Read Online Miss Grief and Other Stories by Constance Fenimore Woolson - Free Book Online Page B

coal-miner!” I said, during a momentary absence of our hostess.
    â€œNever fear; it will be appreciated,” replied Ermine.
    â€œWhat is this king’s carriage of which you spoke?” I asked, during the next hour’s conversation.
    â€œO, when they first come over from Germany, they had a sort of a king; he knew more than the rest, and he lived in that big brick house with dormel-winders and a cuperler, that stands next the garden. The carriage was hisn, and it had steps to let down, and curtains and all; they don’t use it much now he’s dead. They’re a queer set anyhow! The women look like meal-sacks. After Sol seen me, he couldn’t abide to look at ’em.”
    Soon after six we heard the great gate creak.
    â€œThat’s Sol,” said the woman, “and now of course Roarer’ll come in and track all over my floor.” The hall door openedand a shadow passed into the opposite room, two shadows,—a man and a dog.
    â€œHe’s going to wash himself now,” continued the wife; “he’s always washing himself, just like a horse.”
    â€œNew fact in natural history, Dora love,” observed Ermine.
    After some moments the miner appeared,—a tall, stooping figure with high forehead, large blue eyes, and long thin yellow hair; there was a singularly lifeless expression in his face, and a far-off look in his eyes. He gazed about the room in an absent way, as though he scarcely saw us. Behind him stalked the Roarer, wagging his tail slowly from side to side.
    â€œNow, then, don’t yer see the ladies, Sol? Where’s yer manners?” said his wife, sharply.
    â€œAh,—yes,—good evening,” he said, vaguely. Then his wandering eyes fell upon Ermine’s beautiful face, and fixed themselves there with strange intentness.
    â€œYou received my note, Mr. Bangs?” said my cousin in her soft voice.
    â€œYes, surely. You are Erminia,” replied the man, still standing in the centre of the room with fixed eyes. The Roarer laid himself down behind his master, and his tail, still wagging, sounded upon the floor with a regular tap.
    â€œNow then, Sol, since you’ve come home, perhaps you’ll entertain the ladies while I get supper,” quoth Mrs. Bangs; and forthwith began a clatter of pans.
    The man passed his long hand abstractedly over his forehead. “Eh,” he said with long-drawn utterance,—“eh-h? Yes, my rose of Sharon, certainly, certainly.”
    â€œThen why don’t you do it?” said the woman, lighting the fire in the brick stove.
    â€œAnd what will the ladies please to do?” he answered, his eyes going back to Ermine.
    â€œWe will look over your pictures, sir,” said my cousin, rising; “they are in the upper room, I believe.”
    A great flush rose in the painter’s thin cheeks. “Will you,” he said eagerly,—“will you? Come!”
    â€œIt’s a broken-down old hole, ladies; Sol will never let me sweep it out. Reckon you’ll be more comfortable here,” said Mrs. Bangs, with her arms in the flour.
    â€œNo, no, my lily of the valley. The ladies will come with me; they will not scorn the poor room.”
    â€œA studio is always interesting,” said Ermine, sweeping up the rough stairs behind Solomon’s candle. The dog followed us, and laid himself down on an old mat, as though well accustomed to the place. “Eh-h, boy, you came bravely through the storm with the lady’s note,” said his master, beginning to light candle after candle. “See him laugh!”
    â€œCan a dog laugh?” I asked.
    â€œCertainly; look at him now. What is that but a grin of happy contentment? Don’t the Bible say, ‘grin like a dog’?”
    â€œYou seem much attached to the Roarer.”
    â€œTuscarora, lady, Tuscarora. Yes, I love him well. He has been with me through all, and he has watched the