A MOTION WHICH ENDS IN A MULL
[Illustration: 113.jpg Illustrated Capital]
Instead of minding his New-Year pudding, Master Huckaback
carried on so about his mighty grievance, that at
last we began to think there must be something in
it, after all; especially as he assured us that choice
and costly presents for the young people of our household
were among the goods divested. But mother told
him her children had plenty, and wanted no gold and
silver, and little Eliza spoke up and said, “You
can give us the pretty things, Uncle Ben, when we
come in the summer to see you.”
Our mother reproved Eliza for this, although it was
the heel of her own foot; and then to satisfy our
uncle, she promised to call Farmer Nicholas Snowe,
to be of our council that evening, “And if the
young maidens would kindly come, without taking thought
to smoothe themselves, why it would be all the merrier,
and who knew but what Uncle Huckaback might bless
the day of his robbery, etc., etc.—and
thorough good honest girls they were, fit helpmates
either for shop or farm.” All of which
was meant for me; but I stuck to my platter and answered
not.
In the evening Farmer Snowe came up, leading his daughters
after him, like fillies trimmed for a fair; and Uncle
Ben, who had not seen them on the night of his mishap
(because word had been sent to stop them), was mightily
pleased and very pleasant, according to his town bred
ways. The damsels had seen good company, and
soon got over their fear of his wealth, and played
him a number of merry pranks, which made our mother
quite jealous for Annie, who was always shy and diffident.
However, when the hot cup was done, and before the
mulled wine was ready, we packed all the maidens in
the parlour and turned the key upon them; and then
we drew near to the kitchen fire to hear Uncle Ben’s
proposal. Farmer Snowe sat up in the corner,
caring little to bear about anything, but smoking
slowly, and nodding backward like a sheep-dog dreaming.
Mother was in the settle, of course, knitting hard,
as usual; and Uncle Ben took to a three-legged stool,
as if all but that had been thieved from him.
Howsoever, he kept his breath from speech, giving privilege,
as was due, to mother.
[Illustration: 114.jpg Farmer Snow sat up in
the chair]
“Master Snowe, you are well assured,”
said mother, colouring like the furze as it took the
flame and fell over, “that our kinsman here hath
received rough harm on his peaceful journey from Dulverton.
The times are bad, as we all know well, and there
is no sign of bettering them, and if I could see our
Lord the King I might say things to move him! nevertheless,
I have had so much of my own account to vex for—”
“You are flying out of the subject, Sarah,”
said Uncle Ben, seeing tears in her eyes, and tired
of that matter.
“Zettle the pralimbinaries,” spoke Farmer
Snowe, on appeal from us, “virst zettle the
pralimbinaries; and then us knows what be drivin’
at.”
