when I pops the question, it 'ill be all the reward I want for going.—
So I'll be up and off by the dawn, and thoff it's a pretty smart chance
of a road, I'll make Snowy pace it in less than two days.'

`Don't be imprudent, Davy, mind, and see that no one knows your
business nor from whom you are going. Steal away before day break
and I will take care that Dame Dow be made easy in your absence.
Here is silver to defray your expenses. Do not forget now, on your
arrival in the city, to visit, as I before told you, every painter's room
until you discover him: his face you cannot have forgotten, and seven
years will have altered it little save by the addition of manly graces.
Now, God speed thee and give thee success in thy errand.'

She retreated, as she spoke, hastily, down the green lane, at the end
of which is a rustic bridge, that crosses the stream before it empties
itself into the mere, by which she reached Rosemont again without
detection.

The ensuing morning, at day-break, our Mercury, Davy Dow,
stole from his rude bed to the stable, and speedily saddled a diminutive,

bob-tailed, crow-black pony, of no particular breed, which he
had perversely christened Snowball or Snowy. He then placed across
his back a pair of saddle-bags, well filled with meat, bread, apples and
dough-nuts, and mounting him, after he had carefully secured the
stable-door, he was soon trotting briskly past the school-house, where
Dominie Spankie still continued to reign more terrible than ever; and
just as the sun began to flush the eastern skies, he turned into the
turnpike at the spot where the venerable finger-board points back to
Eden, and, at a vigorous pace, pursued his way towards the metropolis.