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Updated: May 15, 2025
Even in such a dim light as now displayed it to us, and by increasing the depth and unseen dangers of the gorge gave a kind of impressiveness to our movements, a nervous woman need not have feared to tread it, I wondered how often Mademoiselle had passed along it with her milk-pitcher.
They knocked at the door of the turnpike-keeper's little house, and tapped on the window shutters. Nothing could be heard but the sighing of the wind; and at last they turned away homewards. But next morning the milk-pitcher was still absent, and there was no smoke from the chimney. The village-elder was then informed. He ordered out the gendarme, and sent a locksmith to force the door.
Thoroughly frightened, I responded to the unwarranted invitation by retreating two steps down the stairs, whereupon the young ruffian jumped down and grasped the arm in which I held my packages. I don't know what nerved me up to such a heroic defense, but in the twinkling of an eye he fell sprawling down the stairs, followed by the flying remnants of my landlady's milk-pitcher.
He jumped into an old mud-scull, that lay floating among the bushes, and paddled up to her before she was wide enough awake to speak. "Why, Gypsy Breynton!" "I've been walking in my sleep," said Gypsy, with a little laugh; "I came out here to save Winnie from upsetting in a milk-pitcher, and then I woke up, and I did forget to lock the boat, and I couldn't get ashore."
Once she flung the milk-pitcher at my head, and when it hit and broke, it seemed to add some to the Milky Way. Several of those fancy designs up there I can remember making. They are all pretty enough to look at now, but I did not enjoy them much when I first saw them. I don't care to make any more, and, besides, there are plenty already.
Junia would understand these things. As he sat at his breakfast, with the newspaper spread against the teapot and the milk-pitcher, he felt satisfied he had done the bold and right, if incomprehensible, thing. But in another hotel, at another breakfast, another man read of Carnac's candidature with sickening surprise. It was Barode Barouche.
The milk-pitcher, I must not forget to say, retained its marvelous quality of being never empty, when it was desirable to have it full. Whenever an honest, good-humored, and free-hearted guest took a draught from this pitcher, he invariably found it the sweetest and most invigorating fluid that ever ran down his throat.
Once a little boy, who could just stretch himself up as high as his papa's knee, climbed surreptitiously into the store-closet and upset the milk-pitcher. Terrified, he crept behind the flour-barrel, and there Nemesis found him, and he looked so charming and so guilty that two or three others were called to come and enjoy the sight.
Go tell Mandy Calline ter git th' milk-pitcher 'n' go to the cow-pen 'n' fetch some milk fer breakfus. No tellin' when they'll git thoo out there. Then you hurry back 'n' finish fryin' that pan o' pertaters. No need ter 'sturb gra'mammy till breakfus is ready ter put on th' table; 'n' yer pappy 'n' th' boys'll ha' ter wash when they come from th' lot."
Junia would understand these things. As he sat at his breakfast, with the newspaper spread against the teapot and the milk-pitcher, he felt satisfied he had done the bold and right, if incomprehensible, thing. But in another hotel, at another breakfast, another man read of Carnac's candidature with sickening surprise. It was Barode Barouche.
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