Kitabı oku: «Running To Waste», sayfa 4

While the captain was giving vent to his troubles, Miss Becky had stepped upon the platform, picked up a crayon, and commenced operations on the blackboard. As she proceeded, all eyes, with the exception of those belonging to the captain and his son, were fastened upon her; and the completion of her picture had brought forth the interrupting roar.

Becky had one talent which had long been hid; she had a genius for drawing; but never before had this peculiar talent been paraded for public inspection.

But here, as skillfully executed as chalk would allow, was a drawing representing “Old Uncle Ned” at full gallop, Becky seated upon his back, and the captain in full pursuit – so well done, that the captain, following the direction of all eyes, instantly recognized it. Incensed he made a dart at Becky; but the nimble artist dodged him, and fled to the farther end of the room. This produced another roar from the scholars. The captain checked his pursuit, turned about, and fled from the room, banging the door behind him.

Harry Thompson rapped the desk, and commanded silence.

“Miss Becky Sleeper, remove that drawing from the blackboard at once,” he said sternly.

Becky looked up at him with a mischievous smile, which instantly disappeared, as she met his eye. She meekly obeyed, and the picture vanished.

“Now, take your place. You, too, Master Teddy.”

Teddy went over among the boys, and Becky followed him. Another roar from the scholars.

“Silence!” from the teacher. “Miss Becky, you will take your place among the girls, where you belong.”

Becky went the whole length of the room, scowling at the girls, who had laughed at her blunder, and took a seat by the window.

Harry concluded his record by affixing the names of Teddy and Becky, who were the only new scholars.

“The exercises will be very short this morning, and there will be but one session. I shall only call upon you to read; that concluded, you will be dismissed for the day.”

He then commenced with the boy nearest him, calling upon them separately to read – first a boy, then a girl, in regular succession. They made their own selections, and with varied success. There were some good readers, none very bad, until they reached Teddy. He stepped upon the platform, and read “Casabianca” somewhat in this style: —

 
“‘The boy stood on the – b-u-r-n-i-n-g – burning deck,
Whence – whence – whence all butim had sled – no, fled;
The flames that lit the batil wreck
Shine – shown – show – round him o’er the dead;’”
 

which, of course, excited a laugh. It was now Becky’s turn, and she was called. She did not move. She could read no better than Teddy, and she was determined not to be laughed at.

“Becky Sleeper, take the platform!” said the teacher, in a stern voice.

“I won’t – there! I didn’t come to school to you: Mr. Drinkwater’s my teacher.”

Harry Thompson stepped from his desk. The lower jaw came up with an ominous snap. He went to where Becky sat kicking the form before her, and looked down at her. She appeared so little, that his anger at her sauciness vanished at once.

“Becky, you and I will have a private session after school. You will read to me then, I think, for old acquaintance’s sake,” he said, with a smile, and returned to his desk. “I am very much obliged to you all for your attention. School is dismissed. Becky Sleeper will remain.”

There was a rush for out doors, and the school-room was quickly cleared of all but Becky and the teacher. Teddy had lingered a moment to exchange a word with Becky, in which “the Basin,” and “wait outside,” might be distinguished, and then had taken his leave.

“Now, Becky, let me hear you read.”

Becky arose, but instead of stepping to the platform, marched straight for the door. But not quite fast enough, for Harry stepped before her, closed the door, and locked it.

“Becky,” said he, “the first duty to be learned in school is obedience to the teacher. Go to the platform!”

Becky looked up at him with defiance in her glance.

“Harry Thompson, you’re just as mean as you can be. You let those boys and girls laugh at Teddy and now you want to laugh at me. I won’t read.”

“Go to the platform.”

Becky turned and went to the platform, and farther yet; she threw up the window, and jumped upon the sill, and all very quickly. Harry saw her intention at once.

“Becky, Becky, don’t do that,” he cried, running towards her. “It’s ten feet. You’ll break your neck.”

“Don’t care. I won’t read;” and she leaped. There was a rustling and tearing among the foliage beneath the window; but when Harry reached it, Becky was invisible.

CHAPTER VI.
BECKY’S LAST FROLIC

Teddy Sleeper obeyed Becky’s injunction to wait outside, by passing round school-house, and down the hill, to the window at the end, that he might be in readiness should she desire to signal him during her confinement. He was just in time to witness her descent. She plumped into a cluster of bushes, and for a moment was lost to sight. Even this terrific leap did not surprise the phlegmatic Teddy, who had such an exalted opinion of his sister’s prowess, that, had she jumped from the steeple of the church, he would have expected her to pick herself up as coolly as she did now, emerging from the bushes with ruffled plumage, but without a scratch or bruise.

