Chapter 6

The gentleman in black then began to explain to Tooler how utterly inconceivable was the number of persons who had died of hydrophobia within an almost unspeakable short space of time, in the immediate vicinity of the residence of a friend of his in London; and just as he had got into the marrow of a most excruciating description of the intense mental and physical agony of which the disease in its worst stage was productive, both he and Tooler suddenly sprang back, with their feet in the air, and their heads between the knees of the passengers behind them, on Valentine giving a loud growling snap, more bitingly indicative of anger than before.

As Tooler had tightly hold of the reins when he made this involuntary spring, the horses stopped on the instant, and allowed him time to scramble up again without rendering the slow process dangerous.

"I cannot, I-I-I positively cannot," said the gentleman in black, who had been thrown again into a dreadful state of excitement, "I cannot sit here,--my nerves cannot endure it; it's perfectly shocking."

"Blister their bowls!" exclaimed Tooler, whose first impulse was to drag the dog out of the boot at all hazards, but who, on seeing the horses waiting in the road a short distance ahead for the next stage, thought it better to wait till he had reached them. "I'll make un remember this the longest day o' thar blessed lives,--blarm un! Phih! I'll let un know when I get back, I warrant. I'll larn un to--"

"Hoa, coachman! hoa! my hat's off!" cried Valentine, throwing his voice to the back of the coach.

"Well, _may_ I be--phit!" said Tooler. "I'll make yow run for't anyhow--phit!"

In less than a minute the coach drew up opposite the stable, when the gentleman in black at once proceeded to alight. Just, however, as his foot reached the plate of the roller-bolt, another growl from Valentine frightened him backwards, when falling upon one of the old horse-keepers, he knocked him fairly down, and rolled over him heavily.

"Darng your cloomsy carkus," cried the horse-keeper, gathering himself up, "carn't you git oof ar cooarch aroat knocking o' pipple darn?"

"I-I-I beg pardon," tremblingly observed the gentleman in black; "I hope I-I--"

"Whoap! pardon!" contemptuously echoed the horse-keeper as he limped towards the bars to unhook the leaders' traces.

"Now then, yow warmint, let's see who yow belong to," said Tooler, approaching the mouth of the boot; but just as he was in the act of raising the foot-board, another angry snap made him close it again with the utmost rapidity.

"Lay down! blarm your body!" cried Tooler, shrinking back. "Here, yow Jim, kim here, bor, and take this 'ere devil of a dog out o' that."

Jim approached, and the growling was louder than before, while the gentleman in black implored Jim to take care that the animal didn't get hold of his hand.

"Here, yow Harry!" shouted Jim, "yare noot afeared o' doogs together,--darng un, _I_ doont like un."

Accordingly Harry came, and then Sam, and then Bob, and then Bill; but as the dog could not be seen, and as the snarling continued, neither of them dared to put his hand in to drag the monster forth. Bob therefore ran off for Tom Titus the blacksmith, who was supposed to care for nothing, and in less than two minutes Tom Titus arrived with about three feet of rod-iron red hot.

"Darng un!" cried Tom, "this ere 'll maake un _quit_ together!"

"Dear me! my good man," said the gentleman in black, "don't use that unchristian implement! don't put the dumb thing to such horrible torture!"

"It don't siggerfy a button," cried Tooler, "I marn't go to stop here all day. Out he must come."

Upon this Tom Titus introduced his professional weapon, and commenced poking about with considerable energy, while the snapping and growling increased with each poke.

"I'll tell you what it is," said Tom Titus, turning round and wiping the sweat off his brow with his naked arm, "this here cretur here's stark raavin' mad."

"I knew that he was," cried the gentleman in black, getting into an empty wagon which stood without horses just out of the road; "I felt perfectly sure that he was rabid."

"He 's a bull-terrier too," said Tom Titus, "I knows it by 's growl. It 's the worsest and dargdest to go maad as is."

"Well, what shall us do wi' th' warment?" said Tooler.

"Shoot him! shoot him!" cried the gentleman in black.

"O, I 've goot a blunderbus, Bob!" said Tom Titus, "yow run for 't together, it 's top o' the forge."

