"I would'nt be angry, Cousin," said little Sam, when the porpoise gave token that he was hardbound in slumber. "He don't mean to hurt your feelings, I don't believe."

"Pr'aps he don't," Peabody Junior rejoined. "What could I tell him, if I wanted to; all I know is, mother has worn the shade ever since I can recollect anything. I think sometimes I can remember she used to have it on as far back as when I was at the breast, a very little child, and that I used to try and s.n.a.t.c.h it away--which always made her very sad."

"Don't she ever take it away?" asked little Sam.

"I never saw it off in all my life; nor can I tell you whether my dear mother has one eye or two. I know she never likes to have any one look at it. It makes her melancholy at once; nurse used to tell me there was a mystery about it--but she would never tell me any more. It always scares father when she turns that side of her face on him, that I've noticed; and he always at home sits on the other side of the table from it."

"I wouldn't think any more about it to-night, Cousin," said little Sam.

"I know it makes you unhappy from your voice. Don't you miss some one to-night that used to keep us awake with telling pleasant stories?"

"I do," answered Peabody Junior. "I'm thinking of him now. I wish Cousin Elbridge was back again."

"You know why he isn't?"

"Father says it's because he's a bad young man."

"And do you believe it, William?"

"I'm afraid he is--for father always says so."

A gentle figure had quietly opened the chamber-door, and stood listening with breathless attention to the discourse of the two children.

"You wait and see," continued little Sam firmly, "I'm sure he'll come back--and before long."

"What makes you think so?" William asked. "I'm sure I hope he will."

"Because the red rooster," answered little Sam, "crowed yesterday morning for the first time since he went away, and the red rooster knows more than anybody about this farm except old grandfather."

Thinking how that could be, Peabody Junior fell asleep; and little Sam, sure to dream of his absent brother, shortly followed after. The gentle figure of Miriam Haven glided into the chamber, to the bed-side of little Sam, and watching his calm, innocent features--which were held to greatly resemble those of the absent Elbridge--with tears in her eyes, she breathed a blessing from her very heart on the dear child who had faith in the absent one. "A blessing!" such was her humble wish as she returned to her chamber and laid her fair head on the pillow, "a blessing on such as believe in us when we are in trouble and poverty, out of favor with the world, when our good name is doubted, and when the current running sharply against, might overwhelm us, were not one or two kind hands put forth to save us from utter ruin and abandonment!"

CHAPTER SIXTH.

THE FASHIONABLE LADY AND HER SON.

All the next day, being the Wednesday before thanksgiving, was alive and busy with the various preparations for the great festival, now held to be a sacred holiday throughout this wide-spread union. The lark had no sooner called morning in the meadow than Mopsey, who seemed to regard herself as having the entire weight of the occasion on her single shoulders, slipped from bed, hurried to the garden, and taking a last look at the great pumpkin as it lay in all its golden glory, severed the vine at a stroke and trundled it with her own arms, (she saw with a smile of pity the poor brown mouse skulking off, like a little pirate as he was, disappointed of his prize,) in at the back-door. The Peabodys were gathering for breakfast, and coming forward, stood at either side of the entrance regarding the pumpkin with profound interest. It fairly shook the house as it rolled in upon the kitchen floor.

When little Sam, who had lingered in bed beyond the others, with pleasant dreams, came down stairs, he was met by young William Peabody.

"What do you think, Sam?" said Peabody Junior, smiling.

"I suppose Aunt Carrack has come," Sam answered. "It's nothing to me if she has."

"No, that isn't it.--Turkey's dead!"

Little Sam dropped a tear, and went away by himself to walk in the garden. Little Sam took no breakfast that morning.

Every window in the house was thrown wide open to begin with; every chair walked out of its place; the new broom which Miriam had gathered with a song, was used for the first time freely on every floor, in every nook and corner; then the new broom was carried away, and locked in a closet like a conjuror who had wrought his spell and need not appear again till some other magic was to be performed. All the chairs were set soberly and steadily against the wall, the windows were closed, and a sacred shade thrown over the house against the approaching festival. The key was turned in the lock of the old parlor, which was to have no company (save the tall old clock talking all alone in the corner to himself) till to-morrow.

And so the day sailed on, like a dainty boat with silent oar on a calm-flowing stream, to evening, when, as though it had been a new-born meteor or great will-o'-the-wisp, there appeared on the edge of the twilight, along the distant horizon, a silvery glitter, which, drawing nearer and nearer, presently disclosed a servant in a shining band mounted on a great coach, with horses in burnished harness; with champing speed, which it seemed must have borne it far beyond, it came to in a moment at the very gate of the homestead, as at the striking of a clock. A gentleman in bearded lip, in high polish of hat, chains and boots, emerged, (the door being opened by a stripling also in a banded hat, who leaped from behind,) followed by a lady in a gown of glossy silk and a yellow feather, waving in the partial darkness from her hat.

Such wonder and astonishment as seized on the Peabodys, who looked on it from the balcony, no man can describe.