“Well, Becky, got out sooner than I thought you would. Did he make you read?”

“No, he didn’t,” replied Becky, with a sneer. “It will take a smarter teacher than him to make me do what I don’t want to. He’s nothing but a boy.”

“What will the captain say now, Becky?”

“I don’t care what he says. Guess he don’t like the teacher any better than I do. Come, let’s get away from here; he’ll be after us.”

“That’s so. Where shall we go?”

“Where we were going this morning. We’ve got time to ‘shoot the Basin’ before dinner.”

So saying, Becky, whose hasty exit from the school-room had not allowed her to gain possession of her hat, started off bareheaded, followed by Teddy, along the bank of the river, towards the Corner.

Harry Thompson inherited a streak of the obstinacy which was so apparent in his father. As Becky disappeared from one side of the window, he rushed from the other, caught up his hat, unlocked the door, and hastened down the hill, only to see his unruly pupil climbing a fence twenty rods away. This convinced him that no bones had been broken. But he was not inclined to let the matter drop here; so he returned to the school-room, made all secure, and then started in pursuit.

As he moved along the bank of the river, the leading event of the morning was uppermost in his thoughts. The appearance of his father in the school-room had not been unexpected, and the explanation he had given of his own presence there was perfectly true. Mr. Drinkwater was ill, and had sent him as a substitute. Harry, who was well acquainted with the new school-house affair, had, after consultation with his mother, who visited him daily at Mr. Drinkwater’s residence, where he was domiciled for the express purpose of meeting her, accepted the position that he might try the temper of his father, and pave the way to a reconciliation, if that were possible. He was quietly awaiting the conclusion of the captain’s vehement review of “what he had done for him,” when he expected to have an opportunity to say a word in his own defence; but Miss Becky’s exhibition of chalkotype art interrupted the contemplated plea, and sadly disarranged his plans. His only consolation was, that Mr. Drinkwater would not be able to take charge of the school for several days, and another meeting might be possible.

Becky, in her turn, occupied a share of his thoughtful attention. He had looked forward with pleasure to the meeting with his little playmate, fully expecting that the years which had wrought so much change in his character, would have shaped the little maid, of whom he was so fond, – with her quick wit and active spirit, – into something better than the hoiden he found her. Her saucy movements, her rough appearance, and her rudeness, had startled him; but, remembering the influences by which she was surrounded at home, and the artistic touch displayed at the blackboard, he was convinced that in that little body were capabilities running to waste, which, trained aright, might blossom into usefulness. If his good mother only had the trailing of this wild vine, it would flourish in fruitfulness, and not cumber the ground. It was not yet too late. He would take his mother into his confidence.

Full of thoughts like these, Harry went on, keeping a sharp lookout for the runaway, until he reached the paper-mill at the Corner. Here he was informed that the young Sleepers had gone farther up the river’s bank. Undecided whether to go on or retrace his steps, he passed into the mill, and, meeting his old friend, Mark Small, went over the building with him, viewing the improvements, in which he became so much interested that he quite forgot the object of his expedition.

In the mean time, Becky and Teddy had, after a long tramp, and with no small vaulting of fences and climbing of rocks, reached the Basin.

Rogue’s River, the base of Becky’s future operations, was dammed at three points. The lower dam was at the fore side, the middle dam just above the school-house, and the upper dam at the Corner. Here was located Small’s paper-mill, not a very extensive affair, but which employed a dozen men and as many girls. In the middle of the river, about a quarter of a mile above this mill, was a small island, scarcely twenty feet in circumference, on which flourished a wild growth of unproductive bushes, with one solitary sentinel of a tree in their centre; and above this was the Basin. Into this basin, after a winding flow of ten or twelve miles, increased by several minor streams, the water poured with considerable power. It lay in the form of a heart, so often depicted on valentines, or moulded in sugar for the sweet-toothed. It was about thirty feet from bank to bank, and about the same distance from the point of entrance to the island, which shooting into it, gave it a resemblance to the emblem of affection. Divided by this island, the water swept along on either side in strong, swift currents. When Harry Thompson, as leader of the boys of Cleverly, had exhausted all the known means of amusement, his daring spirit suggested a difficult feat, calculated to carry dismay to the hearts of his followers, and cause uneasiness to those parents who had an interest in the safety of their children. He not only suggested it, but himself performed it, and succeeded in inducing a few of the boldest to follow his example. This feat was known as “shooting the Basin.” Into the winding river he launched a log, of which there were many lying along the banks, a mill hand being employed at this point to draw them out of the stream. Upon this he stepped, with a long, narrow strip of board to serve as a rudder, with which to guide his craft. The force of the stream swiftly carried him into the Basin and towards the island. It was only necessary to keep “her head” straight, and the island was reached.

