Aunt Phillis's Cabin Part 22

"Why, what on earth?" said the astonished woman: "Surely, is that you, Bacchus?"

"It is, surely," said Bacchus; "but put that devil of a tiger out of de room, if you don't want me to die dis minute."

Phillis's presence always had an imposing effect upon Jupiter; and as she opened the door to the other room, and called him in, he followed her without any hesitation.

She shut him in, and then hurried back to lift up the chest lid, to release her better half.

"Why, how," said she, as Bacchus, in a most cramped condition endeavored to raise himself, "did the lid fall on you?"

"No," groaned Bacchus. "Are you sure de middle door's shut. Let me git out o' dis place quick as possible, for since ole Peggy left, de ole boy hisself has taken up his abode here. 'Pears as if I never should git straight agin."

"Why, look at your face, Bacchus," said his wife. "Did Jupiter scratch you up that way."

"Didn't he though? Wait till I gits out of reach of his claws, and I'll tell you about it;" and they both went out, Phillis locking the door to keep Jupiter quiet, that night at least. After having washed the blood off his face and hands, and surveyed himself with a dismal countenance in the looking-gla.s.s, Bacchus proceeded to give an account of his adventure.

After dinner he thought he would secure Jupiter, and have him effectually done for before Phillis came back. He mustered up all his courage, and unlocking the house, determined to catch and tie him, then decide on a mode of death that would be effectual. He had heard some officer from Mexico describe the use of the la.s.so, and it occurred to him to entrap Jupiter in this scientific manner. But Jupiter was an old bird; he was not to be caught with chaff. Bacchus's la.s.so failed altogether, and very soon the cat became so enraged that Bacchus was obliged to take a three-legged stool, and act on the defensive. He held the stool before his face, and when Jupiter made a spring at him, he dodged against him with it. Two or three blows excited Jupiter's anger to frenzy, and after several efforts he succeeded in clawing Bacchus's face in the most dreadful manner, so that it was with the greatest difficulty he could clear himself. Desperate with pain and fright, he looked for some way of escape. The door was shut, and Jupiter, who seemed to be preparing for another attack, was between him and it. He had but one resource, and that was to spring into Aunt Peggy's great chest, and close the lid to protect himself from another a.s.sault.

Occasionally, when nearly suffocated, he would raise the lid to breathe, but Jupiter immediately flew at him in such a furious manner, that he saw it would be at the risk of his life to attempt to escape, and he was obliged to bide his time. What his meditations were upon while in the chest, would be hard to decide; but when once more protected by the shadow of his own roof, he vowed Jupiter should die, and be cut in pieces before he was done with him.

Phillis went to Miss Janet, and gave her an account of the whole affair, with Bacchus's permission, and the kind old lady came to him with some healing ointment of her own manufacture, and anointed his wounds.

William was sent for; and the result of the discussion was, that he and his father should, early next morning, shoot the much dreaded cat effectually.

This resolution was carried into effect in the following manner. Phillis went a little in advance with a large bowl of bread and milk, and enticed Jupiter to the hearth. As he was very hungry, he did not perceive William entering with a very long gun in his hand, nor even Bacchus, his ancient enemy, with a piece of sticking-plaster down his nose and across his forehead.

William was quite a sportsman. He went through all the necessary formalities. Bacchus gave the word of command in a low voice: Make ready, take aim, fire--bang, and William discharged a shower of shot into Jupiter's back and sides. He gave one spring, and all was over, Bacchus looking on with intense delight.

As in the case of Aunt Peggy, now that his enemy was no more, Bacchus became very magnanimous. He said Jupiter had been a faithful old animal, though mighty queer sometimes, and he believed the death of Aunt Peggy had set him crazy, therefore he forgave him for the condition in which he had put his face, and should lay him by his mistress at the burial-ground.

Lydia begged an old candle-box of Miss Janet, for a coffin, and a.s.sisted her father in the other funeral arrangements. With a secret satisfaction and a solemn air, Bacchus carried off the box, followed by a number of black children, that Lydia had invited to the funeral. They watched Bacchus with great attention while he completed his work, and the whole party returned under the impression that Aunt Peggy and Jupiter were perfectly satisfied with the morning's transactions.

CHAPTER XX.

The time had come to leave home, and the Westons had but one more evening.

Neither Mr. Weston nor Alice were well, and all hoped the change would benefit them. They were to travel in their own carriage, and the preparations were completed. The three ladies' maids were to go by the stage. Miss Janet had a number of things stowed away in the carriage, which she thought might be useful, not forgetting materials for a lunch, and a little of her own home-made lavender, in case of a headache. The pleasure of going was very much lessened by the necessity of leaving the dear old lady, who would not listen to their entreaties to accompany them. "You, with your smooth cheeks and bright eyes, may well think of pa.s.sing a winter in Washington; but what should I do there? Why, the people would say I had lost my senses. No, we three ladies will have a nice quiet time at Exeter, and I can go on with my quilting and patchwork. You see, Miss Alice, that you come back with red cheeks. The birds and the flowers will be glad to see you again when the spring comes."

"Ring the bell, Alice," said Mr. Weston. "I must know how Mr. Mason's little boy is. I sent Mark shortly after dinner; but here he is. Well, Mark, I hope the little fellow is getting well?"

"He is _receased_, sir," said Mark, solemnly.

"He is what?" said Mr. Weston. "Oh! ah! he is dead--I understand you. Well, I am truly sorry for it. When did he die?"

"Early this morning, sir," said Mark. "Have you any more orders to give, sir? for as I am to be up mighty early in the morning, I was thinking of going to bed when you are done with me."

