Adèle Dubois | Page 5

Mrs. William T. Savage
you and this pusson will just carry
the patient up stairs, and place him on the bed, that's a' ye need do. I'll
tak' care o' him".
"Permit me the privilege of watching by the gentleman's bed to-night",
said Mr. Norton, turning to Mr. Dubois.
"By no means, sir", said his host; "you have had a long ride through the

forest to-day and must be tired. Aunt Patty here prefers to take charge
of him".
"Sir", said Mr. Norton, "I observed awhile ago, that his mind was quite
wandering. He is greatly excited by fever, but I succeeded in quieting
him once and perhaps may be able to do so again".
Here Mrs. McNab interposed in tones somewhat loud and irate.
"That's the way pussons fra' your country always talk. They think they
can do everything better'n anybody else. What can a mon do at nussin',
I wad ken?"
"Mr. Norton will nurse him well, I know. Let him take care of the
gentleman, father", said Adèle.
"Hush, my dear", said Mr. Dubois, decidedly, "it is proper that Mrs.
McNab take charge of Mr. Brown to-night".
Adèle made no reply, and only showed her vexation by casting a
defiant look on the redoubtable aunt Patty, whose face was overspread
with a grin of satisfaction at having carried her point.
Mr. Norton, of course, did not press his proposal farther, but consoled
himself with the thought, that some future opportunity might occur,
enabling him to fulfil his benevolent intentions.
A quieting powder was administered and Mrs. McNab established
herself beside the fire that had been kindled in Mr. Brown's apartment.
After having indicated to Mr. Norton the bedroom he was to occupy for
the night, the family retired, leaving him the only inmate of the room.
As he sat and watched the dying embers, he fell into a reverie
concerning the events of the evening. His musings were of a somewhat
perplexed nature. He was at a loss to account for the appearance of a
gentleman, bearing unmistakable marks of refinement and wealth, as
did Mr. Brown, under such circumstances, and in such a region as

Miramichi. The words he had uttered in his delirium, added to the
mystery. He was also puzzled about the family of Dubois. How came
people of such culture and superiority in this dark portion of the earth?
How strange, that they had lived here so many years, without
assimilating to the common herd around them.
Thus his mind, excited by what had recently occurred, wandered on,
until at length his thoughts fell into their accustomed
channel,--dwelling on his own mission to this benighted land, and
framing various schemes by which he might accomplish the object so
dear to his heart.
In the mean time, having turned his face partially aside from the fire, he
was watching unconsciously the fitful gleaming of a light cast on the
opposite wall by the occasional flaring up of a tongue of flame from the
dying embers.
Suddenly he heard a deep, whirring sound as if the springs of some
complicated machinery had just then been set in motion.
Looking around to find whence the noise proceeded, he was rather
startled on observing in the wall, in one corner, just under the ceiling, a
tiny door fly open, and emerging thence a grotesque, miniature man,
holding, uplifted in his hand, a hammer of size proportionate to his own
figure. Mr. Norton sat motionless, while this small specimen proceeded,
with a jerky gait and many bobbing grimaces, across a wire stretched to
the opposite corner of the room, where stood a tall, ebony clock. When
within a short distance of the clock another tiny door in its side flew
open; the little man entered and struck deliberately with the hammer
the hour of midnight. Near the top of the dial-plate was seen from
without the regular uplifting of the little arm, applying its stroke to the
bell within. Having performed his duty, this personage jerked out of the
clock, the tiny door closing behind him, bobbed and jerked along the
wire as before, and disappeared at the door in the wall, which also
immediately closed after his exit.
Having witnessed the whole manoeuvre with comic wonder and
curiosity, Mr. Norton burst into a loud and hearty peal of laughter, that

was still resounding in the room when he became suddenly aware of
the presence of Mrs. McNab. There she stood in the centre of the
apartment, her firm, square figure apparently rooted to the floor, her
head enveloped in innumerable folds of white cotton, a tower of
strength and defiance.
Her unexpected appearance changed in a moment the mood of the good
man, and he inquired anxiously, "Is the gentleman more ill? Can I assist
you?"
"He's just this minnut closed his eyes to
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