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He now gave his attention to William Hinkley, whose mother, while this scene was in progress, had been occupied, as Calvert had begun, in stanching the blood, and trimming with her scissors, which were fortunately at her girdle, the hair from the wound. The son, meanwhile, had wakened to consciousness.
Cooper; were it any other young man with whom your daughter had such intimacy I should speak in the same manner." "Would you, indeed? Tell that to the potatoes. Don't I know better. Don't I know that if your favorite, that you made so much of your adopted son, Bill Hinkley if he could have got her to look at him, they might have walked all night and you'd never have said the first word.
The fish carried a long stretch of line, but the hook was still in his jaws, and this little annoyance soon led him upon other courses. The line became relaxed, and with this sign, Ned Hinkley began to amuse himself in tiring his victim. This required skill and promptness rather than strength. The hermit-trout was led to and fro by a judicious turn of wrist or elbow.
With these words, he flung the crab-stick into the lake, old Hinkley regarding him with looks in which it was difficult to say whether mortification or fury had preponderance. "Go," he continued "your son lives; but it is God's mercy, and none of yours, which has spared his life.
I think we shall do something something better than talking about love, and law, where nobody's agreed. You, gran'pa, won't take the love; Bill Hinkley can't stomach the law, and the trout alone can bring about a reconciliation. Come, gran'pa, I'm resolved on getting your supper to-night, and you must go and see me do it." "On one condition only, Ned." "What's that, gran'pa?"
Old Hinkley did not bite the dust, but the latter part of his skull most effectually butted it; and had not his head been quite as tough as his crab-stick, the hurt might have been quite as severe as that which the latter had inflicted on the son. The latter lay as perfectly quiet as if all had been over with him. So much so, that the impression became very general that such was the case.
I'm sure it can and will be plucked out, and no death will follow." "Well! who's the maiden from whose eyes the arrow was barbed?" "Margaret Cooper." "Ah! indeed!" said the old man gravely. "Do not heed him," exclaimed William Hinkley; but the blush upon his cheeks, still increasing, spoke a different language. "I would rather not heed him, William.
Two young girls, children of a relative, and nieces of the venerable elder, had already perched themselves upon the knee of the stranger, and strove at moments over his neck and shoulder, without heeding the occasional sugary reproof of Dame Hinkley, which bade them "let Brother Stevens be;" and, already had Brother Stevens himself, ventured upon the use of sundry grave saws from the holy volume, the fruit of early reading and a retentive memory, which not a little helped to maintain his novel pretensions in the mind of the brethren, and the worthy teacher, John Cross himself.
It was only when they were mounted, that they drew a breath of partial confidence. "Now," said Hinkley, "my lads, let there be few last words between you. The sooner you're off the better. As for you, Alfred Stevens, the sooner you're back in Charlemont the more daylight we'll have to go upon. I'll be waiting you, I reckon, when you come."
And for what should you strike him? For a stranger a man we never saw before. Shame on you! You are a brute, a monster, William Hinkley, and I'm done with you for ever. "My poor, poor boy! Look up, my son. Look up, William. Open your eyes. It's your own dear mother that speaks to you. O my God! you've killed him he will not open his eyes. He's dead, he's dead, he's dead!"
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