In the mean time a small "out-building" of Manchester Scarborough's had also been injured by the same severe wind. Vansant posted off very early to the same workman. However, Jones was in advance, and had already employed the carpenter. This was no pleasant state of affairs for the Dutchman, who, on account of his size, had been permitted to carry his points without regard to right or wrong, and had been spoiled to such a degree that he made every person with whom he dealt submit to his own way and will. But this time he had to encounter one who, though advanced in years as well as himself, so far as honorableness was concerned, acted with the utmost pliancy, but when he saw that his rights were at stake, was jealous to maintain his position. After trying every inducement by way of entreaty to no purpose, the Dutchman had recourse to bribery. "How much monish do you scharge for te day's work, Mr. Carpisher ?" "A dollar and a half a day," was the reply. inan. "Den I will give you two dollish," said the DutchTo this the carpenter answered pretty coldly: "I am not the man to be used in that kind o' style, Mr. Vansant, I assure you. Mr. Jones has employed me, and I intend to oblige him." "Never mind that, Mr. Carpisher; me will shettle dat business mit him; so come along mit me." Turning round to Jones, who so far had only been a lookeron, and shaking his fist in the face of the unoffending fisherman, he said : "As for you, I vil kilt you mit dis, if you say one vurd, you low-life skunk.” "What do you mean?" inquired Jones. "I mean dat de carpisher shall vurk for me anyhow, and you can't help yourself." Jones began to feel now like correcting the too familiar stranger, but he bit his lips, and merely told him that if he knew what was best for himself, he had better not get over the bounds of gentlemanly politeness and civility. This only made the disappointed man more aggravated. He pulled off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and prepared to assault Jones, who was not exactly prepared to ward his first blow. Reeling backward, he would have fallen had it not been for the carpenter, who was standing near, and caught him in his arms. Instantly recovering, however, he struck his antagonist a blow under the left eye that felled him sprawling to the ground. After giving him a severe drubbing, he was permitted to depart in peace, with the command to "sin no more," while the two others walked on towards the Onancock. After getting home, Manchester observing the impression of Jones' fist upon his worthy's face, inquired the cause, to which he received the following answer: "Dat same villain vich you seed mit de sheep, dit it; and he is no more ty brover dan Vanshant is; but one ting I knows, he is von pig fighter." This seemed to bring back Scarborough's cheerful ness, and he enjoyed a hearty laugh at the expense of his defeated friend. In a few days Jones wrote a letter to Mrs. Elizabeth Scarborough, the mother of Alonzo, informing her of the dreadful catastrophe that had made her a widow and her first-born boy an orphan After waiting two or three weeks for a reply and receiving none, he wrote again and again; but with the same success. Deeming it his duty, he began to make preparations to accompany Alonzo to New-York, where the boy said that he could easily find his mother's house. When Aunt Amie heard this, she shook her head and sighed, saying, "That 'crossing the bay' was not what it was cracked up to be;" though the real cause of her objection was, she did not like to stay alone in the cottage till his return. But " massa Jones wished her to do so, and if she were to lose her life by it, let it be lost." Like all other negroes, she was fearful, superstitious, and suspecting; therefore it was decidedly against her disposition to tarry, but for him she would jeopardize her very existence. CHAPTER VI. "To speak the last, the parting word, "Night cometh on: the evening star To him whose home is far away."-MOORE. THE day having at length arrived for Jones and Alonzo to take their departure, and, every thing needful in readiness, accompanied by the old woman, they proceeded down to the-landing place, where the yawl of the schooner which was to take them on, was waiting. After embracing the boy, Aunt Amie took the hand of her good master, and said: "Massa Jones, I does hate to see you be going I is not afeard dat I will never see you no more; away. but dare is a feeling here" (placing her hand upon her breast) "what pains me very hard. I is bin living wid you for many long years, and in all dat time you have never found fault of Amic, nor has Amie any time found harm of massa Jones." This was all she could say. Tears, humble yet sincere, flowed freely down her rough-hewn face. "No," said Jones, "we have dwelt in peace together; God grant that we may meet again." "Amen!" responded from the lips of the faithful servant as the boat moved off from the shore. She turned her back upon the departing voyagers-shall we say, never to behold the kind visage of Amos Jones again on earth? She continued to weep long after his voice, telling her to be composed, was hushed by the plying oars and lost in the distance. When they ranged alongside the impatient schooner, her bending form was seen disappearing behind a woody bluff that skirted the flowing stream. The anchor was weighed; the sails, which had heretofore been hoisted, swelled with the pressing wind, and like a white-winged bird, sped the merry craft upon her mission. The boy was very lively with the anticipation of seeing once more his dear mother, who had soothed him to sleep when an infant upon her bosom, and sung the lullaby as "evening let her curtain down," and the coals burned feebly in the grate; when the father was rocked by the ocean wave, and the heart of the mother felt sick and sorrowful. He was thinking how glad she would be to see him after so long an absence, when the thought of the sad news he was bearing home of a husband's death, and a tear the most mournful that he had ever shed trickled down his cheek. |