“All right in the willage, sir. And Joe, who has just arrove at the tavern, do report all right in the walley,” was the satisfactory answer of the ferry-man.
“Oh! then our carriage is waiting for us there?”
“Yes, sir, which it arrove just about twenty minutes ago, punk-too-well to time!” replied the old man.
The passage across the Black River is very short, and just as the ferry-man spoke, the boat touched the wharf immediately under the lighted windows of the hotel, before the doors of which they saw the Black Hall carriage and horses standing.
Mr. Berners assisted the ladies of his party to land, and proposed that they should stop at the hotel and take supper before going on to Black Hall.
“Oh, no! please don’t, on any account! I feel sure that Miss Tabby has laid out all her talent on the supper that is awaiting us at home. And she would weep with disappointment and mortification if we should stop to supper here,” eagerly objected Sybil.
“Miss Tabby is our housekeeper; the best creature, but the greatest whimperer in existence. She is, in turn, Sybil’s tyrant and Sybil’s slave; for she is both despotic and devoted, and scolds and pets her alternately and unreasonably as a foolish mother does an only child,” explained Mr. Berners, turning to Mrs. Blondelle.
“And her lady?” inquired Rosa, with an admiring glance toward Mrs. Berners.
“Oh! Sybil turns the tables, you may be sure, and indulges or rebukes her housekeeper as the occasion may demand,” laughed Lyon.
“Come here, Joe!” called Mrs. Berners to her coachman, who was seen coming out of the tap-room.