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Updated: May 9, 2025
"`Who stole the eggs? says the billy-goat. "`Ax your ould grandmother! says the pig. "`Ax me ould WHICH mother? says the billy-goat. "`Oh, ax me And before he could complete the sintence, ram, blam, the ould billygoat butts him in the chist, and away goes the both of thim whirtlin' into the say below.
Yet, after all, I dare say that Judith has her vartues, and Hetty has her failin's." "And the 'Feeble-Mind' has seen the chist opened?" inquired Chingachgook, with curiosity in his glance. "Sartain; that much I've heard from her own lips; and, for that matter, so have you. It seems her father doesn't misgive her discretion, though he does that of his eldest darter."
She found her voice, a hoarse, infantile wheeze. "Tum out'n chist!" she exclaimed, gutturally. "Tum out'n chist!" Rufe turned his tow-head slowly, that he might not disturb the poise of the lid of the chest resting upon it. He fixed a solemn stare on Tennessee, and drawing one hand from the depths of the chest, he silently shook his fist. And then he resumed his researches.
"If ever I have a ship of my own," said Tom Chist, "and if ever I sail to Injy in her, I'll fetch ye back the best chist of tea, sir, that ever was fetched from Cochin Chiny." Parson Jones burst out laughing. "Thankee, Tom," he said; "and I'll thankee again when I get my chist of tea. But tell me, Tom, didst thou ever hear of the farmer girl who counted her chickens before they were hatched?"
The name of the bark, as found painted on some of the water barrels and sea chests, was the Bristol Merchant, and she no doubt hailed from England. As was said, the only soul who escaped alive off the wreck was Tom Chist. A settler, a fisherman named Matt Abrahamson, and his daughter Molly, found Tom.
His name was Oliver Chillingsworth, and he was my partner in business, and thou art his son." Then he ran out into the entryway, shouting and calling for his wife and daughter to come. So Tom Chist or Thomas Chillingsworth, as he now was to be called did stay to supper, after all. This is the story, and I hope you may like it.
As the negro passed him the white man arose suddenly and silently erect, and Tom Chist saw the white moonlight glint upon the blade of a great dirk knife which he now held in his hand. He took one, two silent, catlike steps behind the unsuspecting negro.
Still he lay there watching and listening, and by-and-by a puff of warm air blew across the sand, and a thumping tumble of louder thunder leaped from out the belly of the storm cloud, which every minute was coming nearer and nearer. Still Tom Chist lay watching.
"Were those the only charges, Mr. Burke?" questioned Constance, anxious to hear more. "No, thar's another I'm comin' to now, an' a mighty nasty one, at that." Constance's face became still paler, and her lips quivered as she heard these ominous words. Was there no end to these terrible things? "They say that the other poke found in the chist has a mighty suspicious look about it." "In what way?"
Well, I must come to the end o' my story, an' then we'll open the chist.
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