“Weel, Mr. Parrot, and how’s a’ wi’ ye the day?” said David, who was busily employed in extracting various packages and parcels from the cart.
“All ver’ well, thank you, Mr. Muir; wonderful things happen, though. My young Mr. Reginald he be drowned and stabbed, and quite well!”
“Gude save us!” said David in horror; “drowned and stabbed, and quite well! Ye’re surely no in earnest, Mr. Parrot!”
“I speak only the truth always,—Miss Jessie, the fresh air and the ride make your cheek beautiful rosy.”
“Mr. Perrot,” replied Jessie, smiling, “that is a poor compliment! You are so gallant a gentleman, you should praise the roses in a lady’s cheek without mentioning that she owes them to a rough road and a fresh breeze!”
This dialogue on roses was here interrupted by David, who said, “May be, Mr. Parrot, ye’ll just let Smiler be ta’en round to the stable, and desire ane o’ the lads to help us in with these twa parcels; yon muckle basket, there, is brimfull of all the newest kick–shaws, and modes, as they call ‘em, frae Philadelphy; so Jessie’s just come wi’ me to gie Miss Lucy the first choice; and she’s a right to hae it too, for she’s the bonniest and the best young lady in the territory.”
Mr. Perrot, having given these necessary orders, David, with his papers, was soon closeted with the Colonel in his business room; and Jessie was ushered into the young lady’s boudoir, where her brother still sat, with the intention of giving his sister the benefit of his advice in the selection of what David called kick–shaws and modes for her toilet. Meanwhile Perrot was preparing a formidable attack upon Jessie’s heart, through the medium of some venison steaks, a delicate ragout of squirrel, and sundry other tit–bits, with which he hoped to propitiate the village beauty. As Jessie entered the room, her salutation of Lucy was modestly respectful; and she returned Reginald’s bow with an unembarrassed and not ungraceful courtesy. While she was drawing out and placing on a table the silken contents of her basket, Reginald inquired of her whether any news was stirring in Marietta.
“None,” replied she, “except the killing of Hervey. All the town is speaking of it, and they say it will cause more bloodshed; for Mike Smith vows, if he cannot find the real offender, he’ll shoot down the first Indian he finds in the woods.”
“Mike Smith is a hot–headed fool,” replied Reginald; but remembering sundry reports which had reached his ear, he added, “I beg your pardon, Miss Jessie, if the words give you offence.”
“Indeed you have given none, Master Reginald,” said Jessie, colouring a little at the implied meaning of his words; “Mike comes very often to our store, but I believe it is more for whiskey than any thing else.”