Here I be sir—here—here—
Well—if ever!—cried Rachel. Why don’t thee go to the door George—starting up and leaving poor Elizabeth on her knees. Why! thee may be sure there’s something the matter—going to the door a-tip-toe.
No no Rachel—no no; it may be a stratagem—
A stratagem for what pray?—what have we to fear?
The door flew open as she spoke, and a boy entered all out of breath, his neck open, his hat gone, his jacket off, and his hair flying loose—
Why, Robert Eveleth—
O Sir—sir! said he, as soon as he could speak—O sir I’ve come to tell you—didn’t you never see a Belzebub?—
A what?—
If you never did, now’s your time; just look out o’the door there, and you’ll see a plenty on ’em.
Why, Robert—Robert—what ails the boy?