He accomplished the feat, well knowing the danger he incurred; for, had his craft swerved either to the right or left, he would have been capsized or carried down the river. Of course there could be no returning in the same manner. But, to prevent his becoming a Robinson Crusoe, a tree on the bank was felled so as to bridge the stream from the bank to the island; and there it had remained ever since.

Becky Sleeper, having seen Harry perform this feat, had desired to undertake it; but Harry had strongly objected, and the tomboy, having accepted him as a leader, was obliged to postpone the attempt.

Some recent conversations on old sports between Teddy and herself had awakened a desire to attempt this feat, and a trip to the Basin had already been arranged for Monday, when the school programme was promulgated.

The short session, and Becky’s escape, had made the old arrangement possible; and the young Amazon and her faithful squire were now on the banks of the upper stream, after a quick march, ready to launch their barks upon the tide, careless of consequences.

“Now, Teddy,” said Becky, “I’ll go first: you must watch me closely, and do just as I do. You ain’t scared – are you?”

Teddy, to tell the truth, was looking rather anxiously at the rushing stream, the broad basin, and the two foaming channels beyond. The stream had been swollen by heavy rains, and the feat seemed more difficult than he had imagined before he set out.

“N-o, of course not,” he said slowly. “If you go, I’m bound to anyway.”

“Because, if you are Teddy, you’d better not try it.”

“I will try, Becky. I ain’t a goin’ to be stumped by a girl.”

“All right. But don’t you start until I reach the island; and be sure you keep your log pointed right straight at the tree.”

While speaking, Becky had rolled a short, stout log into the water, picked up a light slab, and was ready for the dash. Stepping lightly and quickly upon the log, she pushed it into the middle of the stream, headed it for the tree, and, carefully guiding her craft, shot across the Basin, and struck the island fairly and squarely.

“Hurrah! I’ve done it Teddy!” she shouted, as she leaped upon the land.

“All right; I’m a comin’. Hooray!” answered Teddy, as he jumped upon his log, which darted down the stream, Teddy dancing rather lively to regain his equilibrium, which had sustained a shock by the sudden dart of his log. He was so busily engaged in this manœuvre that he failed to head his bark as he should, and, instead of going straight across the Basin, he swept to the right.

“Teddy, Teddy, what are you about?” shouted Becky. “Turn her head! quick, quick!”

But Teddy was frightened; his log was rolling over and over, and he dropped his rudder, fell upon the log, and clasped it, with his legs in the water, and round into the swifter of the two currents it went, very near the island. Seeing his danger, Becky ran to the edge of the island, and attempted to rescue him. She leaned far over, lost her balance, and fell into the stream. Bungling Teddy clutched the bushes as he passed, let the log go, and pulled himself to land; but Becky was swept past the island, and went floating down the river.

Teddy, seeing the danger of his sister, shouted lustily for help. Two men, at work near the bank, ran down to the water, saw the struggling girl, but could afford no assistance; but they started off at a swift pace for the mill. Becky was an excellent swimmer; she was not a bit frightened, but struck out bravely in a vain attempt to reach the bank. The stream was strong and swift, and bore her on faster and faster towards the dam. Skillfully she kept her head above water, and struck out to reach Teddy’s log, which was just ahead of her. Fast as she went, the men on the shore flew faster still. It was a case of life and death. They reached the mill.

“Help, help! there’s a girl in the water!”

Men came running out, women ran to the windows; there was wild commotion, but no attempt at rescue.

“We can’t help her; she must go over the dam!”

“Throw her a rope – it’s her only chance!”

“Mighty slim chance: she’s too much frightened to catch it. She can’t be saved!”

“She can be saved! Quick! a long, stout rope!”

It was a commanding voice that spoke, a commanding form that stepped forward – the school-master, Harry Thompson. Quickly a rope was placed in his hand.

