Read Ebook: Μαλβίνα: Ρωμαντικό Μυθιστόρημα του 18ου αιώνος by Cottin Madame Sophie Argyropoulos K P Translator

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Ebook has 517 lines and 29585 words, and 11 pages

The next day was quite as fine as the one that had preceded it. The morning was spent in a visit to the various works about the place, but the result of the inspection was not encouraging, and the family party at Stanham Manor was much depressed.

Uncle Daniel had proved to be a large edition of the Frothingham characteristics bound in red. His hands were thick and his fingers short. His manner of speech was ponderous, yet emphatic. Nothing in the new country pleased him; he longed for London. Besides this, he saw that the mining property promised little for the future.

Early in the afternoon Uncle Nathan might have been seen seated on the broad piazza in a great, easy-chair; opposite to him sat Mr. Wyeth, and beside him Uncle Daniel. All three were smoking long-stemmed clay pipes, and blowing the white clouds into the air. For some time no one had spoken. The bees were delving into the honeysuckle blossoms that grew about the pillars, and Aunt Clarissa was plying her white fingers at a tatting-frame close by.

Little Grace, seated in the sunlight on a low hassock, was playing with a small black kitten.

The sound of busy wheels and the roar of the waterfall at the dam drifted across the stretch of green, for besides the foundry the Frothinghams maintained a grist-mill, where most of the grinding for the neighborhood was done.

Uncle Nathan was not in the best of spirits. The discord and dispute over the eastern line worried him more and more each day. He had confided this to his brother and to Mr. Wyeth at some length the night before, and had worked himself into a towering rage.

Mr. Wyeth was also troubled, but it was mostly owing to the trend of political events throughout the country.

The spires of the city on a clear day could just be descried through a strong glass, away off to the east, from the top of Tumble Ridge.

"There's trouble, sir, trouble, I fear me, ahead," said Mr. Wyeth, breaking the silence at last. "Business is again at a standstill, and the spirit of discontent is slowly growing throughout the colonies. In fact, among our friends some rebellious spirits have dared to breathe a word against Parliament and the court, and are almost ripe even to disown allegiance to his Majesty. You find some of this here about you in its worst form; that we all know." He said the last in a low tone of voice.

Uncle Nathan's face turned red, and he quivered with excitement. Aunt Clarissa stopped in the middle of a purple blossom in her embroidery.

"Yes," went on Mr. Wyeth, "I fear me we'll have trouble. Many people whom I see every day, and whose loyalty no one could have doubted some time since, appear to be outraged at what they term 'the oppressions of the crown' forsooth. The new duties, they maintain, must be removed. It will require a strong hand and action to repress the growing discontent."

Mr. Nathaniel Frothingham stammered in his rage, finding his tongue at last. "The soldiers treated the villains right in Boston, March two years ago," he shouted, with an approach to an oath, "and they called it 'a massacre! a massacre'!"

"Pay the tax, say I, and avoid the trouble," ventured Mr. Wyeth, who had not expected to call forth such an amount of feeling.

Here Uncle Daniel put down his pipe, and struck the arm of his chair a mighty blow. "A few hangings and the marching of some regiments under the standard of King George would bring them to their senses," he hissed. "Traitors and plotters against our King are enemies to this country's welfare."

"His Majesty will send us troops enough, I trow," said the merchant again. "Doubt me not, we'll need them."

Just then a figure came about an angle of the house, and approached the group sitting in the shadow of the pillars.

"Here's that rascally looking overseer of yours, Nathaniel," said the elder brother. "He is the evilist-looking man, I swear, I ever clapped my eyes on."

"Well, Cloud," interrupted Uncle Nathan, speaking loudly, "what is it now?"

