Then, as the Major saw the girl half rise from her seat, as if she wished to depart, he exclaimed, in as tender a tone as he could manage, “Come! come! what are you fidgeting about there? Come, tell me now, where’s your father and mother? I quite long to shake them both by the hand. But what’s all this fretting about, my little one, eh? Come, now; make a friend of me! Have some of those big-whiskered foreign fellows been insulting you in the street. D——n ’em, I only wish I could have caught them at it. I’d have let them feel the tip of my wooden leg, I warrant them. Come, tell me about it, like a good girl; for if it were only for Colonel Benson’s sake, you’d always find a friend in me.”
The kindness and the friendship of the Major came so unexpectedly upon the heartbroken girl, that she could scarcely speak for very joy. The change from utter hopelessness to assurance of assistance had been so sudden, too, and the transition from one intense emotion to another of a precisely opposite character so unprepared, that the conflict of feeling was too much for Elcy. The tears now flooded her eyes with exceeding happiness, while her sobs were changed to an hysteric laugh, till at length it became impossible for her to repress her feelings any longer, and the “scene,” whose occurrence she had so much dreaded before strangers, ultimately came to pass.
The Major, unused to such events, no sooner saw the unconscious girl fall heavily back in the chair, and heard her shriek one minute, as if with intense agony, and laugh the next, as if convulsed with the wildest mirth, than believing she had become suddenly crazed, he rang every bell he could lay hands upon, and swore at his old housekeeper in a manner, as she said, that she had never been accustomed to in all her life afore, having lived only in the first of families—and which, in the vivid language of Mrs. Coddle, made her blood run quite cold down her back, as if some one was emptying buckets and buckets of spring water over her head.
At length, by the aid of cold water, and sal-volatile, and vinegar, and burnt feathers, and hartshorn, and all the other approved methods of female revivification, the young lady was restored to consciousness, and in a few minutes afterwards was able to communicate to the open-hearted Major the many troubles of herself and family.
The old soldier was all excitement when he heard that the intimate acquaintance and early companion of one of his oldest friends was detained in custody, and about to be removed to the House of Correction, for the want of some one to vouch that he was not the common pickpocket he had been mistaken for; and the Major fumed and swore at his old housekeeper worse than ever when she whispered in his ear, while helping him on with his coat, that he had much better stop at home and take his tea, than trouble his head about other people’s affairs—exciting hisself in the way he was a-doing about parties he had never even so much as spoken to. She could see plain enough what it would all end in;—he’d go and overheat hisself, and catch cold on top of it: and then, if it only struck inn’ards, who would have to nuss and take care on him, she would like to know!
Though the Major called the dame “a suspicious old fool,” and kept abusing her all the while she was fastening the hooks and eyes of his military surtout, she continued to give vent to her feelings, and begged to remind him that it would be no fault of hern if he went and got his blood chilled, and had the cold lay in his bones to the end of his days. Nor would she let him quit the house until she had placed the cork sock in his shoe, and stowed away his comforter in the crown of his hat, saying, that there was no telling how late he might be kept on such a herrand. And as she accompanied him to the street-door, she drew her little bag of camphor from her bosom, and slipping it into his hand, bade him keep it about him; for with that in his pocket, there was no chance of his ketching any of the nasty fevers that was always flying about in such low places.
The Major, impatient as he was, could hardly refrain from laughing at Mistress Coddle’s extreme care; and as they hurried up the street, he dilated on the medicinal and domestic virtues of his housekeeper—half by way of apology for the familiarity of her manner, and half as the means of diverting or alleviating the distress of his young companion.
But poor Elcy paid little attention to what was said; she was too much alarmed, lest they should reach the office when it was too late to save her father from being consigned to prison, and responding Yes and No, smiled mechanically at the Major’s remarks, without understanding one word of what he was telling her. As the old East Indian warmed in his description of the valuable services of his housekeeper, he occasionally paused on the way, standing still, much to Elcy’s horror, to give her a more vivid idea of the doings of his female factotum. Then the anxious girl would strive, by every gentle art, to lead him on, and when she found she could stir him by no indirect means, she would timidly remind the Major that they had little time to spare; then away they would hurry again—the Major’s wooden leg sounding on the pavement, as they went, like a cooper’s hammer at an empty cask.