The hours flew merrilly by, and evening found the old couple so overloaded with sweets, that it was with great difficulty they could be seated on the old grey mare, to return home; but, after many a kind shake from the host, and just another drop of his sweeten'd, off they jogged, see-sawing from side to side on the critter, the old lady muttering her happiness, and the old man too full to find words to express himself. [Illustration: 0267] “Sich another man as that Major,” says she, “ain't nowhere--and sich a mixture as he does make, is temptin' to temperance lecturers. He is an amazin' nice man, and, if any thing, he sweetens the last drop better than the first. Good gracious! what a pleasin' creatur' he is!” Ever and anon these enconiums on the Major and his mixture broke from the old lady, until of a sudden, on passing a small rivulet, a jolt of the mare's silenced them, and the old man rode on a short distance in perfect quietness. At length he broke out with--“Old woman, you and that 'ere Major's conduct, to-day, war rayther unbecomin'--his formalities war too sweet to be mistook, and you ain't goin' thar agin in a hurry.” Silence, was the only answer. “Oh, you're huffy, are you?” continued the old man. “Well, I guess you can stay so, till you give in,” and on he jogged, in a silently jealous mood. On arriving at the farm, he called to a negro to lift the old woman off, but Sam, the nigger, stood gazing at him in silent astonishment. “Lift her oft', you Sam, do you hear?--and do it carefully., or some of her wrath'll bile out. In spite of the Major's sweetenin' she's mad as thunder.” “Why, de lor', massa, de ole 'oman aint dar,” replied Sam, his eyes standing out of his countenance. “Jest turn round, massa, and satisfy you'self dat de ole 'oman clar gone an missin--de lor'!” And sure enough, on a minute examination by the old man, she was “found missing.” The Major was charged at once with abduction, instant measures were taken for pursuit, and a party despatched to scour the roads. On proceeding about two miles on the road to the Major's, the party were suddenly halted at the small rivulet, by finding the Missus with her head lying partly in the little stream, its waters laving her lips, and softly murmuring--“Not a drop more, Major, _unless it's sweeten'd!_” NETTLE BOTTOM BALL; OR, BETSY JONES' TUMBLE IN THE MUSH PAN. |Well, it are a fact, boys,” said Jim Sikes, “that I promised to tell you how I cum to git out in these Platte diggins, and I speculate you mout as well have it at onst, kase its bin troublin' my conscience amazin' to keep it kiver'd up. The afarr raised jessy in Nettle Bottom, and old Tom Jones' yell, when he swar he'd 'chaw me up,' gives my meat a slight sprinklin' of ager whenever I think on it.