Bob started at once, and Tom kept on the bar, while Tooler, Sam, and Harry, and Bob held the heads of the horses.

"He 's got un; all right!" cried Tom Titus, as Bob neared the coach with the weapon on his shoulder. "Yow 'll be doon in noo time," he added as he felt with his rod to ascertain in which corner of the boot the bull-terrier lay.

"Is she loarded?" asked Bob, as he handed Tom Titus the instrument of death.

"Mind you make the shot come out at bottom," shouted Tooler.

"I hool," said Tom Titus, putting the weapon to his shoulder. "Noo the Loord ha' marcy on yar, as joodge says sizes," and instantly let fly.

The horses of course plunged considerably, but still did no mischief; and before the smoke had evaporated, Valentine introduced into the boot a low melancholy howl, which convinced Tom Titus that the shot had taken effect.

"He 's giv oop the ghost; darng his carkus!" cried Tom, as he poked the dead body in the corner.

"Well, let 's have a look at un," said Tooler, "let 's see what the warment is like."

The gentleman in black at once leaped out of the wagon, and every one present drew near, when Tom, guided by the rod which he had kept upon the body, put his hand into the boot, and drew forth a fine hare that had been shattered by the shot all to pieces.

"He arn't a bull-terrier," cried Bob.

"But that arn't he," said Tom Titus. "He 's some'er aboot here as dead as a darng'd nail. I know he 's a corpse."

"Are you sure on 't?" asked Tooler.

"There arn't any barn door deader," cried Tom. "Here, I'll lug um out an' show yar."

"No, no!" shouted Tooler, as Tom proceeded to pull out the luggage. "I marn't stay for that. I 'm an hour behind now, blarm un! jimp up, genelmen!"

Tom Titus and his companions, who wanted the bull-terrier as a trophy, entreated Tooler to allow them to have it, and, having at length gained his consent, Tom proceeded to empty the boot. Every eye was, of course, directed to everything drawn out, and when Tom made a solemn declaration that the boot was empty, they were all, at once, struck with amazement. Each looked at the other with astounding incredulity, and overhauled the luggage again and again.

"Do you mean to say," said Tooler, "that there arn't nuffin else in the boot?"

"Darnged a thing!" cried Tom Titus, "coom and look." And Tooler did look, and the gentleman in black looked, and Bob looked, and Harry looked, and Bill looked, and Sam looked, and all looked, but found the boot empty.

"Well, blarm me!" cried Tooler. "But darng it all, he must be somewhere!"

"I' ll taake my solum davy," said Bill, "that he _was_ there."

"I seed um myself," exclaimed Bob, "wi' my oarn eyes, an' didn't loike the looks on um a bit."

"There cannot," said the gentleman in black, "be the smallest possible doubt about his having been there; but the question for our mature consideration is, where is he now?"

"I 'll bet a pint," said Harry, "you blowed um away?"

"Blowed um away, you fool!--how could I ha' blowed um away?"

"Why, he _was_ there," said Bob, "and he baint there noo, and he baint here nayther, so you mus ha' blowed um out o' th' boot; 'sides, look at the muzzle o' this ere blunderbust!"

"Well, of all the rummest goes as ever happened," said Tooler, thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his pockets, "this ere flogs 'em all into nuffin!"

"It is perfectly astounding!" exclaimed the gentleman in black, looking again into the boot, while the men stood and stared at each other with their mouths as wide open as human mouths could be.

"Well, in wi' 'em agin," cried Tooler, "in wi' 'em!--Blarm me if this here arn't a queer un to get over."

The luggage was accordingly replaced, and Tooler, on mounting the box, told the men to get a gallon of beer, when the gentleman in black generously gave them half a crown, and the horses started off, leaving Tom with his blunderbuss, Harry, Bill, Sam, and their companions, bewildered with the mystery which the whole day spent in the alehouse by no means enabled them to solve.

THERE'S BUT ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS TO MEND TO-NIGHT.

