Sharing Her Crime Part 21

The important day for the dinner-party arrived. Lizzie was up in her room, dressing. Mrs. Gower was superintending affairs in the dining-room. The squire, in full dress, sat alone, awaiting his friends.

As he sat, sleep overpowered him, and unconsciously he sank into a profound slumber.

While he was snoring in peace, little dreaming of the fate awaiting him, that little imp of mischief, Gipsy, entered. One glance sufficed, and across her fertile brain there shot a demoniacal project of mischief, while her whole form became instinct, and her wicked eyes scintillated with fun.

Quitting the room, she returned presently with a box of lampblack in one hand, and the mustard-pot in the other.

"Now, Guardy, you keep still a little while till I turn you into an Indian chief, and here goes for your war-paint."

So saying, the little wretch drew a streak of mustard across his nose, following it by a similar one of lampblack. And so she continued until his whole face was covered with alternate stripes of yellow and black, scarcely able to repress a shout of laughter as she worked, at the unspeakably ludicrous appearance he presented.

Having exhausted her supply of paint, Gipsy stepped to the door to survey her work, and unable longer to restrain a roar of laughter, fled to her room, quivering with the antic.i.p.ation of the fun to come.

Scarcely had she quitted the room when the door was flung open, and, in pompous tones, the servant announced:

"De Right Reveren' Bishop of B., de Hon'ble Senator Long and Mrs. Long."

And the whole party, half a dozen in number, entered the apartment.

The noise awoke the squire; and a most musical snore was mercilessly interrupted, and ended in a hysterical snort. Starting to his feet with an expression of countenance that utterly repudiated the idea of his having been asleep, he advanced with extended hand toward the bishop.

That high functionary drew back for a moment aghast, and glanced at his companions in horror. Human nature could stand it no longer, and a universal shout of laughter resounded through the room.

"Eh? What? Lord bless me, what's the matter?" said the squire, turning his face from one to another, inwardly wondering if they had all gone mad. "What are you laughing at?"

A fresh roar of laughter from the whole party answered this, as they all pressed their hands to their sides, utterly unable to stop. Seeing this, the squire at last began grinning with sympathy, thereby adding so much to the ludicrousness of his appearance, that some threw themselves on the floor, some on chairs and sofas, in perfect convulsions.

"What the deuce is it?" repeated the squire, at last losing patience.

"Will you oblige me by telling me what the matter is?"

"My dear sir," began the bishop, in tremulous tones.

The squire turned his painted face eagerly toward the speaker. In vain he attempted to proceed, it was not in human nature to withstand that face, and the bishop fell back in a paroxysm that threatened never to end.

It was a scene for an artist. The row of convulsed faces around, pausing for a moment breathlessly, but breaking forth louder than ever the minute their eyes again fell upon him. And there sat the squire with his black and yellow face, turning in dismay from one to another, his round bullet-eyes ready to pop from their sockets.

At this moment the door opened, and Lizzie, Louis, and Mrs. Gower, followed by all the servants in the house, attracted by the noise, burst into the room. The moment their eyes fell on the squire, who had started to his feet to address them, their looks of surprise vanished and, as if by one accord, shout after shout of laughter broke from all. In vain did the squire stamp, and fume, and demand to know what was the matter; his only answer was a fresh explosion of mirth.

At last, in despair, Mrs. Gower managed to point to a mirror opposite.

The squire rushed frantically to the spot, and then paused, transfixed, aghast with horror. Turning slowly round, he confronted his guests with such a look of blank, utter dismay, that all the laughter previous was nothing to the universal roar which followed that despairing glance.

Then bursting out with: "It's that fiend!--that demon incarnate!--that little Jezebel has done this," he rushed from the room in search of her.

Gipsy, attracted by the laughter, had ventured cautiously to descend the stairs. The squire perceived her, as like a flash she turned to fly.

With one galvanic bound he sprang up the stairs, seized her by the shoulder, shouting:

"By Heaven! I'll pay you for this when they go!"

Then opening an adjoining door, he thrust her in, turned the key, put it in his pocket, and rushed out of the house into the yard, where, by the friendly aid of soap and hot water, and some hard scrubbing, he managed to make himself once more look like a Christian.

