Upon which the deaf old grandfather rises in his corner, and pulls off his cap, with the usual salutation, "Sarvant, Sah," etc., and sitting down again, relapses into a doze immediately.
Frisbie is furious. "What you 'bout here?" he cries, in an alarming voice.
"Bless you, Sir," answers the old woman, over a tub, "don't you see? We's doon' a little washin', Sir. Didn't you never see nobody wash afore?" And she proceeds with her rubbing.
"The house will be tumbling on you in ten minutes!"
"You think so? Now I don't, Mr. Frisbie! This 'ere house a'n't gwine to tumble down this mornin', I know. The Lord 'll look out for that, I guess. Look o' these 'ere childern! look o' me! look o' my ole father there, more'n a hunderd year ole! What's a-gwine to 'come on us all, if you pull the house down? Can't git another right away; no team to tote our things off with; an' how 'n the world we can do 'thout no house this winter I can't see. So I've jes' concluded to trust the Lord, an' git out my washin'." Rub, rub, rub!
Frisbie grows purple. "Are you fools?" he inquires.
"Yes, I am! I'm Fessenden's." And the honest, staring youth comes forward to see what is wanted.
This unexpected response rather pricks the wind-bag of the man's zeal. He looks curiously at the boy, who follows him out of the house.
"Stephen, did you ever see that fellow before?"
"Yes, Sir; he's the one come to our house Saturday night, and I showed round to the Judge's."