Recite this in a simple unaffected manner; carefully avoiding anything like _rant_. At times the voice should sink tremulously low, as the good dame recalls memories of her departed children:

An old wife sat by her bright fireside, Swaying thoughtfully to and fro, In an ancient chair whose creaky frame Told a tale of long ago; While down by her side, on the kitchen floor, Stood a basket of worsted balls--a score.

The old man dozed o'er the latest news, Till the light of his pipe went out, And, unheeded, the kitten, with cunning paws, Rolled and tangled the balls about; Yet still sat the wife in the ancient chair, Swaying to and fro, in the firelight glare.

But anon a misty tear-drop came In her eye of faded blue, Then trickled down in a furrow deep, Like a single drop of dew; So deep was the channel--so silent the stream-- The good man saw naught but the dimmed eye-beam.

Yet he marvelled much that the cheerful light Of her eye had weary grown, And marvelled he more at the tangled balls; So he said in a gentle tone, "I have shared thy joys since our marriage vow, Conceal not from me thy sorrows now."

Then she spoke of the time when the basket there Was filled to the very brim, And how there remained of the goodly pile But a single pair--for him. "Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light, There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night.

"I cannot but think of the busy feet, Whose wrappings were wont to lie In the basket, awaiting the needle's time, Now wandered so far away; How the sprightly steps to a mother dear, Unheeded fell on the careless ear.

"For each empty nook in the basket old, By the hearth there's a vacant seat; And I miss the shadows from off the wall, And the patter of many feet; 'Tis for this that a tear gathered over my sight At the one pair of stockings to mend to-night.

"'Twas said that far through the forest wild, And over the mountains bold, Was a land whose rivers and darkening caves Were gemmed with the rarest gold; Then my first-born turned from the oaken door, And I knew the shadows were only four.

"Another went forth on the foaming waves And diminished the basket's store-- But his feet grew cold--so weary and cold-- They'll never be warm any more-- And this nook in its emptiness, seemeth to me To give forth no voice but the moan of the sea.

"Two others have gone towards the setting sun, And made them a home in its light, And fairy fingers have taken their share To mend by the fireside bright; Some other baskets their garments fill-- But mine! Oh, mine is emptier still.

"Another--the dearest--the fairest--the best-- Was ta'en by the angels away, And clad in a garment that waxeth not old, In a land of continual day. Oh! wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light, While I mend the one pair of stockings to-night."

A LOVE OF A BONNET

(FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)

CHARACTERS.

MRS. CLIPPER, a Widow. KITTY, her Daughter. AUNT JEMIMA HOPKINS, a leetle inquisitive. MRS. HORTENSIA FASTONE, very genteel. DORA, her Daughter. KATY DOOLAN, Irish Help.

SCENE.--_Room in_ MRS. CLIPPER'S _House. Lounge_, L.; _Chairs_, C.; _Table and Rocking-chair, Looking-glass_, R.

_Enter_ MRS. CLIPPER _and_ KITTY, R.

_Mrs. C._ But really, Kitty, I cannot afford it.

_Kitty._ O, yes, you can, mother; just this once. It's such a love of a bonnet! it's so becoming! and it only costs fifteen dollars.

_Mrs. C._ Fifteen dollars! Why, child, you are crazy! We cannot afford to be so extravagant. The income derived from the property your dear father left will only allow us to dress in the most economical manner.

_Kitty._ But this bonnet is not extravagant. Dora Fastone wears a bonnet which cost twenty-five-dollars, and her father has failed five or six times. I don't see why I can't have a new bonnet as well as that proud, stuck-up--

_Mrs. C._ Hush, my child! never speak ill of our neighbors because they dress better than we do. If they spend money foolishly, we should endeavor to use ours to better purpose. I am sure I should be glad to gratify you, but we have so many expenses. Your music lessons cost a great deal of money; and your brother Harry, off at school, is really suffering for a new suit of clothes. I must send him some money to-day.

_Kitty._ O, he can wait; he's only a boy; and no one cares how he looks; but young ladies must dress, or they are thought nothing of. O, you must let me have the bonnet, mamma!

_Mrs. C._ If you have this bonnet, Kitty, Harry must go without his new suit.