"Nothing more," said Mr. Weston; and Mark retired.

"Mark," continued Mr. Weston, "has the greatest propensity for using hard words. His _receased_ means deceased. He was excessively angry with Bacchus the other day for interfering with him about the horses. 'n.o.body,' said he, 'can stand that old fellow's airs. He's got so full of tomposity, that he makes himself disagreeable to everybody.' By _tom_posity, I suppose you all know he meant pomposity. Bacchus is elated at the idea of going with us. I hope I shall not have any trouble with him."

"Oh! no, uncle," said Alice; "he is a good old fellow, and looks so aristocratic with his gray hair and elegant bows. Ellen and I will have to take him as a beau when you are out. Aunt Phillis says, that he has promised her not to drink a drop of any thing but water, and she seems to think that he has been so sober lately that he will keep his word."

"It is very doubtful," said Mr. Weston; "but the fact is he would be troublesome with his airs and his _tomposity_ were I to leave him; so I have no choice."

"Dear Alice," said Ellen, fixing her large dark eyes on her; "how can I ever be grateful enough to you?"

"For what?" asked Alice.

"For getting sick, and requiring change of air, which is the first cause of my being here on my way to the great metropolis. Whoever likes a plantation life is welcome to it; but I am heartily sick of it. Indeed, Miss Janet, good as you are, you could not stand it at uncle's. Ten miles from a neighbor--just consider it! Uncle disapproves of campmeetings and barbecues; and aunt is sewing from morning till night; while I am required to read the Spectator aloud. I have a mortal grudge against Addison."

"But, my dear," said Miss Janet, "you must remember you are to return to your uncle's, and you must not learn to love the great world too much."

"Perhaps," said Mr. Barbour, who was much depressed at the approaching parting, "Miss Ellen may not mean to return to her uncle's. A young lady with good looks, and a heavy purse, will be found out in Washington. She will just suit a great many there--clerks with small salaries, army and navy men with expensive habits; and foreign attaches, who, being nothing in their own country, turn our young ladies' heads when they come here."

"So you think I am destined for no other fate than to pay a fortune-hunter's debts. Thank you, Mr. Barbour!"

"The fact is, Mr. Barbour wants you himself, Ellen, and he is afraid somebody will carry you off. He will pay us a visit this winter, I expect,"

said Mrs. Weston.

"Well," said Ellen laughingly, "I'd rather take up with him than to go back to my old life, now that I see you are all so happy here."

"But your aunt and uncle," said Miss Janet, "you must not feel unkindly toward them."

"No, indeed," said Ellen, "they are both good and kind in their way, but uncle is reserved, and often low-spirited. Aunt is always talking of the necessity of self-control, and the discipline of life. She is an accomplished teaze. Why, do you know," continued Ellen, laughingly, as she removed Miss Janet's hand from her mouth, the old lady thus playfully endeavoring to check her, "after I had accepted Mrs. Weston's kind invitation, and mammy and I were busy packing, aunt said I must not be too sanguine, disappointments were good for young people, and that something might occur which would prevent my going. I believe I should have died outright, if it had turned out so."

"And so," said Mr. Barbour, "to get rid of a dull home, you are determined to fly in the face of fate, and are going to Washington after a husband.

Ah! Miss Ellen, beware of these young men that have nothing but their whiskers and their epaulettes. Let me tell you of a young friend of mine, who would marry the man of her choice, in spite of the interference of her friends, and one April morning in the honey moon they were seen breakfasting under a persimmon tree. However, as you are a young lady of fortune, you will always be sure of coffee and hot rolls; your good father has made such a sensible will, that the princ.i.p.al never can be touched. How many fine fortunes would have been saved, if Southerners had taken such precautions long ago. You will have a fine time young ladies, you must keep an account of your conquests, and tell me of them when you come back."

"Its only Ellen who is going in search of love adventures, Mr. Barbour,"

said Alice.

"Make yourself easy, Mr. Barbour," said Ellen. "I mean to have a delightful time flirting, then come back to marry you, and settle down. Mammy says I can't help getting good, if I live near Miss Janet."

"Well, I will wait for you," said Mr. Barbour. "And now Alice, sing me a sweet old Scotch song. Sing, ''Twas within half a mile of Edinburgh town'."

"I can't come quite so near it as that," said Alice, "but I will sing ''Twas within a mile.'" She sang that, and then "Down the burn Davie." Then Miss Janet proposed 'Auld lang syne,' in which they all joined; in singing the chorus, Mr. Barbour, as usual, got very much excited, and Alice a little tired, so that the music ceased and Alice took her seat by her uncle on the sofa.

"Miss Janet," said Mr. Barbour, "you look better than I have seen you for a long time."

"Thank you," said Miss Janet. "Mr. Washington asked me the other day if I were ever going to die. I suppose, like Charles II., I ought to apologize for being so long in dying; but I am so comfortable and happy with my friends, that I do not think enough of the journey I soon must take to another world. How many comforts I have, and how many kind friends! I feel now that we are about to be separated, that I should thank you all for your goodness to me, lest in the Providence of G.o.d we should not meet again.

Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have, my poor thanks are most gratefully offered."

"Oh! Cousin Janet," said Alice, with her eyes full of tears, "why will you not go with us; your talking so makes me dread to part with you."

"My darling, we must all try to get to Heaven, where there are no partings.

I cannot be a great while with you; remember, I am eighty-five years old.

But I will not grieve you. We will, I trust, all meet here in the spring.

G.o.d is here, and He is in the great city; we are all safe beneath His care.