University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

Old Baltus Van Dingle's house had never known
such a lighting up as it received on Christmas Eve, in
the year 1690. Why should not the old fellow loosen
his purse-strings a little? Was there not a prospective
patroon to be won, and might he not be secured,
if not for one of his own tender daughters, at least for
some branch of the family? It would be something,
at any rate, to keep him out of the clutch of those Van
Corlears. Such were Baltus's thoughts, and he saw
no reason, for his part, why Bleecker should not take
a fancy to Eve; for Eve certainly was handsome, he

said, although a little cross-eyed. Her nose turned
up a hair's breadth too much, perhaps, but what of
that? He had read of a race of South Sea islanders,
whose probosces all pointed zenith-ward, being carefully
elevated in infancy by maternal hands. Their
noses were turned up, so to speak, against the whole
world. Figuratively speaking, if Baltus had ever
spoken figuratively, he might have said there were
national propensities of that kind, elsewhere than in
the South Seas.

It would be difficult, even if it were not foreign to
the purpose of this history, to give anything like an
accurate view of the party at Van Dingle's. Let it
suffice that it was a fashionable one for the age, and
that many of the stiff and starched aristocracy were
there. Not that it in any degree resembled “a jam”
of the present century, got up to solve some mathematical
problem as to the number of mortals who
could possibly stand within four given walls. There
may have been thirty people, all told, and counting
old Alderman Stoutenburgh only one, who on any fair
division would have made three. If they had supper,
they sat down to it in an orderly manner, and did not

congregate in crowds, peering piggishly over each
other's shoulders, at the tempting viands beyond their
reach. That swinish simile, however, is hereby rescinded;
for politeness may be, and doubtless is, a
common feature even of crowds with pinioned elbows.
But porkers are really never polite. You couldn't
imagine a pig, passing a potato to his companion,
with a bow, instead of eating it himself, or disavowing
his appetite, and resigning to another an eligible stand
at the trough. But this is manifest digression.

It might well be supposed that Derick would be a
little backward about strutting in his borrowed plumes
before such an assemblage, but he was the most reckless
of fellows, and could not deny himself this choice
bit of fun. It was to be positively his last appearance
on any stage, and he meant to make the most of it.
He was exceedingly cautious, however, not to excite
undue expectations in the susceptible hearts of any of
his fair suitors. Studiously polite was the new patroon
on all hands, and none could claim and none
complain of any monopoly of his attentions. Dimples
or wrinkles, all were the same to Derick. Even
Katrina Van Derspeigle did not melt him; and what

was more provoking to the fates, she did not try.
While Gertrude was discharging repeated broadsides
of witty speeches and tender glances at the enemy,
and the Van Dingles were momentarily dreading to
see him strike his flag, and drop alongside, their own
powerful ally was sailing off in another direction, and
levelling the whole artillery of her charms at another
foe. And who was that, do you ask? Why, who
should it be but Seth—our Seth, whose good-natured
face had made its appearance in the crowd, much to
the astonishment of all. He had come by virtue of a
general invitation to the family, and was, as he everywhere
was, very welcome. Some cool inquiries were
necessarily made of him as to Mr. Livingston's health
and welfare, to which he replied in terms which, although
seemingly quite explicit, threw no light whatever
upon Harry's whereabout. The subject was not
urged, for, as may well be supposed, it was very delicate
ground to tread upon; quite, indeed, of the quicksand
order, both to Gertrude and the fates.

Miss Katrina's fancy for Seth seemed to be fully reciprocated;
for she was a warm-hearted, generous
little girl, full of fun, and, as the event proved, not at

all disposed to be kept in leading-strings by her two
staid senior cousins. Eve copied her graceful gambols,
and played off seventeen in quite a frisky, kittenly
manner. 'Twould be a match—Seth and Katrina—everybody
could see that at a glance. The
question was settled. The stockings that were full of
gold, and the stockings that were not full of gold,
were all done for. That sub-treasurer was appointed,
and all other candidates might thenceforth retire, as
they very discreetly did, and seemed quite oblivious
of ever having made any advances in the premises
whatever.

Gertrude was in high spirits. She had recovered
from the shock occasioned by the late laceration of
her affections, and was entirely herself again. Never
had she been more beautiful, and never had the coruscations
of her wit been more brilliant. So confident
had she grown in the power of her fascinations,
that she considered her prize already won, although,
doubtless for good reasons, there were as yet no outward
signs of such a result. Not a little did she congratulate
herself on the master-stroke of policy, by
which, “in the very nick of time,” she had got rid of

poor Harry. She would really, however, see that
Bleecker did something nice for him when he came
to the property. And while looking idly around the
room for a moment, she made a little mental memorandum
to tell Jessie how disconsolate poor Harmon
seemed, sitting as stiff and as still as the tongs in one
corner for the whole evening, and all because she was
absent.

