Maryland -- History -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
"Heigho, Richard, our little Miss Prim hath become a belle. And I must
have another clerk now to copy out my briefs, and a housekeeper soon, i'
faith."
Patty would never fail to flush up at the words, and run to perch on her
father's knee and put her hand over his mouth.
"How can you, Mr. Swain?" says she; "how can you, when 'tis you and
mother, and Richard here, who make me go into the world? You know I
would a thousand times rather bake your cakes and clean your silver!
But you will not hear of it."
"Fie!" says the barrister. "Listen to her, Richard! And yet she will
fly up the stairs to don a fine gown at the first rap of the knocker.
Oh, the wenches, the wenches! Are they not all alike, mother?"
"They have changed none since I was a lass," replies the quiet invalid,
with a smile. "And you should know what I was, Henry."
"I know!" cries he; "none better. Well I recall the salmon and white
your mother gave you before I came to Salem." He sighed and then laughed
at the recollection. "And when this strapping young Singleton comes,
Richard, 'twould do you good to be hiding there in that cupboard,--and it
would hold you,--and count the seconds until Miss Prim has her skirt in
her hand and her foot on the lower step. And yet how innocent is she now
before you and me."
Here he would invariably be smothered.
"Percy Singleton!" says Patty, with a fine scorn; "'twill be Mr.
Eglinton, the curate, next."
"This I know," says her father, slapping me on the shoulder, "this I
know, that you are content to see Richard without primping."
"But I have known Richard since I was six," says she. "Richard is one
of the family. There is no need of disguise from him."
I thought, ruefully enough, that it seemed my fate to be one of the
family everywhere I went.
And just then, as if in judgment, the gate snapped and the knocker
sounded, and Patty leaped down with a blush. "What said I say?" cries
the barrister. "I have not seen human nature in court for naught. Run,
now," says he, pinching her cheek as she stood hesitating whether to fly
or stay; "run and put on the new dress I have bought you. And Richard
and I will have a cup of ale in the study."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account