Then, returning to his guests--who by this time had laughed themselves into such a state that they could laugh no longer--he dispersed the servants with sundry kicks and cuffs, and proceeded to explain, as well as he was able, how it came about. Politeness forced the party to make every effort to maintain their gravity, but more than once, while seated in solemn conclave round the dinner-table, the recollection of the old man's ludicrous appearance would prove too much for flesh and blood--and, leaning back, they would laugh until the tears stood in their eyes. Their example proving contagious, the whole party would join in, to the great mortification of the squire--who inwardly vowed that Gipsy should pay dearly for every additional laugh.

But for the squire to reckon without Gipsy was rather a hazardous experiment. Seldom did that young lady find herself in a position from which her genius would not extricate her--as the squire found to his cost in the present instance.

Gipsy's first sensation at finding herself for the first time really a prisoner was one of intense mortification, followed by indignation; and her thoughts ran somewhat after the following fas.h.i.+on:

"The mean old thing!--to lock me up here just because I applied a little mustard outside instead of inside! Never mind; if I don't fix him for it, it'll be a wonder. So you'll pay me for this, will you, Guardy? Ah!

but you ain't sure of me yet, you see. If I don't outwit you yet, my name's not Gipsy Roarer Gower! Now, Gipsy, my dear, set your wits to work, and get yourself out of this black hole of a prison."

Going to the window, she looked out. The sight would have appalled any one else; but it did not intimidate Gipsy. The room she was in was on the third story, at a dizzy height from the ground. She looked around for a rope to descend; but none did the room contain. What was she to do? Gipsy raised herself on one toe to consider.

Suddenly her eye fell on a new suit of broadcloth her guardian had brought home only the day before. She did not hesitate an instant.

To her great delight she found a pair of scissors in her pocket; and, taking the coat and unmentionables from the wall where they hung, she sat down and diligently fell to work cutting them into long strips.

Fifteen minutes pa.s.sed, and nothing remained of Guardy's new clothes but a long black knotted string--which, to her great delight, she found would reach easily to the ground.

Fastening it to the window-sill securely, she began to descend, and in ten minutes she stood once more on _terra firma_.

Going to the stables, she saddled Mignonne and led him to the front gate, where she left him standing. Then, with unheard-of audacity, she entered the hall, opened the dining-room door, and thrusting in her wicked little head, she exclaimed exultingly:

"I say, Guardy, you can 'pay' me any time at your leisure, and I'll give you a receipt in full."

Then, I am sorry to say, making a hideous grimace, she turned to fly; but the squire jumped from his seat--overturning the bishop and Mrs.

Senator Long in his violent haste--and shouting, "Stop her! stop her!"

rushed after her from the room.

But he was too late, and she leaped upon Mignonne's back and was off.

Waving her hat in the air in a defiant "hurra!" she dashed down the road and disappeared.

Amazement and rage were struggling in the breast of the squire. Doubting whether it was all a delusion, he rushed up stairs to the room. The door was still fast; and, burning with impatience, he opened it. And there he found the window wide open, and his new suit converted into a rope, which still dangled, as if in exultation from the window. And the mystery was solved.

What the squire said and did there, it is useless to say. The reader knows his remarks were anything but edifying; and even the august presence of the overturned bishop could not prevent him from hurling a torrent of invectives against the unfortunate Gipsy. Never had Squire Erliston been so angry in his life. Inwardly vowing that she should repent what she had done, the squire "bided his time"--little dreaming how bitterly he was destined to repent that vow.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MOONLIGHT FLITTING.

"Oh, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd; She was a vixen when she went to school, And though she is but little, she is fierce."

The moonlight was falling brightly on the lawn, and s.h.i.+mmering like silver sheen on the leaves of the horse-chestnuts, as Gipsy rode home.

The company had just dispersed, and the squire was about to retire, when the clatter of horse's hoofs on the graveled path made him start up and hasten out to the porch. And there he beheld the audacious Gipsy riding fearlessly toward him, shouting at the top of her lungs some wild chorus, of which he only caught the words:

"You must place in my coffin a bottle of red, And say a good fellow is gone."

"If I don't pay her off before I sleep to-night!" muttered the squire, between his clenched teeth. "I'll put an end to her pranks, or know for why."

Gipsy leaped lightly from her horse, and resigning him to Jupiter, ran up the steps, and encountered the purple face and blazing eyes of her angry guardian.