“In a moment. Hurry, Lucy,” said Erminie, as she entered the room.
“I was just up-stairs, bringing grandmother her breakfast.”
“Hem! How is the old lady?” inquired Miss Pet.
“As well as usual. She hardly ever comes down-stairs now. Do hurry, Lucy. Miss Lawless will soon be starved, if you keep on so slowly!”
“Lor’ sakes! I is hurryin’, Miss Minnie,” said Lucy, as, she bustled in, drew out a small, round table, laid the cloth, and prepared to arrange the breakfast-service. “’Spect dat ar’ little limb t’inks folks ought to git up de night afore, to have breakfast ready time ’nuff for her,” muttered Lucy to herself, looking daggers at Pet Lawless, who, swinging her riding-hat in one hand and her whip in the other, watched Lucy’s motions with a critical eye. Erminie, with her sunny face and ready hands, assisted in the arrangements; and soon the whole party were assembled round the table, doing ample justice to Lucy’s morning meal.
And while they were thus engaged, I shall claim your patience for a moment, dear reader, while we cast a brief retrospective glance over the various changes that have occurred during those ten years.
By the kind care of good-natured Mr. Toosypegs, and his friend, Admiral Havenful, the gipsy Ketura had been amply provided for. As Raymond and Erminie grew up, they had been sent to Judestown to school, with the children of Judge Lawless, whose daughter, Miss Pet, has already been introduced to the reader. The dark, gloomy recluse, Ketura, was an object of dread and dislike to the neighborhood around. She shunned and avoided them, lived her own inward life independent of them all, and was therefore hated by them. And when, about a year previous to the present, time, she received a severe paralytic stroke, from the effects of which she never fully recovered, very little sorrow was felt or expressed. Sweet, gentle little Erminie was, however, a favorite with all, and so was the bold, bright, high-spirited Raymond, to whom the somewhat eccentric old Admiral Havenful took such a fancy that he insisted on sending him to college with his nephew, Ranty, or Randolph Lawless. To college, therefore, the boys went; and Erminie remained at the Barrens, and went every fine day to Judestown to the district school, sometimes, but very rarely, accompanied by Pet Lawless; for that wild young lady voted schools and school-teachers and “Committee men,” unmitigated bores, all, and preferred her own “sweet will” and her pony Starlight to suffering through “reading, writin’ and refmetic.” In vain her father, the judge, stormed and threatened her with all sorts of calamities. Pet, metaphysically speaking, snapped her finger in the face of all authority; and the more they wanted her to go, the more she wouldn’t, though she did offer to do her best to learn if they would let her go with Ray and Ranty. But gaiters were things forbidden inside the college gates; and besides Ranty very ungallantly protested that all girls in general, and “our Pet” in particular, were nothing but “pests,” and that he wouldn’t have her near him at any price. Master Ranty Lawless did not like the female persuasion, and once gruffly announced that his idea of heaven was, a place where boys could do as they liked, and where there were no girls. So as Pet had no mother to look after her, and queened it over the servants at home, she grew up pretty much as she liked, and was noted far and near as the wildest, maddest, skip-over-the-moon madcap that ever threw a peaceable community into convulsions.
This much being premised, it is only necessary to say that Ray and Ranty had returned from college for a few months’ vacation, the day previous to the commencement of this chapter, and then go on with our story.
“When is Miss Priscilla coming over, Mr. Toosypegs?” asked Erminie, as she filled for the third time his cup with fragrant, golden coffee.
“’Morrer evening,” replied Mr. Toosypegs, speaking with his mouth full; “she’s going to bring you a parcel of muslin things to work for her.”