“Now, three good, strong fellows, follow me!”

He threw off his coat, ran along the bank, winding the rope around his body, and tying it as he ran. Becky was coming down swiftly, when the roar of the dam reached her ears. For the first time she felt her danger. Instantly all power of exertion forsook her. The terrible dam! the jagged rocks beneath! There was death in the thought, and a shrill scream rang over the water.

“Help, help! Don’t let me drown! don’t let me go over the dam!”

“Courage, Becky, courage. You shall be saved.”

She recognized the voice, even in her agony. “O, Harry, Harry! save me, save me!”

Still on and on she swept, and the roar of the dam grew louder and louder. It seemed to sound in her ears like thunder.

“Now, quick, boys, quick! Give me plenty of rope, and hold on strong!”

Harry Thompson kicked off his shoes and threw away his hat. Becky was moving towards him, but ten feet from the bank. He measured the distance with his eye, stepped back a few paces, then ran quickly, and leaped into the water. The best jumper in the county had well calculated his distance. He struck the water close beside Becky. He clasped her quick, she threw her arms about his neck with a scream of joy, and both sank beneath the water.

Then the good, strong fellows pulled with a will, and in a moment Becky and her preserver were safe on the bank. Such a shout as the good fellows sent up, then such a chorus of shouts as the people at the mill joined to theirs, was never before heard in Cleverly.

But the chorus of rejoicing was unheard by Becky, who lay upon the bank insensible. The girls from the mill gathered about her, rubbed her hands, bathed her temples, and used all the customary means of restoration; but yet she lay there cold and still.

Harry became alarmed. She must be taken home at once.

“Small, bring your wagon – quick! Send a man for the doctor – quick!”

Small’s team was standing at the mill door. In a few moments Harry was in the wagon, with Becky in his arms, and one of the “good fellows” was racing down the road, horseback, for the doctor.

Mrs. Sleeper, weak and dispirited, was in the kitchen, standing at the table, washing the dinner dishes; Aunt Hulda, nursing an attack of lumbago, was groaning at the fireside. A wagon drove swiftly into the yard, a moment, and Harry Thompson stood in the doorway, bearing the insensible form of Becky.

“Mrs. Sleeper, quick! your camphor bottle!”

Mrs. Sleeper dropped the dish in her hands; her eyes glared at the helpless girl. Her lips parted, but no sound came from them. Then her eyes closed, her hands clutched the air, and she fell heavily to the floor. Aunt Hulda ran to her and raised her head.

“Delia Sleeper, what on airth ails you? – Here, you, Henry Thompson, take that girl into the settin’ room. That’s just like you Thompsons – always a scarin’ folks to death. – Delia, Delia! what ails you?”

Aunt Hulda rubbed her, and sprinkled water over her, scolding all the while. Harry carried Becky to the sitting-room, and laid her upon the lounge. As he did so, a sigh, and the opening of her eyes, gave assurance of returning animation; and when, in a few minutes, Dr. Allen entered, there was no occasion for his services, for Becky was sitting up, and inquiring for Teddy, who at that moment was coming down the road, between the mill and the school-house, feeling very wet and mean.

Mrs. Sleeper was carried to her room, and laid upon the bed. Dr. Allen, finding Becky so comfortable, made the former a visit.

“Doctor, what ails her? Is it stericks?”

The doctor shook his head.

“Worse than that, worse than that!”

“You don’t say so! Goodness gracious! it’s purrellysis.”

The doctor nodded. Aunt Hulda was right. The sudden shock, upon the long and weary straining for the ever-distant ship, had snapped the cords of action, and left her powerless.

CHAPTER VII.
MRS. THOMPSON DISOBEYS ORDERS

“When that grim smith, Adversity, stalks unannounced and unwelcome into the abode, erects his forge, bares his strong arm, and sets himself to work among our affections, feeding his fire with earthly treasures, perhaps too fondly prized; or poisoning the air with unhealthy vapors, that blight with disease; or shaping upon his anvil the arrows of death, for instant use among the loved ones, – it is a hard task to meet him hospitably; to be patient under the agony of his blows; to realize, in his presence, that in his forge is the soul whitened and made pliable, that under the heavy hammer he relentlessly wields it is shaped to nearness of perfection.

“But when time has cooled the beaten soul, then it realizes how much stronger it has grown through that dread experience; how much better fitted it is to meet the ever-returning guest; then it recognizes in this hard-hitting smith, Adversity, an earnest worker for the universal good.”

