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"Poor, dear old Reed!" she said. And then, in quite another tone, "Poor Mr. Brenton! How totally impossible she is!" And, meanwhile, the "puffic' fibbous," quite unaware of their discussion of his personality and its injuries, lay smiling mirthfully up into the eyes of his old friend. "Spit it out, Brenton! Rift it aff yer chist!" he adjured him.
I'd say that if she was here this minute, for more'n once I said it to her face. Well, everybody 't died, she saved suthin' they wore or handled the last thing, an' laid it away in this chist; an' last time I see it opened, 't was full, an' she kind o' smacked her lips, an' said she should have to begin another. But the very next week she was took away."
"I'm thinking he's no far aweh," Roderick said, eagerly scanning all the ground in front of them. "We'll chist go forrit, sir; and you'll be ready to shoot, for, if he's only wounded, he may be up and off again when he sees us." "But do you really think I hit him?" Lionel said, anxiously enough. "I sah him struck," the keeper said, emphatically.
"The docther do sometime bring out one of them outlandish wurrds that nayther the divvil nor Father Murphy, more power to him! could make out at all at all; but, whin ye dhropped down this afthernoon on the dick alongside o' yer chist, an' I picked ye up, he says, sez he, ye was ayther a `comet, or in a `comet house, or somethin' loike that, I'll take me oath wid me dyin' breath, though what the divvil he manes, I'm sure I can't say, sor!"
The outlaw in the tree was after the chest hidden in the wagon; but Frances put his safety above the value of the treasure chest. "Heave that chist out of the end of the wagon, and be quick about it!" was the expected order from the desperado. "And don't try anything funny, young fellow." Pratt was in no mood to be "funny." He hesitated just a moment. But Frances exclaimed: "Do as he says!
"Lor', no, I ain't, Almiry Todd," said Mrs. Fosdick cheerfully, as she turned, laden with bags and bundles, from making her adieux to the boy driver. "I ain't had a mite o' supper, dear. I've been lottin' all the way on a cup o' that best tea o' yourn, some o' that Oolong you keep in the little chist. I don't want none o' your useful herbs."
TO tell about Tom Chist, and how he got his name, and how he came to be living at the little settlement of Henlopen, just inside the mouth of the Delaware Bay, the story must begin as far back as 1686, when a great storm swept the Atlantic coast from end to end.
"Why, then, that's something to start from, Tom," said his friend. "If we can find that, then maybe we can find whither they went from there." "If I was certain it was a treasure box," cried out Tom Chist, "I would rake over every foot of sand betwixt here and Henlopen to find it." "'Twould be like hunting for a pin in a haystack," said the Rev. Hilary Jones.
As Tom walked away home, it seemed as though a ton's weight of gloom had been rolled away from his soul. The next day he and Parson Jones were to go treasure-hunting together; it seemed to Tom as though he could hardly wait for the time to come. The next afternoon Parson Jones and Tom Chist started off together upon the expedition that made Tom's fortune forever.
We therefore leave you to say whether the chist shall, or shall not be opened." "I hope you do not believe I can hesitate, when my father's life's in danger, Deerslayer!" "Why, it's pretty much putting a scolding ag'in tears and mourning.
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