Queechy | Page 9

upon me," said Mr. Ringgan, cheerfully, "for you weren't anywhere very near my thoughts; and I don't often see much of the gay world that is passing by me. You have grown since I saw you last, Mr. Rossitur. You are studying at West Point, I believe."
"No sir; I was studying there, but I had the pleasure of bringing that to an end last June."
"Ah!--Well, what are you now? Not a cadet any longer, I suppose."
"No sir--we hatch out of that shell lieutenants."
"Hum.--And do you intend to remain in the army?"
"Certainly sir, that is my purpose and hope."
"Your mother would not like that, I should judge. I do not understand how she ever made up her mind to let you become that thing which hatches out into a lieutenant. Gentle creatures she and her sister both were.--How was it, Mr. Rossitur? were you a wild young gentleman that wanted training?"
"I have had it sir, whether I wanted it or no."
"Hum!--How is he, Mr. Carleton?--sober enough to command men?"
"I have not seen him tried, sir," said this gentleman smiling; "but from tho inconsistency of the orders he issues to his dogs I doubt it exceedingly."
"Why Carleton would have no orders issued to them at all, I believe," said young Rossitur; "he has been saying 'hush' to me all day."
The old gentleman laughed in a way that indicated intelligence with one of the speakers,--which, appeared not.
"So you've been following the dogs to-day," said he. "Been successful?"
"Not a bit of it," said Rossitur. "Whether we got on the wrong grounds, or didn't get on the right ones, or the dogs didn't mind their business, or there was nothing to fire at, I don't know; but we lost our patience and got nothing in exchange."
"Speak for yourself," said the other. "I assure you I was sensible of no ground of impatience while going over such a superb country as this."
"It is a fine country," said Mr. Ringgan,--"all this tract; and I ought to know it, for I have hunted every mile of it for many a mile around. There used to be more game than partridges in these hills when I was a young man;--bears and wolves, and deer, and now and then a panther, to say nothing of rattlesnakes."
"That last mentioned is an irregular sort of game, is it not?" said Mr. Carleton smiling.
"Well, game is what you choose to make it," said the old gentleman. "I have seen worse days' sport than I saw once when we were out after rattlesnakes and nothing else. There was a cave, sir, down under a mountain a few miles to the south of this, right at the foot of a bluff some four or five hundred feet sheer down,--it was known to be a resort of those creatures; and a party of us went out,--it's many years ago now,--to see if we couldn't destroy the nest--exterminate the whole horde. We had one dog with us,--a little dog, a kind of spaniel; a little white and yellow fellow,--and he did the work! Well, sir,--how many of those vermin do you guess that little creature made a finish of that day?--of large and small, sir, there were two hundred and twelve."
"He must have been a gallant little fellow."
"You never saw a creature, sir, take to a sport better; he just dashed in among them, from one to another,--he would catch a snake by the neck and give it a shake, and throw it down and rush at another;--poor fellow, it was his last day's sport,--he died almost as soon as it was over; he must have received a great many bites. The place is known as the rattlesnakes' den to this day, though there are none there now, I believe."
"My little cousin is well, I hope," said Mr. Rossitur.
"She? yes, bless her I she is always well. Where is she? Fairy, where are you?--Cynthy, just call Elfieda here."
"She's just in the thick of the muffins, Mr. Ringgan."
"Let the muffins burn! Call her."
Miss Cynthia accordingly opened a little way the door of the passage, from which a blue stifling smoke immediately made its way into the room, and called out to Fleda. whose little voice was heard faintly responding from the distance.
"It's a wonder she can hear through all that smoke," remarked Cynthia.
"She," said Mr. Ringgan, laughing,--"she's playing cook or housekeeper in yonder, getting something ready for tea. She's a busy little spirit, if ever there was one. Ah! there she is. Come here, Fleda--here's your cousin Rossitur from West Point--and Mr. Carleton."
Fleda made her appearance flushed with the heat of the stove and the excitement of turning the muffins, and the little iron spatula she used for that purpose still in her hand; and a fresh and larger puff of the unsavoury blue smoke accompanied her entrance.