Aunt Schermerhorn was there, but the poor old
soul had scarcely a chance to speak to dear Bleecker, so
thronged was he by the belles. She found an opportunity
at last, however, and pressed boldly up, because
she felt that she was the bearer of good news.

“Who on airth do you think has come?” she said,
addressing Derick: “who, of all the world! and so
anxious to see you?”

Derick could not guess, but looked a little startled.

“Why, old cousin Bartholomew, of Schagticoke!”

“The d—l!” exclaimed Derick; “that is to say,
I'm delighted, I mean,” as he caught sight of his
father, hobbling slowly across the room.

“He's very anxious to see you, for sure,” said the
old lady.

Just behind Derick and his bevy of beauties, and
nearly opposite to where the old man had entered
the room, was another door, near which stood Seth
and Katrina.

“I shall be transported with delight to see the old
gentleman,” rejoined Derick, who had now regained
his easy self-possession; “beg him to wait for me one
moment.”

“Where is he? where is he?” grumbled forth the
old man, with a bull-frog sort of voice; “let's see him,
cousin Polly.”

“My horses are at the door,” whispered Seth, as
Derick glided past him, answering only with a wink
and a smile.

“Where is he?” repeated the stranger triumphantly,
as much as to say, “It's all humbug, you can't show
me any such person.”

Amazed at Bleecker's inexplicable conduct, no one
replied, and the old man, who had caught sight of
his retiring son, at once hurried off in pursuit. The
room continued silent, a sound of voices was heard
without, then the jingling of bells, and old Bartholomew
came stumping back.

“I saw him; I saw him,” he said, laughing loudly;
“it's my son Derick, Polly!—didn't you know Derick?”

“La! so it is!” exclaimed Aunt Schermerhorn.

“Talk to me about Bleecker Van Ness!” continued
the old man, excitedly; “don't I know that he has been
dead, coming seven years next Spring? Haven't I
seen a copy of the what-d'ye-call-it there, of the coroner
that sot on him on the coast of Ireland, with a
dozen others, taken off the wreck of the Iris—pshaw!”
and with this polite valedictory he left the room.

The consternation, fortunately for Gertrude, was too
general at first to admit of her own alarm being especially
noticed, for her sensations of shame and
anguish were really stunning in their intensity. She
felt herself going up, as it were, with an exploded
mine, and anticipating momentarily the shock of the
descent. Duped, fooled, exposed to the ridicule of all,
had but the floor and earth yawned beneath her then,
she would have leaped, gladly, into the chasm. She
managed soon to make her escape from the room,
whence poor Eve had already fled. Katrina, who
had no cause for mortification, stood her ground boldly,
supported by Seth, and together with the remaining

part of the company, who were gathered in little knots
about the room, continued for some time to discuss
these remarkable occurrences. The opportune appearance
of old Bartholomew had been in part only
the result of Seth's management. He had come down
to the city, influenced by the combined motives of a
desire to visit his relations, to find his scape-grace
son, and to dispose of a load of frozen poultry for the
Christmas and New Year's markets. Seth had accidentally
heard of his presence in the city, through Van
Bummel, and had secured his attendance in the manner
that has been described, instructing him at what
time to make his appearance. Derick was not in the
secret of the last scene, which was a little private fun
got up by Seth for his own amusement. He could
think, indeed, of no better way to bring about the
dénouement, which ought not to be longer deferred,
and if he subjected his coadjutor to a little extra embarrassment,
he at least provided him with a ready
way of escape.

Although the shock to Gertrude was violent, she
soon began to rally. She reflected, while on her way
home, that, fortunately, Derick had paid her no very

marked attention, and that whatever suspicion might
exist, there was no proof of her having had any designs
upon him. No one, she thought, but Jessie, even
knew of her quarrel with Livingston, and she by no
means despaired of regaining her lost ground in that
quarter. Harry was a good easy soul, and was, no
doubt, still pining for her, and if she could only once
meet him, she had but little fear for the result. What
then was her surprise and joy, on entering her own
parlor, to behold Harry, whom she had supposed to be
on the Canadian frontier, sitting quietly beside Jessie
laughing and talking, and seeming very much at home.
How truly, she thought, had she estimated his character.

