"And pray," said old Culpepper, "why should you do that? 'Tis just as natural for young people to like folly, as it is for old people to be tired of it. And I am certain you have never seen so much of fashion as to be surfeited with it already."
The nephews respectfully assented.
It had already come to the knowledge of Mrs. Brigham (who was busily occupied up stairs in filling with new feathers some pillow-ticks which Fanny was making) that a party of distinguished strangers had arrived.
"Fanny, Fanny," she exclaimed, opening the door of the adjoining room, in which Fanny was seated at her sewing, "there are great people below stairs. Get fixed in a moment, and go down and speak to them. I am glad your father has had sense enough to take them into the front parlour."
"But, mother," replied Fanny, "I saw them from the window when they got out of the stage. They are all men people, and I know I shall be ashamed, as they are quite strange to me, and I suppose are very great gentlemen. Won't it suit better for you to go?"
"Don't you see how the feathers are all over me?" said Mrs. Brigham: "it will take me an hour to get them well picked off, and myself washed and dressed. Get fixed at once, and go down and let the strangers see that the women of the house have proper manners. If you think you'll feel better with something in your hands, make some milk punch, and take it in to them."
Fanny's habitual neatness precluded any real necessity for an alteration in her dress--but still she thought it expedient to put on a new glossy blue gingham gown, and a clean muslin collar with a nicely plaited frill round it. This dress would have been very well, but that Fanny, in her desire to appear to great advantage, added a long sash of red and green plaid riband, and a large white satin bow deposited in the curve of her comb. Then, having turned herself round three or four times before the glass, to ascertain the effect, she descended the stairs, and in the entry met Oliver, who had just come in at the front door, and had seen from the barn-yard the arrival of the guests.
"Fanny," said Oliver, "why have you put on that great white top-knot? It makes you look like one of the cockatoos in the Philadelphia Museum. Let me take it off."
"Oh! Oliver, Oliver!" exclaimed Fanny, putting her hands to her head, "how you have spoiled my hair!"
"And this long sash streaming out at one side," pursued Oliver, "how ridiculous it looks!" And he dexterously twitched it off, saying, "There, take these fly-traps up stairs--they only disfigure you. I thought so the other day when you wore them at Mary Shortstitch's sewing frolic. You are much better without them."
"But I am _not_," said Fanny, angrily snatching them from his hand; "look how you've crumpled them up! Instead of finding fault with me for wishing to look respectfully to the strangers, you had best go and make yourself fit to be seen."
"I always am fit to be seen," replied Oliver, "and you know very well that I always do put myself in order as soon as I have done my work. But as for dressing up in any remarkable finery on account of four or five strange men, it is not in my line to do so. If, indeed, there were some smart girls along, it would be a different thing: but it is not my way to show too much respect to any man."
"I believe you, indeed," remarked Fanny.
"Well, well," said Oliver, "your hair is pretty enough of itself--and you fix it so nicely that it wants no top-knot to set it off; and this party-coloured sash only spoils the look of your waist. I hate to see you make a fool of yourself."
Fanny tossed her head in affected disdain, but she smiled as she ran up stairs to put away the offending ribands. She found her mother leaning down over the banisters, and looking very happy at Oliver's desire that Fanny should not make a fool of herself.
Fanny, having prepared the milk-punch in the best possible manner, filled half a dozen tumblers with it, grating a profusion of nutmeg over each, and then arranged them on a small waiter. When she entered the parlour with it, Mr. Culpepper, who called himself a confirmed invalid, was engaged in giving her father a particular description of all his ailments; and the four nephews were listening with an air of intense interest, as if it was the first they had heard of them.
"This is my daughter, Fanny," said Colonel Brigham, and Mr. Culpepper stopped short in his narrative, and his nephews all turned their eyes to look at her. When she handed the milk-punch the old gentleman declined it, alleging that the state of his health did not permit him to taste any sort of liquor. His nephews were going to follow his example, till he said to them peremptorily--
"Take it--there is nothing the matter with any of you. If there is, say so."
The Mr. Lambleys all rose to receive their tumblers, their uncle having made them a sign to that purpose, and Fanny thought herself treated with great respect, and curtsied, blushingly, to every one as he set down his glass.
"From such a Hebe it is difficult to refuse nectar," said the old gentleman, gallantly.
"A Hebe, indeed!" echoed the nephews.
The uncle frowned at them, and they all looked foolish--even more so than usual.
"Now, Fanny, my dear," said her father, "you may go out, and send in Oliver."
"Mother," said Fanny, as she joined Mrs. Brigham in the pantry, "I like these strangers quite well. They were very polite indeed--but they called me _Phebe_--I wonder why?"
When Oliver made his appearance, Colonel Brigham introduced him as "a boy he had raised, and who was just the same as a son to him." Mr.
Culpepper surveyed Oliver from head to foot, saying, "Upon my word--a fine-looking youth! Straight--athletic--brown and ruddy--dark hair and eyes--some meaning in his face. See, young men--there's a pattern for you."
The four Mr. Lambleys exchanged looks, and tried in vain to conceal their inclination to laugh.
"Behave yourselves," said the uncle, in a stern voice.
The nephews behaved.