Thus preached Parson Arnold, the salaried fountain from which the good people of Cleverly drew the living waters for their spiritual needs. His auditors were Captain Thompson and his good wife, to whom the parson had just communicated the misfortunes of the Sleeper family, on the day of their occurrence, he having picked up the intelligence at the blacksmith’s shop, while awaiting the setting of a tooth into an iron rake, upon which he was now leaning in the sitting-room at Captain Thompson’s. Perhaps the skill of the agricultural dentist had suggested the illustration with which he seasoned his short discourse upon the uses of adversity, for he was an earnest worker both in his Master’s vineyard and his own, and used both logical and local arguments to drive home to the hearts of his people the great truth which he honestly believed.

“Poor soul! struck down in an instant! what will become of the children?” said Mrs. Thompson.

“The town will have to take care of ’em. After this caper I’ve done with ’em. I wash my hands of all responsibility,” growled the captain. “That young tomboy of theirn has kicked about until she’s broke her mother’s heart; and I hope she’ll have to suffer for it.”

“Nay, nay, brother; we must be charitable. Remember her youth and inexperience,” the parson mildly remonstrated.

“Well, I ain’t likely to forget it. It’s been a dear experience to me; and I won’t have anything more to do with them.”

“Don’t say that, Paul,” said Mrs. Thompson, rising from her chair. “They need kindness more than ever. Their poor mother can no longer guide them: shall we desert them now?”

“Guide them! Stuff! She never did guide them. If she had, she’d have been saved all this trouble.”

“Well, well, they’re in the Lord’s hands,” said the parson; “in his hands who suffers not a sparrow to fall to the ground without his notice. Leave all to him.”

The parson put on his hat, shouldered his rake, and departed. Mrs. Thompson attended him to the door, returned, folded up her work, and left the room. The captain followed her motions with his eyes. Something was wrong. There was no heart in his obstinacy. He evidently felt ill at ease. He walked about the room rapidly, as though endeavoring to rouse up something like an angry spirit; but the fire would not kindle. Instead of the angry flash which should have shone in his eye, there was a tear, and the muscles of his mouth quivered with suppressed emotion. Mrs. Thompson entered the room, equipped in bonnet and shawl.

“What! going out again, Rebecca?”

“Yes, Paul; I am going at once.” Mrs. Thompson looked almost defiantly at her husband, expecting the next question, and fully prepared to answer it. But the second question was indefinitely postponed. It trembled on the captain’s lips, but something in his wife’s face told him if he asked it his power to rule was gone forever.

“Well, don’t be gone long; it’s lonesome here without you.”

Mrs. Thompson seemed in turn disappointed, but she said nothing, and departed. The captain took a seat upon the sofa, whence he had a view of the road, and deliberately watched his wife.

“Hum! told you so,” soliloquized he; “there she goes – straight down the hill! There never was such a woman! Deliberately disobeying her husband. Bless her good heart! I knew she’d go. Never could stand that – never! It’s wrong. Obedience is a wife’s first duty. Won’t she make things fly over there! Poor Delia! She shan’t want for physic as long as I live; and those young ones – well, well, boys will be boys, and girls will be – tomboys, sometimes, I suppose. There she goes, up the hill, now. Disobedience, – rank disobedience! I can’t endure the sight of it, and I won’t! I’ll just saddle Uncle Ned, and go and see the doctor. She must have constant attendance; and my wife, – no, I won’t forgive her disobedience – never!”

The captain now went to the window, and watched until his wife turned into the gate; then, heaving a sigh (more closely resembling satisfaction than regret), went in pursuit of Phil and Uncle Ned.

Lightning, that swift agent of destruction, has been known, in the midst of its vagaries, to smite gigantic rocks, and lay open veins of wealth never before discovered. When the bolt of misfortune struck the Sleeper house, it brought to light a much-needed treasure in the person of the forlorn, complaining Aunt Hulda. She seemed electrified by the stroke that paralyzed the languid mother, and all the powers of her being sprang into active life. All the theoretical knowledge she had acquired by her long, useless “helping” of other people, burst into fruitful bloom. From the moment Mrs. Sleeper was laid upon her bed, she was the careful, watchful nurse, quietly but hurriedly arranging everything for the comfort of the invalid, laying her plans for a long fit of sickness with all the skill of an old campaigner. Nor did her usefulness end here. From the chamber to the kitchen she flew, washed and put away the dishes, replenished the fire, swept and tidied up the kitchen, re-filled the kettle, made up a batch of bread and set it “rising,” and back again to the bed-side of her patient, without one thought of her own magazine of combustible troubles ready to explode at a spark of complaint. All this with a feverish uneasiness, as though she feared the coming of somebody to take the power to do out of her hands. A gentle knock at the door of the sick chamber, and the entrance of Mrs. Thompson, told her the somebody she feared had come.

