"Nary a pusson coming," she said, laying down the glass, with a disappointed air.
"Don't talk," snapped Clorinda, snatching up the glass and levelling it fiercely at the ocean. "Jes like yer, now—can't see yer hand afore yer face. There's a boat put inter the cove whilst yer was looken, and here am Caleb Benson."
"So thar am," cried Victoria, snatching the glass, "acomin' full split across the medder. Now for it!"
The lithe limbed mulatto gave a hop on to the portico, and another bound to the soft grass of the lawn, whence she ran, like a deer, to meet our sea-loving friend, with the high shoulders, who was crossing towards the house at a far brisker pace than was usual to him.
"Hav yer give the instergations?" cried Victoria, out of breath with swift running. "Am the folks a coming to our party?"
Caleb looked wonderfully grave, and attempted to shake his head; but Vic saw, by the gleam in his eyes, that it was all pretence, and clapping her hands like a little gypsy as she was, dashed into a break-down on the grass, calling out, "Hi, dic-a-dory, I told yer so—I told yer so!"
"Well, what am all dis muss 'bout?" exclaimed Clorinda, sailing out to the lawn with a broad straw flat overshadowing her like an umbrella. "Well, Caleb, I 'low ebbery ting am pernicious 'bout de party."
Caleb, who was ah old fisherman, reared at Cape Cod, and not to be put out of his way easily, occupied plenty of time before he answered. The afternoon was warm, so he took the oil-cloth cap from his head, and wiped its baldness vigorously with an old silk handkerchief. Then he deposited the handkerchief in the crown of his cap, and settled himself into his garments with a shake, sailor fashion.
Clorinda's broad flat vibrated with its wearer's impatience, and Victoria was stamping down the grass, and menacing the old man with her fist during the whole of his slow performance.
"Now," she said, "now."