"Lor' sakes, Aunt Tom," exclaimed Master Carl, roused to something like indignation by this unexpected harangue. "You don't want a feller to get up in the middle of the night, do you? By granny, it's too bad! No matter how early a feller gets up, you always think he ought to get up earlier still. 'Spose you'll be waking me 'bout midnight pretty soon, ugh?"
Most of this reply was delivered pianissimo (that being the most prudent tone), and accordingly did not reach Mrs. Tom's ears, who was blustering out and in, sharp and breezy as the goddess of morning, bringing in wood and water, and beginning to knead biscuit.
"Yes, grumble," said the active little woman. "I never knew you doing anything else ef you was told to work. Pity if a great, big, lazy fellow like you can't get up as airly as Christie, a delicky young gal, too! See her, up and out while you was snorin' away like a pig up there! you ought to be 'shamed o' yourself."
"I say, Aunt Tom," said Carl, looking up with as much interest as his usually expressionless face could assume, "was she out a little 'fore twelve, when it was a-stormin' so?"
"'Fore twelve?" said Mrs. Tom, in a high key, as she imagined her dutiful nephew was making fun of her. "Look here now, you Carl, ef I hadn't my hands in this dough, I'd box your ears till you wouldn't ask me such a question agin."
"Now, Aunt Tom," said Carl, in a whimpering tone, "it's too bad, so it is; a feller carn't say nothing you don't get mad at. If it wan't Christie, 'twas Miss Sibyl! I saw some woman or other out, 'bout midnight, running like mad through the storm—an' what's more, I heard her, too."
"My conscience!" ejaculated Mrs. Tom, lifting up her floury hands in holy terror, "my conscience! how that there boy does lie! Carl Henley, do you mean to tell me that you was out in that storm last night, and saw Miss Sibyl?"
"No, I wa'n't out myself," said Mr. Henley, tearing the comb fiercely through his tow-locks, in his deep indignation at having his veracity and reason both doubted. "But I seen what I saw, for all that. S'pose you ha'n't forgotten, Aunt Tom, that there's a pane of glass broken out of one of the windows up stairs, with your old bonnet stuck through it. Well," said Carl, in a slightly subdued tone, "your old bonnet got blown out with the wind last night, and the fust thing woke me was the rain a-beating into my face. So I jumped up to fix it, and, jest as I got to the window, there came such a flash of lightning as I never seen afore. Blamed if I didn't think I was a goner! Everything for nigh onto ten minutes was considerably clearer nor day; and just then I saw a woman flying through the storm, like as if all creation was after her, and as she passed the house, I heard her singing out mother, or murder—I don't know which. I was pretty considerable scared, though I did think it was only Miss Sibyl, for she had long black hair a-flyin' behind her, jist like hers. When the flash went away I couldn't see nothing, for it was as dark as all outdoors; and though I was scared of the storm, I wanted to see if it was Miss Sibyl, and I stood there, waiting for the next; but when it came, she was gone."
"My sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Tom, whose deepest interest was for the moment arrested. "What did you do then?"
"Well then," said Carl, in a lower key, as though sorry his story had not a more thrilling sequel, "I got tired a-settin' up, so I laid down and went to sleep. Who do you s'pose it was, Aunt Tom?"