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Updated: May 3, 2025
Charlie, Elinor, Harry, and Jane were quietly talking together; Jane having now resumed her place in the family circle. "You do paint portraits," said Elinor; "I have seen those of your mother and Miss Patsey." Charlie changed colour, and hastily denied any claim to be called a portrait-painter. "Yet it would be pleasant," said Elinor, "to have a picture of my cousin painted by you."
The rest of the pack, with a confidence gained in many a successful riot, got to them as promptly as if six Whips were behind them, and the whole faction plunged into a little wood on the top of what was evidently a burning scent. "Was it a fox, Patsey?" said the Master excitedly.
She found her cousins together; Emmeline's eyes were red, as if she had just been weeping; Mrs. Hilson was stretched on a sofa, in a very elegant morning-gown, reading a novel of very doubtful morality. Patsey offered her hand, which was taken quite cavalierly. "Well, Patsey," she said, "I hope you have not come to be a spy upon me."
While Wilford Ducker was unfastening the china buttons on his waist, preparatory to a season of rest and retirement, that he might the better ponder upon the sins of disobedience and evil associations, Patsey Watson was opening and shutting his new knife proudly. "It was easy done," he was saying to himself. "I'm kinder sorry I jewed him down now. Might as well ha' let him have the week.
"But, here are sketches of faces," said Elinor, looking over the portfolio; "very good, too; this is excellent grandpapa, do you know yourself? and Miss Patsey very good Aunt Agnes, too! Why, Charles, you must have drawn all these from memory." The sketches Elinor was looking at, were roughly done in ink or lead-pencil; but were generally good likenesses. Mr.
Everything here was very interesting to Patsey; the costumes of the women and children, the instruments of husbandry, the air of freedom and independence of the people, and the absence of all ceremony, interested and pleased her.
But I have not a creature near me to sympathize with me!" "Do not say that; your father is down-stairs, grown old with grief during the last week!" Mrs. Hilson did not answer. "You have known me all your life, from the time you were a child," added Miss Patsey, taking her cousin's passive hand in her own; "and I ask, if you have ever known me to deceive you by an untruth?"
The greater portion of a month wore by, during which he never gained the slightest knowledge of the fate of Jim Travers. Tom went to the morgue, and applied to the police, and, in fact, used every means at his command to learn something. He occasionally encountered his friend Patsey, who rendered all the assistance he could, but it availed nothing.
While he was addressing Miss Patsey in his most polished manner, just marked with an extra-touch of 'affability, for her especial benefit, he could not but wonder that her countenance should still wear the same placid, contented air as of old; it seemed, indeed, as if this expression had only been confirmed by time and trials.
His dark, oblique-set eyes, his high cheek-bones, his sharp chin, are vulpine to the last degree, and, as he slouches along with his shoulders rucked up and his knees bent, he looks like the Representative Thief. He is called Patsey, and I frequently spare him a copper; but his chief patron is Blackey, who often hands him the dregs of a pot of beer.
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