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He gazed with an open mouth and puzzled, blear eyes at the woman before him. "You and me," he said slowly, with an utterance suspiciously slow and thick "you and me ha' kep' comp'ny, so to speak, fer a sight o' years, Dinah. We never had no fallin's out, this mander, afore, as I can call ter mind. I don't rightly onderstan' what you ha' got agin me come ter put it into wards."
It was towards the close of the afternoon that all of the Mander family and Dickory came down to the boat which was waiting for them. "Do you know," said Dickory, as he and Lucilla stood together on the sand, "that in that gown of gray, with the white sleeves, and the red cord around your waist, you please me better than even you did when you wore your sailor garb?"
"No, Mis' Barrett, so's He look arter Dora an' th' child'en, I don't keer what He du ter me." "Mother!" No answer, but a quiver of drooping lids. "Mother!" At the sharp terror of the voice the lids lifted themselves and fell again. "Yu ain't a-dyin', mother?" "'Course I ain't." "Yer promussed! Yer said yer warn't a-dyin'!" "An' I ain't." "Then don't kape a-lookin' o' that mander.
"Oho!" said Ichabod, turning to Lucilla, "and what does this mean, bedad?" "I don't know," she answered, "but the gentleman in the uniform is a good man. Perhaps the other one is his father." "To my eyes," said Captain Ichabod, "this is a most fearsome mix." The Mander family, and nearly everybody else on board, crowded about the little group, gazing with all their eyes but asking no questions.
Come out!" shouted Mander, as he ran, and before they reached the cave its shuddering inmates had hurried into the light. When the cries and the tears and the embraces were over, Lucilla first looked at Dickory. She started, her face flushed, and she was about to draw back; then she stopped, and advancing held out her hand.
When the boat was beached one of its occupants, a roughly dressed man, sprang ashore and walked cautiously towards Mander; then he gave a great shout. "Heigho, heigho!" he cried, "and Mander, this is you!" Then there was great hand-shaking and many words.
"Do you know what it was he wrote?" "'If the landscape I see around me could speak like a human being; if the dark lofty ridge could find speech to answer the river, and those two began to talk across the underwood, then you would know the impression made when Karl Mander had spoken so long that the vibration of his deep voice and the thoughts it uttered had melted into one.
"No," the mother answered, "she is not here now." Dickory had begun to hate that self-evident statement. "She's looking out for ships; her pride is a little touched that she missed Blackbeard's vessel yesterday." "Perhaps," said Dickory, with a movement as if he would like to make a step in the direction of some tall tree upon a hill. "No," said Mrs. Mander, "I cannot ask you to join my daughter.
"What d'ye look at me, that mander, for? Why don't ye ketch me a lump o' the hid?" the child cried fiercely; then gave way to the suppressed sobbing. "Oh, mother, yu ain't a-dyin'? Yu ain't a-dyin' yit?" She flung her own head on the soiled pillow; all the crisply waving, long ringlets flew over the mother's sunken chest; one fell across her parched lips.
Van Mander, wrong as to the date by eleven years which have fathered a host of spurious Holbeins on the Histories of Art, is apparently right as to the cause of death "the Plague." By the great discovery of Hans Holbein's Will, found by Mr. Black in 1861 among the archives of St.
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