_Kitty._ If you could just see it! It's such a love of a bonnet! Do let me run down and ask Miss Thompson to send it up for you to look at.

_Mrs. C._ I've no objection to that; and if you think you need it more than Harry does his new suit, why--

_Kitty._ You'll let me have it. That's a good, dear mother. I know you wouldn't refuse. I'll run to Miss Thompson's. I won't be gone long. I suppose I am selfish; but then, mother, it's such a love of a bonnet. [_Exit_, L.

_Mrs. C._ (_Sits in a rocking-chair._) Dear child, it is hard to refuse her! But one should be made of money to keep up with the extravagant fashions of the day.

_Enter_ AUNT HOPKINS, R.

_Aunt H._ Angelina, what on airth have them air Joneses got for dinner? I've sot and sot at that air front winder till I've got a crick in my back a tryin' to find out whether it's lamb or mutton. It's something roasted, anyhow.

_Mrs. C._ Aunt Hopkins, you are very inquisitive!

_Aunt H._ Inquisitive! Law sakes, do hear the child talk! Neow, what harm kin there be in tryin' to find eout what your neighbors have got for dinner? I mean to put on my bunnet and run acrost and see. I know they've got apple dumplin's, for I see the hired gal throw the parin's out into the yard.

_Mrs. C._ Run across! Don't dream of such a thing!

_Aunt H._ Well, I'm goin' up stairs to git my specs and have another good look, anyhow; for I'm jest dyin' to know whether it's lamb or mutton. Land sakes! what's the use of livin', ef you can't know how other folks live? [_Exit_, R.

_Mrs. C._ Aunt Hopkins!--She's gone! Dear me, she does worry me terribly! What will our neighbors think of us?

_Enter_ KATY DOOLAN, L.

_Katy._ If you plase, mam, may I coome in?

_Mrs. C._ Certainly, Katy. What's the matter?

_Katy._ If you plase, mam, I have a letther; and would you plase rade it for me?

_Mrs. C._ (_Takes letter._) Certainly, Katy. From your lover?

_Katy._ Indeed, mam, I have no lover. It's my cousin, mam.

_Mrs. C._ O, your cousin. (_Opens letter._) "Light ov my sowl!" Why, this cannot be your cousin.

_Katy._ Indade, indade, it be, sure! It's only the insinivatin' way he has, mam!

_Mrs. C._ (_Reads._) "Bewitchin' Katy! and how are ye's onyhow? I take my pin in hand to till ye's I am yurs, in good hilth and sphirits; and it's hopin' ye's the same, truly! The pulsitations uv my heart are batin' wid the love I bears ye's, darlin' Katy! the fairest flower--niver mind the blot--that iver bloomed an the family tree uv Phil Doolan uv Tipperary, dead and gone this siven years, bliss his sowl,--and how are ye's? An' by the same token that I loves ye's much, I sind by the ixpriss, freight paid, a new bunnit, which my cousin Biddy Ryan, for my dear love, have made for ye's charmin' Katy Doolan! Wear it nixt ye's heart! And if ye git it before this letther coomes to hand, ye's may know it is from

Your ever sighin', Wid love for ye's dyin', CORNALIUS RYAN.

P.S. If ye's don't resave this letther, sind me word uv mouth by the man who fetches the bunnit."

_Mrs. C._ That's a very loving epistle.

_Katy._ Pistol, it is? Faith, I thought it was a letther.

_Mrs. C._ And so it is; and a very loving one! Your _cousin_ has sent you a new bonnet.

_Katy._ Is it in the letther, mam!

_Mrs. C._ It is coming by express.

_Katy._ Sure, he might sind it in the letther, and save expinse. What will I do?

_Mrs. C._ Wait patiently until the bonnet arrives.

_Katy._ Will Cornalius coome wid it?

_Mrs. C._ I think not. The expressman will bring it.

_Katy._ Sure, I don't want the ixpressman. It's Cornalius I want.

_Mrs. C._ This cousin of yours seems very affectionate. Are you going to marry him some day?

