"Good friend--open gate. Come wid message from cap'in."
The natural distaste to the Indians which existed among the blacks of the Knoll, included the Tuscarora. This disgust was mingled with a degree of dread; and it was difficult for beings so untutored and ignorant, at all times to draw the proper distinctions between Indian and Indian. In their wonder-loving imaginations, Oneidas, Tuscaroras, Mohawks, Onondagas, and Iroquois were all jumbled together in inextricable confusion, a red man being a red man, and a savage a savage. It is not surprising, therefore, that Pliny the elder should hesitate about opening the gate, and admitting one of the detested race, though a man so well known to them all, in the peculiar situation of the family. Luckily, Great Smash happened to be near, and her husband called her to the gate by one of the signals that, was much practised between them.
"Who you t'ink out-dere?" asked Pliny the elder of his consort, with a very significant look.
"How you t'ink guess, ole Plin?--You 'spose nigger wench like Albonny wise woman, dat she see t'rough a gate, and know ebbery t'ing, and little more!"
"Well, dat Sassy Nick. What you say now?"
"You sartain, ole Plin?" asked Mistress Smash, with a face ominous of evil.
"Sartain as ear. Talk wid him--he want to come in. What you t'ink?"
"Nebber open gate, ole Plin, till mistress tell you. You stay here--dere; lean ag'in gate wid all you might; dere; now I go call Miss Maud. She all alone in librarim, and will know what best. Mind you lean ag'in gate well, ole Plin."
Pliny the elder nodded assent, placed his shoulders resolutely against the massive timbers, and stood propping a defence that would have made a respectable resistance to a battering-ram, like another Atlas, upholding a world. His duty was short, however, his 'lady' soon returning with Maud, who was hastening breathlessly to learn the news.
"Is it you, Nick?" called out the sweet voice of our heroine through the crevices of the timber.