Tempest and Sunshine

She might as well have knocked him down, for he instantly sat down, and

covering his face with his hands, burst into such a fit of crying that

Fanny, half-laughing at and half-pitying him, said, "Poor Billy, I am

sorry for you, and though I cannot marry you, I will like you just as well

as you fancy I always have."

This failed to quiet Bill, who kept on crying until Tiger made so many

threatening demonstrations of anger, that Bill thought it was wise to

leave before he got another tumble.

He had hardly disappeared when a loud voice called out, "Bravo, Tiger! You

know how to fix 'em." Looking around, Fanny saw her father, who had been a

silent spectator of the scene, and now came forward laughing heartily at

his would-be son-in-law. "Pretty well done, Sunshine," said he. "Let's

see, how many offers does this make? Thar's Joe's one, the doctor's two;

Yankee Carmeron's three; and lubberin' Bill Jeffrey's four, and you not

quite eighteen. That'll do; that'll do!" Afterward, when Mr. Middleton

wished to entertain his visitors with anything extra, he would rehearse to

them, with some exaggerations, Bill Jeffrey's proposal to Fanny.

Glancing backward a few pages, we find we have omitted to repeat what

happened among Dr. Lacey's blacks during the days when they were anxiously

but vainly watching for the coming of their young master and his bride.

For a week Aunt Dilsey was unusually crusty, and all her attempts at

cookery invariably failed, plainly showing her mind to be in a disturbed

state.

"I don't keer," she would say, "if the cakes is all dough and the 'sarves

all froth. They's good enough for her, any day." Then she would call out,

"Get along you, Jack, pokin' your fingers into the 'lasses cup; make

yourself scarce in this kitchen, or I'll crack your head mighty nigh as

hard as the new Miss will." Then she would scold Leffie, who, she said,

"was of no more account than a burnt stick, now she was spectin' Rondeau.

Pity but the boat he come on wouldn't blow up and let 'em all into

perdition together."

Leffie knew her mother didn't mean more than half what she said, but she

chose to keep silent, hoping each morning that the close of the day would

bring the long absent Rondeau. Thus, between scolding and fretting,

cooking and sweating, Aunt Dilsey passed the time until the day arrived on

which, as she said, "they'd come if they ever did."