“Well, what did you mean then?”
“Why I meant her ten fingers, to be sure. When a woman clapper claws her husband, we have a cant tarm with us boys of Slickville, savin’ she gave him her ten commandments.”
“And a very improper expression too, Sir,” said Mr. Hopewell; “a very irreverent, indecent, and I may say profane expression; I am quite shocked. But as you say you didn’t mean it, are sorry for it, and will not repeat it again, I accept your apology, and rely on your promise. Go on, Sir.”
“Well, as I was a savin’, the moment she found herself a coasting of it that way, flounder fashion, she hung on by her ten com—I mean her ten fingers, and her ten toes, like grim death to a dead nigger, and it brought her up jist in time. But how to get back was the question? To let go the hold of any one hand was sartain death, and there was nobody to help her, and yet to hold on long that way, she couldn’t, no how she could fix it.
“So what does she do, (for nothin’ equals a woman for contrivances), but move one finger at a time, and then one toe at a time, till she gets a new hold, and then crawls backward, like a span-worm, an inch at a hitch. Well, she works her passage this way, wrong eend foremost, by backin’ of her paddles for the matter of half an hour or so, till she gets to where it was roughish, and somethin’ like standin’ ground, when who should come by but a tall handsome man, with a sort of a half coat, half cloak-like coverin’ on, fastened round the waist with a belt, and havin’ a hood up, to ambush the head.
“The moment she clapt eyes on him, she called to him for help. ‘Oh,’ sais she, ‘for heaven’s sake, good man, help me up! Jist take hold of my leg and draw me back, will you, that’s a good soul?’ And then she held up fust one leg for him, and then the other, most beseechin’, but nothin’ would move him. He jist stopt, looked back for a moment and then progressed agin.
“Well, it ryled her considerable. Her eyes actilly snapped with fire, like a hemlock log at Christmas: (for nothin’ makes a woman so mad as a parsonal slight, and them little ankles of hern were enough to move the heart of a stone, and make it jump out o’ the ground, that’s a fact, they were such fine-spun glass ones), it made her so mad, it gave her fresh strength; and makin’ two or three onnateral efforts, she got clear back to the path, and sprung right up on eend, as wicked as a she-bear with a sore head. But when she got upright agin, she then see’d what a beautiful frizzle of a fix she was in. She couldn’t hope to climb far; and, indeed, she didn’t ambition to; she’d had enough of that, for one spell. But climbin’ up was nothin’, compared to goin’ down hill without her staff; so what to do, she didn’t know.
“At last, a thought struck her. She intarmined to make that man help her, in spite of him. So she sprung forward for a space, like a painter, for life or death, and caught right hold of his cloak. ‘Help—help me!’ said she, ‘or I shall go for it, that’s sartain. Here’s my puss, my rings, my watch, and all I have got; but oh, help me! for the love of God, help me, or my flint is fixed for good and all.’
“With that, the man turned round, and took one glance at her, as if he kinder relented, and then, all at once, wheeled back again, as amazed as if he was jist born, gave an awful yell, and started off as fast as he could clip, though that warn’t very tall runnin’ nother, considerin’ the ground. But she warn’t to be shook off that way. She held fast to his cloak, like a burr to a sheep’s tail, and raced arter him, screamin’ and screechin’ like mad; and the more she cried, the louder he yelled, till the mountains all echoed it and re-echoed it, so that you would have thought a thousand devils had broke loose, a’most.
“Such a gettin’ up stairs you never did see.