_Katy._ Some day?--yis, mam. He tould me, Would I? and I axed him, Yes. What will I do with the letther, mam?

_Mrs. C._ Keep it with your treasures. It should be precious to you.

_Katy._ Faith, thin I'll put it in the savings bank with my money. I'm obliged, to ye's Mrs. Clipper, mam. If you plase, what was that last in the letther?

_Mrs. C._

"Your ever sighin', Wid love for ye's dyin', Cornalius Ryan."

_Katy._ O, don't, ma'am! Ye's make me blush wid the shame I fail. Och! it's a quare darlin', wid all his sighin', is Cornalius Ryan! Och, musha! it's an illigant lad he is, onyhow! [_Exit_, L.

_Mrs. C._ So we are to have another new bonnet in the family! Well, Katy is a good girl, and I hope will get a good husband, as well as a new bonnet.

[_Exit_, L.

_Enter_ AUNT HOPKINS, R., _with a bandbox._

_Aunt H._ It's mutton! I was determined to find eout, and I have! I saw that air Jones boy a playin' in the street, and I asked him what his folks had got for dinner, and he said mutton, and neow I'm satisfied on that air p'int. I wonder what's in this 'ere bandbox! I saw that express cart stop here, and the man said it was for Miss Kitty somebody; of course, Angelina's darter. I do wonder what it is! (_Opens box._) Well I declare! A spic span new bunnet! (_Takes out a very large, gaudily-trimmed bonnet._) And sich a bunnet! Ribbons and lace, flowers and feathers! Now that's jest what I call a tasty bunnet! I mean to try it on. It'll jest suit my complexion. Law sakes! here comes Kitty! 'Twon't do to let her know I've been at her things! (_Puts bonnet back into box, and places it behind the table._)

_Enter_ KITTY, L.,

_Kitty._ O, aunt Hopkins! Where's mother?

_Aunt H._ Land sakes! I don't know no more than the child unborn!

_Kitty._ Dear me! Here are Mrs. Fastone and Dora coming up the steps! What shall I do?

_Aunt H._ Why, let 'em in, of course!

_Kitty._ Has my new bonnet come yet?

_Aunt H._ Indeed it has! And sich a beauty!

_Kitty._ O, I'm so glad! But where is it?

_Aunt H._ Down there behind the table. I hain't teched it; only jest took a peep.

_Kitty._ I'll let Miss Dora see that some people can dress as well as some other people. Aunt Hopkins, you must manage to draw attention to my new bonnet while the visitors are here, to give me an opportunity to show it.

_Aunt H._ Why, I'll take it right eout the fust hing.

_Kitty._ No, no! that would be too abrupt. Manage to speak of bonnets; but do not show it until they ask to see it.

_Aunt H._ Well, I guess I know heow to do it genteelly.

_Enter_ KATY, L.

_Katy._ Two ladies to see you, miss. (_Crosses to_ R.)

_Kitty._ Where's mother, Katy?

_Katy._ Gone to the butcher's, miss. [_Exit_ R.

_Aunt H._ Butcher's? Wal, I do hope she'll git some mutton, for the Joneses has it; and we ought to be as genteel as our neighbours.

_Enter_ MRS. FASTONE _and_ DORA, L., _very elegantly attired_.

_Mrs. F._ My dear child, how do you do?

_Kitty._ (_Shaking hands with her, and afterwards with_ DORA.) I'm delighted to see you! Hope you are quite well, and Dora.

_Mrs. F._ Quite well--aren't you, Dora?

_Dora._ Quite, mamma.

_Kitty._ Pray be seated, ladies. (_They sit on lounge._) Mrs. Hopkins, Mrs. Fastone.

_Aunt H._ (_Steps over and shakes hands._) Hope you are pretty well, ma'am, and you, too, miss, though you do look awful delicate! And how's your husband? He's a broker--ain't he? (_Sits in rocking-chair, and keeps it in motion._)

_Mrs. F._ Yes, Mrs. Hopkins, Mr. Fastone is a broker, engaged day after day in the busy vortex of fluctuating enterprises.