Angels have descended before now and walked upon the earth--giants have been at some time or other seen strutting about--ghosts appear occasionally in the neighborhood of old farm-houses, but neither ghost, giant, nor angel had such a welcome of uplifted hands and staring eyes as encountered Mrs. Carrack and her son Tiffany, when they, in the body entered in at the gate of the old Peabody mansion at that time. There was but one person in the company, old Sylvester perhaps excepted, who seemed to have his wits about him, and that was the red rooster who, sitting on the wall near the gate when Mr. Tiffany Carrack pushed it open, c.o.c.ked his eye smartly on him, and darted sharply at his white hand, with its glittering jewel as he laid it on the gate.

"Nancy," said old Sylvester, addressing her with extended grasp, and a pleasant smile of welcome on his brow, "we had given up looking for you."

Was there ever such a rash old man! "Nancy!" as though she had been a common person he was speaking to.

Mrs. Carrack, who was a short woman, stiff and stern, tossing her feather, gave the tips of her fingers to the patriarch, and ordering in a huge leathern trunk all over bra.s.s nails and capital C's, condescended to enter into the house. In spite of all resolutions and persuasions to the contrary the door of the best parlor unlocked before her grandeur of demeanor, and she took possession as though she had not the slightest connection with the other members of the Peabody family, nor the remotest interest in the common sitting-room without. Mr. Tiffany Carrack, with patent shanks to his boots which sprang him into the air as he walked, corsets to brace his body in, new-fangled straps to keep him down, a patent collar of a peculiar invention, to hold his head aloft, moving as it were under the convoy of a company of invisible influences, deriving all his motions from the shoe-maker, stay-maker, tailor and linen-draper, who originally wound him up and set him a-going, for whose sole convenience he lives, having withal, by way of paint to his ashy countenance, a couple of little conch-sh.e.l.l tufts, tawny-yellow, (that being the latest to be had at the perfumer's,) on his upper lip; the representative and embodiment of all the latest new improvements, patents, and contrivances in apparel, Mr. Tiffany Carrack followed his excellent mother.

"Why, Tiffany," said old Sylvester, who notwithstanding the immensity of these people, calmly pursued his old course, "we all thought you were in California."

The family were gathered around and awaited Mr. Tiffany Carrack's answer with a good deal of curiosity.

"That was all a delusion, sir," he replied, plucking at his little crop of yellow tufts,--"a horrible delusion. I had some thought of that kind in my mind, in fact I had got as far south as New Orleans, when I met a seedy fellow who told me that the natives had rebelled and wouldn't work any more; so I found if I would get any of the precious, I must dig with a shovel with my own dear digits; of course I turned back in disgust, and here I am as good as new--Jehoshaphat!"

It was well that Mr. Tiffany had a fashion of emphasizing his discourse with a reference to this ancient person, whom he supposed to have been an exquisite of the first water, which happily furnished a cover under which the entire Peabody family exploded with laughter at Mr. Carrack's announcement of the sudden termination of his grand expedition to the Gold Region. Without an exception they all went off in an enormous burst, the Captain, little Sam, and Mopsey leading.

"Every word true, 'pon my honor," repeated Mr. Carrack.

The great burst was renewed.

"It was a capital idea, wasn't it?" he said again, supposing he had made a great hit.

The explosion for the third time, but softened a little by pity in the female section of the chorus.

Mrs. Carrack had sat stately and aloof, with an inkling in her brain that all this mirthful tumult was not entirely in the nature of a complimentary tribute to her son.

"I think," she said, with haughty severity of aspect, "my son was perfectly right. It was a sinful and a wicked adventure at the best, as the Reverend Strawbery Hyson clearly showed from the fourth Revelations, in his last annual discourse to the young ladies of the church."

"He did, so he did," said Mr. Tiffany, stroking his chin, "I remember perfectly: it was very prettily stated by Hyson."

"The Reverend Strawbery Hyson," said Mrs. Carrack. "Always give that excellent man his full t.i.tle. What would you say, my son, if he should appear in the streets without his black coat and white cravat? Would you have any confidence in his preaching after that?"

"Next to myself," answered Mr. Tiffany, "I think our parson's the best-dressed man in Boston."

"He should be, as an example," said Mrs. Carrack. "He has a very genteel congregation."

Old Sylvester, who had on at that moment an old brown coat and a frayed black ribbon for a neck-cloth, ordered Mopsey to send the two best pies in the house immediately to the negroes in the Hills. Mrs. Carrack smiled loftily, and drew from her pocket an elegant small silver vial of the pure otto of rose, and applied it to her nostrils as though something disagreeable had just struck upon the air and tainted it.

"By the way," said Mr. Tiffany Carrack, adjusting his shirt collar, "how is my little friend Miriam?"

"Melancholy!" was the only answer any one had to make.

"So I thought," pursued Mr. Carrack, rolling his eyes and heaving an infant sigh from his bosom. "Poor thing, no wonder, if she thought I was gone away so far. She shall be comforted."