Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter. A Forest Romance

								

jes' like de heathen fer decent culled pussons not to have any place to
holler Glory, and show der new clo'es."
"I'd like to go to meetin' wid dese boots," remarked her spouse,
looking down at the immense pair into which he had squeezed his feet.
"Ef you did, all I can say is, dar' wouldn' be no room fer anybody else
dar'," returned Pallas, giving way, by mere force of habit, to her
custom of snubbing her companion.
"Wha' fer?" inquired Saturn.
"No matter, ef yer don't know. My! my!"--hopelessly--"what a fool you
is!"
"Dat's so, wife;" was the humble reply, "but," picking up courage at
the sight of his new rig, "mebbe when I get my new jacket on, I'll know
more."
"You'd bettar put it on quick, den, and nebbar take it off."
When her dishes were washed, Pallas took the calico in her lap and sat
down.
"I've a sense," she said, in a low voice, "dat things is goin' to
happen."
"Wha' fer?"
"I haven't had such a sense fer years," she continued, too preoccupied
to administer her customary rebuke. "And when I've a sense, it allers
comes to suthin'--it never fails. I haven't had such feelin's since
missus died. 'Pears to me dat young gentleum looks like missus' family.
And it's de same name--curus, isn't it?"
"Berry," replied Saturn, at random, lost in the study of his feet; "dem
boots is beauties."
"I dunno what masser brought him here fer, he's allers been so keerful.
He tole me 'twas a pardner in de steam saw-mill dat takes his lumber
off his han's; a young storekeeper in Center City now, though he use
to be a lawyer in New York--bress it! it's a long time since I sot
eyes on dat city now. Our fus' masser, Mortimer Moore, usin to invite
no shop-keepers to his house. My! my! but he was a mighty proud man,
and dat's what made all de trouble. Dem was grand times, wid all de
serbents and de silber--never tought I cud come to dis--but I promised
missus, when she died, I'd stan' by her chile, and I shall stand by
her, long as der's any bref left in dis ole body--bress her! She's
growing up jes' as han'some as ever her mudder was, and she's got her
ways; and as for manners--hi! hi! folks might larf at the idea of ole
Pallas learnin' manners to her missus, but dar ain't nobody knows
better how table ought to be set and sarbed, and things to be done,
than my dear chile now, dis minit. Ef masser will keep her, like de
children of Israel, forty years in de wilderness, she shall be a lady
for all dat, bress her, and a Christian lady, too! She knows all de
bes' part of de psalms by heart, now; and she can sing hymns like a
cherubim. Sometimes I mos' think she's got one of dem golden harps in
her hand. If dat ole fool ain't asleep. Saturn!" kicking his shins,
"wake up yer, and go to bed--immejetly!"
Saturn had a discouraging time getting his new boots off in the sleepy
state which had come upon him; but this being at last accomplished,