He nodded to her, tapped me
on the head with his riding-whip, gave Patsey a kiss as she stretched
out her arms to him, tossed her in the air, and, returning her to her
nurse, was passing on.
"Do stop, Colonel," said mamma, "and admire my bargains. See this cut
glass and plate that we have been wishing for, to save our best set."
"What, this trash?" said he, pausing a moment at the table--"blown glass
and washed brass! Who has been fooling you?"
"Colonel," said mamma, coloring highly, "how can you--"
"I can not stop a minute, now, wife," said he, "Jones and Ferguson are
for a hunt to-day! They are waiting at Drake's corner. It looks like
falling weather and my old drab will come in well to-day."
Mamma looked frightened, and he passed on up-stairs. He was one of those
gentlemen who keep a house alive, as the phrase is, whether in merriment
or the contrary, and we were always prepared to search for his hat, or
whip, or slippers, which he was confident he put in their places, but
which, by some miracle, were often in opposite directions. Our greatest
trial, however, was with mamma's and his spectacles, for they had four
pairs between them--far-sighted and near-sighted.
Pages:
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211