I instantly ran to call up the ladies, when master approached from his chamber; seeing young master lying so pale, cold, and insensible in the arms of Miss Bradly, he concluded he was dead, and, crying out in a frantic tone, he asked,
"In h—l's name, what has happened to my boy?"
"He has had a violent hemorrhage," replied Miss Bradly, with an ill-disguised composure.
The sight of the blood, which lay in puddles and clots over the steps, increased the terror of the father, and, frantically seizing his boy in his arms, he covered the still, pale face with kisses.
"Oh, my boy! my boy! how much you are like her! This is her mouth, eyes, and nose, and now you 'pears jist like she did when I seed her last. These limbs are stiff and frozen. It can't be death; no, it can't be. I haven't killed you, too—say, Miss Bradly, is he dead?"
"No, sir, only exhausted from the violence of the paroxysm, and the copious hemorrhage, but he requires immediate medical treatment; send, promptly, for Dr. Mandy."
Master turned to me, saying,
"Gal, go order Jake to mount the swiftest horse, and ride for life and death to Dr. Mandy; tell him to come instantly, my son is dying."
I obeyed, and, with all possible promptitude, the message was dispatched. Oh, how different when his son was ill. Then you could see that human life was valuable; had it been a negro, he would have waited until after breakfast before sending for a doctor.
Mr. Peterkin bore his son into the house, placed him on the bed, and, seating himself beside him, watched with a tenderness that I did not think belonged to his harsh nature.