At the moment she had brought forth
bread and baked beans, and was putting them on the table, a voice
rang into the room, causing every eye to turn toward Uncle John.
He had gotten down the stairs without uttering one audible groan,
and was standing, one step above the floor of the room,
brandishing and whirling his staff about in a manner to cause
even rheumatism to flee the place, while, at the top of his voice
he cried out:
"Martha Moulton, how DARE you FEED these--these--monsters--in
human form!"
"Don't mind him, gentlemen, please don't," she made haste to say,
"he's old, VERY old; eighty-five, his last birthday, and--a
little hoity-toity at times," pointing deftly with her finger in
the region of the reasoning powers in her own shapely head.
Summoning Major Pitcairn by an offer of a dish of beans, she
contrived to say, under covert of it:
"You see, sir, I couldn't go away and leave him; he is almost
distracted with rheumatism, and this excitement to-day will kill
him, I'm afraid."
Advancing toward the staircase with bold and soldierly front,
Major Pitcairn said to Uncle John:
"Stand aside, old man, and we'll hold you harmless."
"I don't believe you will, you red-trimmed trooper, you," was the
reply; and, with a dexterous swing of the wooden staff, he mowed
off and down three military hats.
Before any one had time to speak, Martha Moulton adroitly
stooping, as though to recover Major Pitcairn's hat, which had
rolled to her feet, swung the stairway-door into its place with a
resounding bang, and followed up that achievement with a swift
turn of two large wooden buttons, one high up, and the other low
down, near the floor.
Pages:
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32