Wednesday, 31st.
Well! Alfred Cullen came this morning while I was gone to ride. We did not expect him until evening, because it is a day’s journey from Boston. But he stopped last evening at St. C——, where he had friends and business, and this morning was brought over.
“Guess who’s in the sitting-room with your uncle and aunt,” said Hamlet, with a broad smile, as he came to help me out of the saddle.
“Paulina, I dare say, Hamlet.”
“No. You go in an’ see who ’t is. Come, Katy.”
I came in straightway, expecting to see Hamlet’s pretty sister, Fanny; but saw, instead, a man of about thirty years; by no means tall, (for a man, that is; he is a little above me,) by no means large, but noble and graceful, and with a look in the highest degree animated and gentle. He and uncle stood face to face, talking energetically and laughing.
“Here she is!” said uncle, as soon as he saw me. “Here’s Monde. Monde, our friend, Mr. Cullen. Our niece, Miss Hedelquiver, Alfred. Ponto, be still; behave yourself, Ponto.”
Ponto wouldn’t behave himself at all, in the way uncle proposed; he was quite too glad to see me. When I would have stepped forward a little to meet Mr. Cullen, he was jumping on my long skirts and catching them in his teeth; and when I would have shaken hands with him, he sprang up between us, and was so unmanageable, that we were forced to dispense with the hand’s-shaking altogether. We called him a vicious puppy and boxed his soft ears a little; but, as we laughed all the while, he only dragged my skirts the more pertinaciously and jumped the higher. And judge you whether I was not glad that he did; glad that I must be busy scolding him and getting my skirts and gloves and riding-stick away from him; for uncle said, turning to Mr. Cullen—
“How do you like Monde’s hat, Alfred?”