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Updated: April 30, 2025
That was the voice of instinct, speaking with the tongue of Brom; and it is no easy task, for a merchant, to keep his dependants obedient to laws, which, in themselves, create so constant a temptation to break them. Well, well; we will always hope for the best, and endeavor to act like dutiful subjects. The boat is not amiss, as to form and rig, let her come from where she will.
"Well who are they? name them." Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's Nicholas Vedder?" There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a thin, piping voice: "Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too." "Where's Brom Dutcher?"
A hundred hands reached up to lift Ruth from the saddle, but she waved them away and pointed to Jeffrey's broken arm. They helped him down and half carried him into Doctor Napoleon Goodenough's little office. Ruth saw that her business was finished. She wheeled Brom Bones toward home, and gave him his head.
If he could not understand the girl's words, he could feel the thrill of rising excitement in her voice as she urged him on, saying over and over: "You can make it, Brom! I know you can! I never struck you this way before, did I? But it's for life a good man's life! You can make it. I know you can make it. I wouldn't ask you to if I didn't know. You can make it! It won't hurt us a bit.
The neighbours looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good-will; and, when any madcap prank or rustic brawl occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it.
"Well who are they? name them." Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's Nicholas Vedder?" There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a thin, piping voice: "Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the church yard that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too." "Where's Brom Butcher?"
"To own the truth, 'Brom," my father answered, "this is a point that is not yet entirely settled, for there are different opinions as to the place to which he shall be sent, even admitting that he is to be sent at all." The colonel fastened his full, projecting, blue eyes on my father, in a way that pretty plainly expressed surprise.
Brom Bones was hobbled down by the water side picking drowsily at a few wisps of half-burnt grass and sniffing discontentedly to himself. There was a great deal wrong with the world. He had not, it seemed, seen a spear of fresh grass for an age. And as for oats, he did not remember when he had had any.
"Well who are they? name them." Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, Where's Nicholas Vedder? There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a thin, piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder? why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too." "Where's Brom Dutcher?"
This story was immediately matched by a thrice marvellous adventure of Brom Bones, who made light of the Galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey.
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