"Well, Barby--"
This second voice was hardly raised, but it came from so much nearer that the words could be distinctly heard.
"Mr. Skillcorn wants to know if you're going to fix the flowers for him to carry?"
"They're not ready, and it won't do for him to vait--Mr. Sweet must send for them if he wants them. Philetus must make haste back, for you know Mr. Douglass wants him to help in the barn meadow. Lucas won't be here and now the weather is so fine I want to make haste with the hay."
"Well, will you have the samp for breakfast?"
"No--we'll keep that for dinner. I'll come in and poach some eggs, Barby,--if you'll make me some thin pieces of toast--and call me when it's time. Thin, Barby."
The gentleman turned his horse and galloped back to Montepoole.
Some disappointment was created among a portion of Mr. Sweet's guests that afternoon by the intelligence that Mr. Carleton purposed setting off the next morning to join his English friends at Saratoga on their way to the falls and Canada. Which purpose was duly carried into effect.
Chapter XXXI.
With your leave, sir, an' there were no more men living upon the face of the earth, I should not fancy him, by St. George.--Every Man Out of His Humour.