“I was not going to do anything of the sort. Besides, I have left you some tokens of my regard which you will find up in my room—a dozen or so of assorted mufflers, silk and worsted, of all colors, as many large linen or silk pocket handkerchiefs, a half bushel of mixed gloves, socks, slippers, etc. These last you may not be able to wear, but the mufflers and the handkerchiefs will be beauty and joy to you forever. And here—here is something to get you a winter outfit.” With this, he handed her a twenty-dollar gold piece, which took away her breath. The scamp, bad as he was, could be liberal, perhaps because he had more money than he knew what to do with.
“Now I yeally do t’ank yo’, a hundred t’ousand times, young marster!” she fervently exclaimed.
“One time will do. Now, good-by. Don’t let your husband tyrannize over you.”
“Him! Po’ ole ’Rusalem? He! he! he!” laughed the woman. “He knows better ’an to ’tempt it! W’y, he’d no mo’ dare to get ’toxified an’ carry on dan he’d heave hisse’f inter de fire! ’Deed, ef ebber I cotched him at sich I’d make him fink de debil had got him sho. He taranize ober me! He! he! he! Yo’ make me laugh, young marster. Not but wot I lubs an’ ’specks ’Rusalem. He is one good, true ole man. Dat he is.”
“I don’t doubt it. Good-by.”
“Good-by, young marse. Gib my lub to young mist’ess w’en yo’ sees her, sah.”
“All right. Good-by!” said Hanson, for the last time, as he hurried out of the house and ran gayly down the hill, whistling an air from “The Marriage of Figaro.”
At the landing he found the boat already laden with his luggage, and ’Rusalem waiting to see him off.
“Here, old man!” he called, and the patriarchal negro came up, and took off his hat.
“Here is a token of my deep regard for you,” he said, and put a double eagle into ’Rusalem’s hand.