"Now, Guardy, you keep still a little while till I turn you into an Indian chief, and here goes for your war-paint."
So saying, the little wretch drew a streak of mustard across his nose, following it by a similar one of lampblack. And so she continued until his whole face was covered with alternate stripes of yellow and black, scarcely able to repress a shout of laughter as she worked, at the unspeakably ludicrous appearance he presented.
Having exhausted her supply of paint, Gipsy stepped to the door to survey her work, and unable longer to restrain a roar of laughter, fled to her room, quivering with the anticipation of the fun to come.
Scarcely had she quitted the room when the door was flung open, and, in pompous tones, the servant announced:
"De Right Reveren' Bishop of B., de Hon'ble Senator Long and Mrs. Long."
And the whole party, half a dozen in number, entered the apartment.
The noise awoke the squire; and a most musical snore was mercilessly interrupted, and ended in a hysterical snort. Starting to his feet with an expression of countenance that utterly repudiated the idea of his having been asleep, he advanced with extended hand toward the bishop. That high functionary drew back for a moment aghast, and glanced at his companions in horror. Human nature could stand it no longer, and a universal shout of laughter resounded through the room.
"Eh? What? Lord bless me, what's the matter?" said the squire, turning his face from one to another, inwardly wondering if they had all gone mad. "What are you laughing at?"
A fresh roar of laughter from the whole party answered this, as they all pressed their hands to their sides, utterly unable to stop. Seeing this, the squire at last began grinning with sympathy, thereby adding so much to the ludicrousness of his appearance, that some threw themselves on the floor, some on chairs and sofas, in perfect convulsions.
"What the deuce is it?" repeated the squire, at last losing patience. "Will you oblige me by telling me what the matter is?"