32. CHAPTER XXXII.
PINKEY'S DISCOVERY.
PINKEY was grum. He didn't like to be neglected,
if he was a highwayman. He had gotten out of
bed and drawn on his boots.
“So you could n't come to see me because there
was a young preacher sick at the doctor's?” he said,
when Patty entered.
“The young preacher is my cousin,” said Patty,
“and he is going to die.”
“Your cousin” said Pinkey, softened a little.
“But Goodwin is there, too. I hope you didn't tell
him anything about me?”
“Not a word.”
“He ought to be grateful to you for saving his
life.”
“He seems to be.”
“And people that are grateful are very likely to
have other feelings after awhile.” There was a significance
in Pinkey's manner that Patty greatly disliked.
“You should not talk in that way. Mr. Goodwin
is engaged to be married.”
“Is he? Do you mind telling me her name?”
“To a lady named Meacham, I believe.”
“What?—Who?—To Ann Eliza? How did it
happen that I have never heard of that? To Ann
Eliza! Confound her; what a witch that girl is! I
wish I could spoil her game this time. Goodwin 's too
good for her and she sha'n't have him.” Then he sat
still as if in meditation. After a moment he resumed:
“Now, Miss Lumsden, you've done one good turn for
him, you must do another. I want to send a note to
this Ann Eliza.”
“I cannot take it,” said Patty, trembling.
“You saved his life, and now you are unwilling to
save him from a worse evil. You ought not to refuse.”
“You ought not to ask it. The circumstances of
the case are peculiar. I will not take it.”
“Will you take a note to Goodwin?”
“Not on this business.”
Pinkey was startled at the emotion she showed, and
looked at her inquiringly: “You were a schoolmate
of Morton's—of Goodwin's, I mean—and a body would
think that you might be the identical sweetheart that
sent him adrift for joining the Methodists—and then
joined the Methodists herself, eh?”
Patty said nothing, but turned away.
“By the holy Moses,” said Pinkey, in a half-soliloquy,
“if that's the case, I'll break the net of
that fisherwoman this time or drown myself a-trying.”
Patty had intended to read the Bible to her patient,
but her mind was so disturbed that she thought best
to say good-morning. Pinkey roused himself from a
reverie to call her back.
“Will you answer me one question?” he asked.
“Does Goodwin want to marry this girl? Is he happy
about it, do you think?”
“I am sure he isn't,” said Patty, reproaching herself
in a moment that she had said so much.
Patty made some kindly remark to Mrs. Barkins as
she went out, walked briskly to the fence, halted, looked
off over the field a moment, turned round and came
back. When she re-entered Pinkey's room he had put
on his great false-whiskers and wolf-skin cap, and she
trembled at the transformation. He started, but said:
“Don't be afraid, Miss Lumsden, I am not meditating
mischief. I will not hurt you, certainly, and you must
not betray me. Now, what is it?”
`Don't do anything wrong in this matter,” said
Patty. “Don't do anything that'll lie heavy on your
soul when you come to die.—I'm afraid you'll do
something wrong for Mr. Goodwin's sake, or—mine.”
“No. But if I was able to ride I'd do one thunderin'
good thing. But I am too weak to do anything,
plague on it!”
“I wish you would put these deceits in the fire and
do right,” she said, indicating his disguises. “I am
disappointed to see that you are going back to your
old ways.”
He made no reply, but laid off his disguises and
lay down on the bed, exhausted. And Patty departed,
grieved that all her labors were in vain, while Pinkey
only muttered to himself, “I'm too weak, confound
it!”
