He bade good night, and the procession began to move, headed by Peter, the black boy, lighting them up stairs.
As soon as they were entirely out of hearing, Colonel Brigham, who had with difficulty restrained himself, broke out into a laugh, but Oliver traversed the room indignantly.
"I have no patience," said he, "with such fellows. To think that full-grown men—men that have hands to work and get their own living, should humble themselves to the dust, and submit to be treated as lacqueys by an old uncle (or, indeed, by anybody), merely because he happens to be rich, and they expect to get his money when he sees proper to die, which may not be these twenty years, for it is plain that nothing ails him. 'I'd rather be a dog and bay the moon,' as I once heard an actor say in the Philadelphia play-house. Now I talk of Philadelphia; I have engaged all our next barley to Wortley & Hopkins. They pay better than Maltman & Co. But these Lambleys, Sheepleys rather—I saw them from the barn, handing the old fellow out of the stage. I almost expected to see them lift his feet for him; I was glad he scattered them all as soon as he had got down the steps. I dare say if he rides on horseback, they all four run beside him and hold him on his horse. Now I talk of horses, I've concluded to keep the two bay colts, and raise them myself. Tom Martingale shall not have them for the price he offers. To see how these chaps fetch and carry, and rise up and sit down, just at that old fellow's beck. It would be harder work for me than following the plough from sunrise to sunset, were I obliged to do so. Now I talk of ploughing; I bought another yoke of oxen yesterday, and hired a Dutchman. I shall put the five-acre field in corn. That old villain! you may see by his eye that he is despising them all the time. Why should not he? ninnies as they are. I wonder where they all came from? I do not believe they are Americans."
"And yet," said Colonel Brigham, "they do not speak like Englishmen, and I am sure they are neither Scotch nor Irish."
"I hear them all pacing about up stairs in the old fellow's room," said Oliver; "think of four men putting one man to bed, or of any one man allowing four to do it. But 'their souls are subdued to what they work in,' as I heard another play-actor say. By-the-bye, the old rogue has forgotten his red box, and left it on the mantel-piece. I wonder what is in it?"
"Maybe it is full of gold money," said Mrs. Brigham, who had just entered the room with Fanny; the daughter proceeding to put back the chairs, while the mother swept up the hearth.
"Bank notes rather," said Oliver.
"Jewels, I think," said Fanny.
"Deeds of property, perhaps," said the colonel.
"Well, well," said Mrs. Brigham, "'tis time for all good people to be in bed, so we'll let the strangers and their box rest till to-morrow."