The newcomer had removed his hat, and was standing bareheaded in the sunshine. The black hair was worn short and stood up stiff as a pig's bristles; his narrow eyes were half hidden under the thick eyebrows, but were shifty, like a ferret's; his long nose came down over his thin colorless lips. Another curious thing that would strike an observer at first glance was the man's underpinning; his legs were strong and powerfully muscled, entirely out of keeping with the lean shoulders and narrow chest.

"Mr. Frothingham, I would have a word with you," he began.

"Well, speak out," returned Uncle Nathan. "I have no secrets with you from these gentlemen."

The overseer shifted uneasily. "There's something going on yonder across the hill," he said. "Some mischief, I take it, on the ridge shaft, for they have posted guards up there with rifles."

"I've told our people not to trespass," said Uncle Nathan. "Is that all?"

"No, sir; they have been casting cannon. I saw them at the foundry."

The three gentlemen on the porch looked at one another and then back at the overseer.

"There's no market for iron in that shape," said Nathaniel Frothingham, quietly. "Some people say that Hewes is mad; it must be true. If that is all, Cloud, you can go."

The man, without replying, turned about the corner of the house.

"For some reason he hates Mason Hewes even worse than I do," remarked Uncle Nathan. "But he is a good man-driver, and works the people well."

"Some time they'll have revenge for all his bullying," said Mr. Wyeth.

"But it is well at times to have a bully in one's pay," rejoined the manager of Stanham Mills.

"Come, where are those two young nephews of ours?" asked Uncle Daniel, as if to change the subject.

Aunt Clarissa glanced up. "That is a question, brother Daniel, no one can answer," she said.

As Aunt Clarissa spoke, however, two young figures were ascending the rough hill whose outline cut sharp and dark against the afternoon sky. They were walking in single file, and over the shoulder of the first, grasped firmly in both hands, was the barrel of a huge horse-pistol. It was the twins' greatest treasure, for they had discovered it one day up in the rafters of the old store-house near the mill. It was for this the blasting powder had been procured.

They did not know, as they climbed upwards, that they were being watched by a dozen pairs of eyes from the fringe of timber along the ridge, but such was the fact.

"Did you put in a big load this time, William?" inquired the second figure, as the boys left the clearing and plunged into a thicket of scrub-oak.

"The biggest we have fired yet," was the answer. "Methinks it will take both of us to hold it still."

"We won't shoot now," said the other. "Wait until we get further beyond in the wood up by that big rock, where Cato killed the rattlesnake. Perhaps we'll see another there."

They went on some distance, and finding a little path, turned sharply to the right.

Suddenly William stopped. "Did you see that?" he said.

"What was it?" said George, the tone of his brother's voice making his heart jump quickly.

"A fox, I think," said William, bringing the huge pistol down into the position of charge bayonet, and cocking the ponderous hammer.

"Where! Where!" whispered George, coming to his brother's side.

"It ran behind that big stone yonder," was the excited answer.

"Let's move up closer. It's your turn to shoot," said the holder of the aged weapon, turning half around.

"You shoot for me," was the whispered reply.

Moving on again they stepped quickly around the trunk of a great spreading pine-tree, for the woodman's axe had as yet spared this particular part of the forest.

The heavy branches shadowed the ground, and the hulk of great stone, close to an overhanging bank, made the light seem even more indistinct, but as they stepped deeper into the shadow, and their eyes became accustomed to the half light, they started suddenly.

There, a few feet from them, stretched on the ground, was a creature such as they had never seen before. It was as large as a big dog, with a gaunt body, small narrow head, and gleaming yellow eyes. It was crouching close to the ground, its haunches raised somewhat, its tail moving slightly and rustling the leaves of the bushes behind it.

William felt as if the pistol in his hands was almost too heavy for his arms to lift. A terrible thumping came into his temples.

"Shoot! shoot!" said George, behind him, his voice sounding to himself as if it were some miles away.

There was a tremendous roar and a cloud of sulphurous smoke. Probably no weapon that had ever gone to the wars of the times of good Queen Anne had ever withstood such a charge before.

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