“Most magnanimous of men!” she exclaimed, throwing
herself into a graceful attitude, and applying her
kerchief to her eyes, “do I indeed find you here awaiting
my return? How can such generosity ever be
repaid?”

Poor simple Jessie, accustomed to defer, in all
things, to her imperious sister, actually trembled for
one unreflecting moment, lest Harry should relent.
It was but a moment.

“Miss Van Corlear has no reason to applaud my
magnanimity,” said Livingston, rising and speaking
slowly; “she has not found me here awaiting her return—or
expecting it—or entertaining any other feeling
in regard to her movements than that of the most
perfect indifference.”

If a railroad locomotive could be endued with consciousness
and sensation at the moment of bounding
off the track under a forty mile per hour headway,
it would doubtless feel very much as Gertrude did at
this moment. For she had been quite in earnest in her
belief as to the object of Livingston's return. But
his words now, and his manner, and the frightened
looks of Jessie, and the tout-ensemble of affairs around
her, convinced her that there was no hope. Overwhelmed
with mortification, yet partially sustained by
her invisible handmaiden, Pride, she beat a rapid retreat
to her room. On the next morning, notwithstanding
it was Christmas day, she made good her escape
to the city, under plea of some engagement with Aunt
Schermerhorn, with whom she had the good sense to
remain for the next three weeks.

At the end of that period, on a fine cold morning of
January, a very noble but very restless pair of horses

and a very sumptuous sleigh packed with divers trunks
and boxes, were seen standing in front of Van Corlear's
house, thronged by peering children and servants,
much to the annoyance of a pompous negro
driver, who begged them to have the goodness to
stand a little back, and make way for the pat-ter-roon
and his lady. And he spoke none too soon; for the
front door had opened, and Harry and Jessie, muffled
and cloaked for travel, and Burley and his vrow, and
Seth and the children and Towser, came crowding
out, all full of a few last words, not excepting the
dog, whose remarks were probably about as intelligible
just then as those of his companions. Jessie was
a little paler than usual, for the marriage ceremony
had but just been performed, but the cold air soon
brought back her color and her spirits.

“Mind, Seth, we shall see you in the Spring?” she
called back as the horses began to move.

“And Katrina,” added Harry.

Seth colored, and making a significant gesture to
the driver, the latter brought around his whip with a
double-extra flourish, and they were gone.

They are gone, gentle reader, “for sure.” We shall
never see them again. Seth saw them, however, the

very next Spring, and so did Katrina, and very welcome
visiters they were too at Kenterhook, and many
was the merry day's sport with horse and hound, that
Harry and Seth enjoyed in the wild forests which
formed a part of the Livingston manor.

Burley was perfectly contented and perfectly happy
in the fulfilment of his ambitious dreams. The
patroon was his son-in-law, although it is doubtful
whether or not he ever fully comprehended the affair.
Indeed he was too wise to trouble himself about processes
as long as his end was gained.

Gertrude was fully humbled, but it is to be feared,
was not much reformed, until later years. After
many ineffectual attempts at conquest, she contented
herself with acquiring the legal right to teaze the little
remaining life out of poor Harmon Van Dingle, a labor
of love which proved neither very arduous, nor very
long protracted.

Derick retired to private life, not fully reconciled to
his loss of wealth and station, or altogether free from
self-reproach. That his duplicity had produced a
good result, could not, he properly argued, render it
justifiable; but he consoled himself by the belief that
his wild oats were now all sown, and he determined

henceforth to turn his attention to more profitable
crops. He became, indeed, a good, orderly citizen,
although with such talents for intrigue and diplomacy,
he would, undoubtedly, under other circumstances,
have made no small ado in the world. Had he lived
in our day, his path to political distinction would have
been unobstructed, unless, possibly, by the pre-occupancy
of a few kindred spirits.

The two senior fates continued single; but on the
sudden death of old Baltus, a few years later, bachelor
Van Bummel, finding that the estate would cut up into
pretty large slices, made some very abrupt proposals
for Eve, which that young lady, with modest avidity,
accepted. She could not call to mind exactly on
what occasion she had captivated the lawyer, but as
she had long considered him to be a gentleman of
taste and discrimination, she was in no wise surprised
at his choice. Marriage meliorated the harshness of
Eve's disposition very materially, and her husband,
who had long tried the flowerless path of celibacy,
was tolerably well contented with his fate. If she
was not the very best of wives, the land at least was
of a good quality, and in this world, thought Van
Bummel, we must take the bitter with the sweet.