_Aunt H._ Well, I never hearn tell of that business afore; but I s'pose it's profitable, or you couldn't afford to dress so. Is that a silk or a poplin you've got on?

_Kitty._ (_Brings her chair; sits_, C.) Aunt Hopkins!--Mother has stepped out to make a call.

_Aunt H._ No, she hain't; she's only gone to the butcher's.

_Kitty._ Aunt Hopkins!--Mrs. Fastone, what is the news?

_Mrs. F._ Well, really nothing. I am dying of _ennui_, the world is so quiet; no excitement to move the placid waters of fashionable society--is there, Dora?

_Dora._ Nothing, mamma.

_Mrs. F._ Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to wear,--is there, Dora?

_Dora._ Nothing, mamma.

_Aunt H._ Nothing to wear! Yes, there's bunnets.

_Kitty._ Aunt Hopkins!--Mrs. Fastone, you are quite correct.

_Mrs. F._ Mrs. Hopkins spoke of bonnets. I have been so disappointed! Thompson had a perfect love of a bonnet that I had quite set my heart upon for Dora; but it is gone, and the poor child is almost broken-hearted--ain't you, Dora?

_Dora._ Quite, mamma.

_Kitty._ I am very sorry, for bonnets are so hard to find. I have been very much perplexed about them myself. They are so very commonplace; no air of refinement about them.

_Mrs. F._ None, whatever--is there, Dora?

_Dora._ None, mamma.

_Kitty._ I've just had a new one sent home, but it doesn't suit me.

_Aunt H._ Why, Kitty, how you talk! It's a regular beauty!

_Kitty._ Aunt Hopkins!--It is not what I wanted, but Thompson said it was the most stylish she had.

_Mrs. F._ Thompson! Did you get it of Thompson?

_Kitty._ Yes, all my bonnets come from Thompson.

_Mrs. F._ Do let me see it!

_Aunt H._ (_Jumps up._) I'll show it to you right off. It's an eligunt bunnet. (_Gets bandbox._)

_Kitty._ Aunt Hopkins!

_Aunt H._ Neow don't aunt Hopkins me! for I'm going to show 'em jest how it looks on yer; set still; for if there's anything I pride myself on, it's showin' off a bunnet. (_Stands behind_ KITTY, _puts the bonnet on her head, and ties it._) There! ain't that a beauty?

_Mrs. F._ Why! what a hor--a handsome bonnet! Did you ever see anything like it, Dora?

_Dora._ Never, mamma!

_Aunt H._ That's the style, marm.

_Mrs. F._ Really! I want to know! And this is Thompson's most stylish bonnet! Really, how the fashions do change! Did you ever, Dora!

_Dora._ Never, mamma!

_Kitty._ (_Aside._) I do believe they are laughing! Aunt Hopkins, I cannot get it off! You've tied it in a hard knot!

_Mrs. F._ It's very becoming--isn't it, Dora?

_Dora._ O, very, mamma.

_Mrs. F._ (_Aside to_ DORA.)--What a horrid fright!

_Dora._ Frightful, mamma!

_Mrs. F._ I believe we must be moving, for I must hurry to Thompson's and order just such a bonnet for Dora. Good day. You have such a charming taste--hasn't she, Dora?

_Dora._ Charming, mamma! (_They bow, and exeunt_, L., _with their handkerchiefs to their mouths, endeavouring to conceal their laughter._)

_Kitty._ Good day. Call again.--The hateful things! They are laughing at me. What ails this bonnet. (_Goes to glass._) Goodness gracious; what a fright! This is not my bonnet. Aunt Hopkins, you've ruined me! I shall be the laughing-stock of the whole neighbourhood. (_Tears off the bonnet._)

_Enter_ MRS. CLIPPER, R.

_Mrs. C._ Have the Fastones gone?

_Kitty._ I hope so. O, mother, send aunt Hopkins home; she's made me look ridiculous!

_Aunt H._ Well, I declare! this comes of trying to please folks!

_Mrs. C._ Is _that_ your love of a bonnet, Kitty?

_Kitty._ No, indeed! Aunt Hopkins, where did you get this hateful thing?