Cruel As The Grave

"Aye, aye! I hear you. You needn't batter down the doors. I'm a-going to

get up, though it's very early, and I an't as young as I used to be

twenty years ago, nyther," grumbled the "farmer," as with many a grunt

and sigh, as of an old and weary man, he got up and began to dress

himself.

"Sybil," he whispered to his wife before leaving the room, "I shall have

to take my breakfast at a stall in the market-house, and I shall not be

back until the market is out, which will be about twelve o'clock. You

can have your breakfast brought up here. And mind, my darling, don't

forget to put on your wig, and keep up your character."

"I shall be very careful, dear Lyon," she answered, as he kissed and

left her.

Lyon Berners went down stairs, where he found the landlord, who was an

"early bird," waiting for him.

"Morning, farmer. What is it that you've brought to market, anyways?"

he said, greeting his guest.

"Mostly garden truck," answered Lyon.

"No poultry, eggs, nor butter?"

"No."

"'Cause, if you had, I might deal with you myself."

"Well, you see, landlord, them kind of produce is ill convenient to

bring a long ways in a wagon. And I came from a good ways down the

country," explained Lyon, as he took his long leathern whip from the

corner where he had left it, and went out to look after his team.

He found it all right, and he mounted the seat and drove to the market

space, and took a stand, and began to offer his produce as zealously as

any farmer on the ground--taking care, in the mean time, to wear his

spectacles and broad-brimmed hat, and to keep up his character in voice

and manner; and, as the morning advanced, he began to drive a brisk

business.

Meantime Sybil, left alone in her poor room at the little inn, arose

and locked the door after Lyon, to prevent intrusion before she should

effect her disguise, and when she had thus insured her privacy, she

began to dress.

As soon as she had transformed herself, she opened the door and called

for Rachel.

The landlord's daughter entered, giving her guest good-morning, and

kindly inquiring how she had slept.

"I slept like a top! But I'm not well this morning neither. So I'd just

like to have my victuals sent up here," answered Sybil.

"Very well; what would you like?"

"Fried fish, and pork-steaks, and bri'led chickings, and grilled bacon,

and--let me see! Have you any oysters?"

"Yes, very fine ones."

"Well, then, I'll take some stewed oysters too, and some poached eggs,

and preserved quinces, and fried potatoes, and corn pone, and hot rolls,

and buckwheat cakes, and cold bread and butter, and some coffee, and

buttermilk and sweet milk. And that's all, I believe; for, you see, I

an't well, and I haven't come to my stomach yet; but if I can think of

anything else, I will let you know.