Mrs. Thompson gave her hand to Aunt Hulda with a quiet smile, and went to the bed. What there was left of life in the body of Delia Sleeper seemed concentrated in her face. She could not move foot or hand; but the same watchful glance was in her eyes, and the shadow of a smile played about her mouth, as her old friend bent over her and kissed her.

“So kind! so good! I knew you’d come.”

Faint and tremulous was the voice of the invalid.

“Yes, dear heart; I’ve come to nurse you, to make you strong and well again.”

Aunt Hulda groaned. Her power was slipping from her.

“No, no. Aunt Hulda – so kind – she does everything. She will nurse me – thank you. Let me – see you often – that’s all.”

The eyes wandered to Aunt Hulda with a beseeching look that Mrs. Thompson divined at once.

“Bless you child! I’ll not interfere with her. She shall be mistress in the house; and a good one she’ll make.”

This was said with a smile for Aunt Hulda that warmed the heart of the spinster towards the visitor. There was a pleased look in the eyes of the invalid, as those of Mrs. Thompson came back to her full of love and sympathy.

“Thank you. Come closer. Becky – my Becky – don’t let her believe she did this. I’ve brought it on myself – the doctor said so. Too much watching – you know – it’s been wearing upon me. The ship – that never comes – never, never comes. But it will – I know it will.”

“I wouldn’t speak of that, Delia, now. The ship will come in God’s good time,” said Mrs. Thompson. “Remember the dear ones here, and trust the absent one to his care.”

“Yes, yes; but I didn’t,” said the sick one, sighing. “I forgot my treasures here, hoping to clasp that other every day; and now I’m punished. Wasted life! Wasted life! Poor little girl! with her mother’s heart shut against her, drifting away – running to waste; and so smart and apt to learn! God pity me! God pity me!”

“Leave all to me, Delia. Let no thought of Becky disturb you.”

“I cannot help it. It seems to me as though I had wilfully neglected her.”

“Not as I have, Delia. With all your household cares, my little namesake claimed some portion of my attention; and we have not met for years. Delia, you know the reason. I blame myself for this long neglect.”

“No, no; you were always a kind, good friend. But I suppose he thought it best. Becky is in the sitting-room; won’t you see her and comfort her?”

“Now and always. With Aunt Hulda’s permission, she shall be my especial charge hereafter.”

“O, you are so good! No wonder people love you.”

Mrs. Thompson kissed her friend, and passed out of the room. Aunt Hulda smoothed the bedclothes, and looked at her patient inquiringly.

“Yes, go, go,” said Mrs. Sleeper. “But first kiss me, Aunt Hulda – won’t you my best friend?”

Aunt Hulda made a dash at her lips, and a loud smack resounded through the room.

“You dear, dear, dear child! May the Lord give me strength to do for you as you deserve!”

With her apron to her eyes, Aunt Hulda left the room, leaving the invalid to her solitary vigil. Already was adversity working in her for good. The mother-love so long repressed in her heart had, by one of those strange phases of illness, at once asserted itself the ruling power. Only a few hours had the active forces refused to obey the will; only a few hours had the brain caught this new power from the heart; yet it had travelled over years and years of neglect and wasted opportunity, with bitter regrets that might yet shape themselves into guiding forces, in the lonely vigils of the years to come.

Becky Sleeper, under the shadow of this sudden visitation, had in turn received a shock. The terrible sequel to her frolic had, upon her revival, produced such a nervous state, that for two hours she lay upon the sofa, trembling and weeping, in the presence of the astonished Teddy, who never before had seen a tear in the eyes of his volatile sister. Harry Thompson had, when he found her in no danger, consulted his own safety by driving to the house of Mr. Drinkwater for a change of raiment. Aunt Hulda’s attention was required at the bed-side of her patient, and Miss Becky was left to recover at her leisure. The period of lamentation having passed away, she lapsed into a state of dejection, so long and silent that Teddy, weary with waiting for her to break the silence, quietly fell asleep.