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."