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Page 20
After a critical examination of his victim, our traveller mounted his
horse and proceeded on his journey, much gratified at his afternoon's
work, and inwardly resolving how he would make the eyes of James and
Aunt Esther stand out, while listening to the account of it he should
give them, on his return home.
In about seventeen days after his departure from P., John safely
accomplished his journey. Amidst the subsequent hardships, rough fare
and toils of that journey, which, in truth, thirty-five years ago,
were things not to be laughed at, he had a constant satisfaction in
the recollection of having, with one keen shot, killed a large,
fierce, gray wolf.
CHAPTER VIII.
A FUNERAL.
The day following the call made by Mr. Norton on Micah Mummychog, the
last-named personage came to Mr. Dubois's house and Ad�le happening to
open the outside door, just as he hove in sight, he called out, "Miss
Ady, do ye know where that individooal that ye brought to my heouse
yisterday, is?"
"You mean the missionary?" said Ad�le.
"Well, yis, I spose so; where is he?"
"He is engaged with a sick gentleman we have here. He has taken the
place of Aunt Patty, who is tired out and has gone to rest".
"Well, that piece of flesh, what's called McNab, has the greatest
fakkilty of gittin' tired eout when there's any work reound, that ever
I see. Any heow, she's got to stir herself this time. But I want to
see the minister, neow".
"Yes, I will speak to him. But I shall not call Aunt Patty. She _is_
tired now. I can take care of the sick gentleman. But what has
happened, Micah?"
"Well, there's goin' to be a funeral. I can't jestly tell ye abeout
it neow. Ye can ax yer sir, when he comes in", said Micah, reluctant
to go into particulars which he knew would shock Ad�le.
"Well, Captin", said Micah, when Mr. Norton made his appearance at the
door, here's a reg'lar wind-fall for ye. Here's an Irishman over here,
as is dead as a door nail. He's goin' to be buried to-night, 'beout
sunset, and I dun no but what I can git a chance for ye to hold forth
a spell in the grove, jest afore they put him under greound".
"Dead! the poor man dead! indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Norton.
"Yis. He was shot right through his heart, and I hope a swingin' cuss
'ill come on him that put the ball threough, tew".
"Why, how was it, Mr. Micah?" said Mr. Norton earnestly.
"Well, yeou jest tell me fust wether yeou'll say prayers, or somethin'
or 'nother over the poor chap's reeliks".
"Certainly, I will, Mr. Micah".
"Well, ye see, Pat McGrath lived back here, half a mile or so, an'
he's got lots o' cousins an' friends 'ut live all along on this 'ere
river, more or less, till ye git to Chartham, _that's_ sitooated to
the mouth. Well, these fellers has been in the habit o' gittin'
together and goin' deown river and hirin' once in a spell, some sort
of old, cranky craft and goin' skylarking reound to Eastport and
Portland. Arter a while they'd cum back and smuggle in a cargo o'
somethin' or 'nother from the States, and sheirk the dooties. Well,
'beout a week ago, there was a confounded old crittur 'ut lives
halfway from here to Chartham, that informed on' em. So they jes'
collected together--'beout twenty fellers--and mobbed him. And the old
cuss fired into 'em and killed this 'ere man. So neow they've brought
his body hum, and his wife's a poor shiftless thing, and she's been a
hollerin' and screechin' ever sence she heerd of it".
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