"Well, Joe," said the trembling old lady. "I'm sure I have been a good mistress to you, Joe. You have invariably been treated very kindly. You have never had too much to do; and you have always had enough to eat."
This last was an appeal to the fat boy's most sensitive feelings. He seemed touched, as he replied, emphatically—
"I knows I has."
"Then what can you want to do now?" said the old lady, gaining courage.
"I wants to make your flesh creep," replied the boy. This sounded like a very bloodthirsty mode of showing one's gratitude; and as the old lady did not precisely understand the process by which such a result was to be attained, all her former horrors returned.
"What do you think I see in this very arbour last night?" inquired the boy.
"Bless us! What?" exclaimed the old lady, alarmed at the solemn manner of the corpulent youth.
"The strange gentleman—him as had his arm hurt—a kissin' and huggin'———"
"Who, Joe? None of the servants, I hope."
"Worser than that," roared the fat boy, in the old lady's ear.
"Not one of my grand-da'aters?"
"Worser than that."
"Worse than that, Joe!" said the old lady, who had thought this the extreme limit of human atrocity. "Who was it, Joe? I insist upon knowing."
The fat boy looked cautiously round, and having concluded his survey, shouted in the old lady's ear:
"Miss Rachael."
"What!" said the old lady, in a shrill tone. "Speak louder."
"Miss Rachael," roared the fat boy.
"My da'ater!"
The train of nods which the fat boy gave by way of
