Hobbs did as he was required with excruciating politeness, and thereafter took refuge in dignified silence; suffering, however, an expression of lofty scorn to rest on his countenance. Mrs Brown observed this, and her irate spirit was still further chafed by it. She meditated giving utterance to some withering remarks, while, with agitated fingers, she untied the string of the little pot of cranberry-jam. Worthy Mrs Brown was particularly fond of cranberry-jam. She had put up this pot in her own basket expressly for her own private use. She now opened it with the determination to enjoy it to the full, to smack her lips very much and frequently, and offer none of it to Hobbs. When the cover was removed she gazed into the pot with a look of intense horror, uttered a piercing shriek, and fell back in a dead faint.
This extraordinary result is easily accounted for. Almost every human being has one grand special loathing. There is everywhere some creature which to some individual is an object of dread—a creature to be shrunk from and shuddered at. Mrs Brown’s horror was frogs. Jacky knew this well. He also knew of Mrs Brown’s love for cranberry-jam, and her having put up a special pot. To abstract the pot, replace it by a similar pot with a live frog imprisoned therein, and then retire to chuckle in solitude and devour the jam, was simple and natural. That the imp had done this; that he had watched with delight the deceived woman pant up Glen Ogle with the potted frog on her arm and perspiration on her brow; that he had asked for a little cranberry-jam on the way, with an expression of countenance that almost betrayed him; and that he had almost shrieked with glee when he observed the anxiety with which Mrs Brown—having tripped and fallen—opened her basket and smiled to observe that the pot was not broken; that the imp, we say, had been guilty of all this, was known only to himself; but much of it became apparent to the mind of Hobbs, when, on Mrs Brown’s fainting, he heard a yell of triumph, and, on looking up, beheld Master Jacky far up the heights, clearly defined against the bright sky, and celebrating the success of his plot with a maniacal edition of the Highland fling.
At a quarter-past four all the party assembled at the inn except Mr Sudberry.
Five arrived—no Mr Sudberry. The coach could not wait! The gentlemen, in despair, rushed up the bed of the stream, and found him fishing, in a glow of excitement, with his basket and all his pockets full of splendid trout.
The result was that the party had to return home in a large wagon, and it was night when at last they embarked in their boat and rowed down their own lake. It was a profound calm. The air was mild and balmy. There was just enough of light to render the surrounding mountains charmingly mysterious, and the fatigues of the day made the repose of the boat agreeable. Even Mrs Sudberry enjoyed that romantic night-trip on the water. It was so dark that there was a tendency to keep silence on landing to speak in low tones; but a little burst of delight broke forth when they surmounted the dark shoulder of the hill, and came at last in sight of the windows of the White House, glowing a ruddy welcome home.
Story 1—Chapter 18.
The Family go to Church under Difficulties.
It would seem to be a well-understood and undeniable fact that woman invariably gains the victory over man in the long-run; and even when she does not prove to be the winner, she is certain to come off the conqueror. It is well that it should be so. The reins of the world could not be in better hands!