The supper table was now set, and Mr. Culpepper had become so gracious with his landlord, as to propose that he and his nephews should eat with the family during their stay. "That is what my guests always do," said Colonel Brigham; "and then we can see that all is right, and that they are well served."
When supper came in, Mr. Culpepper declined leaving the fire-side; and having previously had some cocoa brought from one of his travelling boxes, and prepared according to his own directions, he commenced his repast on a small round table or stand, that was placed beside him, declaring that his evening meal never consisted of anything more than a little cocoa, sago, or arrow-root.
But after taking a survey of the variety of nice-looking things that were profusely spread on the supper-table, the old gentleman so far broke through his rule, as to say he would try a cup of tea and a rusk.
When Mrs. Brigham had poured it out, the four nephews, who at their uncle's sign manual had just taken their seats at the table, all started up at once to hand him his cup, though there was a black boy in attendance. The business was finally adjusted by one of the Mr. Lambleys taking the tea-cup, one the cream-jug, one the sugar-dish, and one the plate of rusk; and he of the cup was kept going all the time, first to have more water put into it, then more tea, then more water, and then more tea again. The invalid next concluded to try a cup of coffee, to counteract, as he said, any bad effects that might arise from the tea; and he ventured, also, on some well-buttered buckwheat cake and honey.
He was afterwards emboldened to attempt some stewed chicken and milk toast, and finally finished with preserved peaches and cream.
All these articles were carried to him by his nephews, jumping up and running with an _empressement_, that excited the amazement of Mrs.
Brigham, the pity of Fanny, the smiles of her father, and the indignation of Oliver.
The females retired with the supper equipage; and finding that Colonel Brigham had served in the war of independence, Mr. Culpepper engaged him in recounting some reminiscences of those eventful times; for the veteran had seen and known much that was well worth hearing.
The Mr. Lambleys, unaccustomed to feel or to affect an interest in anything that was not said or done by their uncle, looked very weary, and at last became palpably sleepy. They all sat in full view, and within reach of old Culpepper, who, whenever he perceived them to nod, or to show any other indication of drowsiness, poked at them with his cane, so as effectually to rouse them for a time, causing them to start forward, and set their faces to a smile, stretching up their eyes to keep them wide open.
At last the colonel, who was much amused by the absurdity of the scene, came to a full pause. "Go on," said Culpepper, "never mind their nodding. I'll see that they do not go to sleep."
The colonel, out of compassion to the young men, shortened his story as much as possible, and finally, on Mrs. Brigham sending in the black boy with bed-candles, Mr. Culpepper looked at his watch, and rose from his chair. The nephews were all on their feet in a moment. One tied the old man's fur tippet round his neck, to prevent his taking cold in ascending the staircase, another put on his hat for him, and the two others contended for the happiness of carrying his cloak. "What are you about?"
said Mr. Culpepper; "do not you see my greatcoat there on the chair?
Take that, one of you."
He bade good night, and the procession began to move, headed by Peter, the black boy, lighting them up stairs.
As soon as they were entirely out of hearing, Colonel Brigham, who had with difficulty restrained himself, broke out into a laugh, but Oliver traversed the room indignantly.
"I have no patience," said he, "with such fellows. To think that full-grown men--men that have hands to work and get their own living, should humble themselves to the dust, and submit to be treated as lacqueys by an old uncle (or, indeed, by anybody), merely because he happens to be rich, and they expect to get his money when he sees proper to die, which may not be these twenty years, for it is plain that nothing ails him. 'I'd rather be a dog and bay the moon,' as I once heard an actor say in the Philadelphia play-house. Now I talk of Philadelphia; I have engaged all our next barley to Wortley & Hopkins.
They pay better than Maltman & Co. But these Lambleys, Sheepleys rather--I saw them from the barn, handing the old fellow out of the stage. I almost expected to see them lift his feet for him; I was glad he scattered them all as soon as he had got down the steps. I dare say if he rides on horseback, they all four run beside him and hold him on his horse. Now I talk of horses, I've concluded to keep the two bay colts, and raise them myself. Tom Martingale shall not have them for the price he offers. To see how these chaps fetch and carry, and rise up and sit down, just at that old fellow's beck. It would be harder work for me than following the plough from sunrise to sunset, were I obliged to do so. Now I talk of ploughing; I bought another yoke of oxen yesterday, and hired a Dutchman. I shall put the five-acre field in corn. That old villain! you may see by his eye that he is despising them all the time.
Why should not he? ninnies as they are. I wonder where they all came from? I do not believe they are Americans."
"And yet," said Colonel Brigham, "they do not speak like Englishmen, and I am sure they are neither Scotch nor Irish."
"I hear them all pacing about up stairs in the old fellow's room," said Oliver; "think of four men putting one man to bed, or of any one man allowing four to do it. But 'their souls are subdued to what they work in,' as I heard another play-actor say. By-the-bye, the old rogue has forgotten his red box, and left it on the mantel-piece. I wonder what is in it?"
"Maybe it is full of gold money," said Mrs. Brigham, who had just entered the room with Fanny; the daughter proceeding to put back the chairs, while the mother swept up the hearth.
"Bank notes rather," said Oliver.
"Jewels, I think," said Fanny.
"Deeds of property, perhaps," said the colonel.
"Well, well," said Mrs. Brigham, "'tis time for all good people to be in bed, so we'll let the strangers and their box rest till to-morrow."