“Watch (aside).
Some treason, masters—
Yet stand close.”
—Much Ado About Nothing.
It was fortunate for more than one of the bacchanalians who left the
“Bold Dragoon” late in the evening that the severe cold of the season was becoming rapidly less dangerous as they threaded the different mazes through the snow-banks that led to their respective dwellings.
Then driving clouds began toward morning to flit across the heavens, and the moon set behind a volume of vapor that was impelled furiously toward the north, carrying with it the softer atmosphere from the distant ocean.
The rising sun was obscured by denser and increasing columns of clouds, while the southerly wind that rushed up the valley brought the never-failing symptoms of a thaw.
It was quite late in the morning before Elizabeth, observing the faint glow which appeared on the eastern mountain long after the light of the sun had struck the opposite hills, ventured from the house, with a view to gratify her curiosity with a glance by daylight at the surrounding objects before the tardy revellers of the Christmas eve should make their appearance at the breakfast-table.
While she was drawing the folds of her pelisse more closely around her form, to guard against a cold that was yet great though rapidly yielding, in the small inclosure that opened in the rear of the house on a little thicket of low pines that were springing up where trees of a mightier growth had lately stood, she was surprised at the voice of Mr. Jones.
“Merry Christmas, merry Christmas to you, Cousin Bess,” he shouted.
“Ah, ha! an early riser, I see; but I knew I should steal a march on you.
I never was in a house yet where I didn’t get the first Christmas greeting on every soul in it, man, woman, and child—great and small—black, white, and yellow.
But stop a minute till I can just slip on my coat. You are about to look at the improvements, I see, which no one can explain so well as I, who planned them all. It will be an hour before
‘Duke and the Major can sleep off Mrs. Hollister’s confounded distillations, and so I’ll come down and go with you.”
Elizabeth turned and observed her cousin in his night cap, with his head out of his bedroom window, where his zeal for pre-eminence, in defiance of the weather, had impelled him to thrust it.
She laughed, and promising to wait for his company re-entered the house, making her appearance again, holding in her hand a packet that was secured by several large and important seals, just in time to meet the gentleman.
“Come, Bessy, come,” he cried, drawing one of her arms through his own; “the snow begins to give, but it will bear us yet.
Don’t you snuff old Pennsylvania in the very air?
This is a vile climate, girl; now at sunset, last evening, it was cold enough to freeze a man’s zeal, and that, I can tell you, takes a thermometer near zero for me; then about nine or ten it began to moderate; at twelve it was quite mild, and here all the rest of the night I have been so hot as not to bear a blanket on the bed.—Holla!
Aggy—merry Christmas, Aggy—I say, do you hear me, you black dog! there’s a dollar for you; and if the gentle men get up before I come back, do you come out and let me know.
I wouldn’t have ‘Duke get the start of me for the worth of your head.”
The black caught the money from the snow, and promising a due degree of watchfulness, he gave the dollar a whirl of twenty feet in the air, and catching it as it fell in the palm of his hand, he withdrew to the kitchen, to exhibit his present, with a heart as light as his face was happy in its expression.
“Oh, rest easy, my dear coz,” said the young lady;
“I took a look in at my father, who is likely to sleep an hour; and by using due vigilance you will secure all the honors of the season.”
“Why, Duke is your father, Elizabeth; but ‘Duke is a man who likes to be foremost, even in trifles.
Now, as for myself, I care for no such things, except in the way of competition; for a thing which is of no moment in itself may be made of importance in the way of competition.
So it is with your father—he loves to be first; but I only; struggle with him as a competitor.”
“It’s all very clear, sir,” said Elizabeth; “you would not care a fig for distinction if there were no one in the world but yourself; but as there happens to be a great many others, why, you must struggle with them all—in the way of competition.”
“Exactly so; I see you are a clever girl, Bess, and one who does credit to her masters.
It was my plan to send you to that school; for when your father first mentioned the thing, I wrote a private letter for advice to a judicious friend in the city, who recommended the very school you went to.
‘Duke was a little obstinate at first, as usual, but when he heard the truth he was obliged to send you.”
“Well, a truce to ‘Duke’s foibles, sir; he is my father, and if you knew what he has been doing for you while we were in Albany, you would deal more tenderly with his character.”
“For me!” cried Richard, pausing a moment in his walk to reflect.
“Oh! he got the plans of the new Dutch meeting-house for me, I suppose; but I care very little about it, for a man of a certain kind of talent is seldom aided by any foreign suggestions; his own brain is the best architect.”
“No such thing,” said Elizabeth, looking provokingly knowing.
“No! let me see—perhaps he had my name put in the bill for the new turnpike, as a director.”
“He might possibly; but it is not to such an appointment that I allude.”
“Such an appointment!” repeated Mr. Jones, who began to fidget with curiosity; “then it is an appointment.
If it is in the militia, I won’t take it.
“No, no, it is not in the militia,” cried Elizabeth, showing the packet in her hand, and then drawing it back with a coquettish air; “it is an office of both honor and emolument.”
“Honor and emolument!” echoed Richard, in painful suspense; “show me the paper, girl.
Say, is it an office where there is anything to do?”
“You have hit it, Cousin Dickon; it is the executive office of the county; at least so said my father when he gave me this packet to offer you as a Christmas-box.
Surely, if anything will please Dickon,’ he said, ‘it will be to fill the executive chair of the county.’”
“Executive chair! what nonsense!” cried the impatient gentleman, snatching the packet from her hand; “there is no such office in the county.
Eh! what! it is, I declare, a commission, appointing Richard Jones, Esquire, sheriff of the county. Well, this is kind in ‘Duke, positively. I must say ‘Duke has a warm heart, and never forgets his friends.
Sheriff!
High Sheriff of—! it sounds well, Bess, but it shall execute better.
‘Duke is a judicious man after all, and knows human nature thoroughly, I’m much obliged to him,” continued Richard, using the skirt of his coat unconsciously to wipe his eyes; “though I would do as much for him any day, as he shall see, if I have an opportunity to perform any of the duties of my office on him.