Our American Cousin [18]
your knife, like a good boy. [Throws away stick up stage.] I must cure you of that dreadful trick of whittling.
Asa Oh, if you only knew how it helps me to keep my eyes off you, Miss Mary.
Mary But you needn't keep your eyes off me.
Asa I'm afraid I must, my eyes are awful tale-tellers, and they might be saying something you wouldn't like to hear, and that might make you mad, and then you'd shut up school, and send me home feeling about as small as a tadpole with his tail bobbed off.
Mary Don't be alarmed, I don't think I will listen to any tales that your eyes may tell unless they're tales I like and ought to hear.
Asa If I thought they'd tell any other, Miss Mary, I pluck them right out and throw them in the first turnip patch I came to.
Mary And now tell me more about your home in America. Do you know I've listened to your stories until I'm half a backwoodsman's wife already?
Asa [Aside.] Wouldn't I like to make her a whole one.
Mary Yes, I can shut my eyes and almost fancy I see your home in the backwoods. There are your two sisters running about in their sunbonnets.
Asa Debby and Nan? Yes!
Mary Then I can see the smoke curling from the chimney, then men and boys working in the fields.
Asa Yes.
Mary The girls milking the cows, and everybody so busy.
Asa Yes.
Mary And then at night, home come your four big brothers from the hunt laden with game, tired and foot sore, and covered with snow.
Asa That's so.
Mary Then how we lasses bustle about to prepare supper. The fire blazes on the hearth, while your good old mother cooks the slapjacks.
Asa [Getting very excited.] Yes.
Mary And then after supper the lads and lasses go to a corn husking. The demijohn of old peach brandy is brought out and everything is so nice.
Asa I shall faint in about five minutes, Miss Mary you're a darned sight too good for this country. You ought to make tracks.
Mary Make what?
Asa Make tracks, pack up, and emigrate to the roaring old state of Vermont, and live 'long with mother. She'd make you so comfortable, and there would be sister Debby and Nab, and well, I reckon I'd be there, too.
Mary Oh! I'm afraid if I were there your mother would find the poor English girl a sad incumbrance.
Asa Oh, she ain't proud, not a mite, besides they've all seen Britishers afore.
Mary I suppose you allude to my cousin, Edward Trenchard?
Asa Well, he wan't the only one, there was the old Squire, Mark Trenchard.
Mary [Starting Aside.] My grandfather!
Asa Oh! he was a fine old hoss, as game as a bison bull, and as gray as a coon in the fall; you see he was kinder mad with his folks here, so he came over to America to look after the original branch of the family, that's our branch. We're older than the Trenchard's on this side of the water. Yes we've got the start of the heap.
Mary Tell me, Mr. Trenchard, did he never receive any letters from his daughter?
Asa Oh yes, lots of them, but the old cuss never read them, though. He chucked them in the fire as soon as he made out who they come from.
Mary [Aside.] My poor mother.
Asa You see, as nigh as we could reckon it up, she had gone and got married again his will, and that made him mad, and well, he was a queer kind of a rusty fusty old coon, and it appeared that he got older, and rustier, and fustier and coonier every fall, you see it always took him in the fall, it was too much for him. He got took down with the ague, he was so bad the doctors gave him up, and mother she went for a minister, and while she was gone the old man called me in his room, `come in, Asa, boy,' says he, and his voice rang loud and clear as a bell, `come in,' says he. Well I comed in; `sit down,' says he; well I sot down. You see I was always a favorite with the old man. `Asa, my boy,' says he, takin' a great piece of paper, `when I die, this sheet of paper makes you heir to all my property in England'. Well, you can calculate I pricked up my ears about that time, bime-by the minister came, and I left the room,
Asa Oh, if you only knew how it helps me to keep my eyes off you, Miss Mary.
Mary But you needn't keep your eyes off me.
Asa I'm afraid I must, my eyes are awful tale-tellers, and they might be saying something you wouldn't like to hear, and that might make you mad, and then you'd shut up school, and send me home feeling about as small as a tadpole with his tail bobbed off.
Mary Don't be alarmed, I don't think I will listen to any tales that your eyes may tell unless they're tales I like and ought to hear.
Asa If I thought they'd tell any other, Miss Mary, I pluck them right out and throw them in the first turnip patch I came to.
Mary And now tell me more about your home in America. Do you know I've listened to your stories until I'm half a backwoodsman's wife already?
Asa [Aside.] Wouldn't I like to make her a whole one.
Mary Yes, I can shut my eyes and almost fancy I see your home in the backwoods. There are your two sisters running about in their sunbonnets.
Asa Debby and Nan? Yes!
Mary Then I can see the smoke curling from the chimney, then men and boys working in the fields.
Asa Yes.
Mary The girls milking the cows, and everybody so busy.
Asa Yes.
Mary And then at night, home come your four big brothers from the hunt laden with game, tired and foot sore, and covered with snow.
Asa That's so.
Mary Then how we lasses bustle about to prepare supper. The fire blazes on the hearth, while your good old mother cooks the slapjacks.
Asa [Getting very excited.] Yes.
Mary And then after supper the lads and lasses go to a corn husking. The demijohn of old peach brandy is brought out and everything is so nice.
Asa I shall faint in about five minutes, Miss Mary you're a darned sight too good for this country. You ought to make tracks.
Mary Make what?
Asa Make tracks, pack up, and emigrate to the roaring old state of Vermont, and live 'long with mother. She'd make you so comfortable, and there would be sister Debby and Nab, and well, I reckon I'd be there, too.
Mary Oh! I'm afraid if I were there your mother would find the poor English girl a sad incumbrance.
Asa Oh, she ain't proud, not a mite, besides they've all seen Britishers afore.
Mary I suppose you allude to my cousin, Edward Trenchard?
Asa Well, he wan't the only one, there was the old Squire, Mark Trenchard.
Mary [Starting Aside.] My grandfather!
Asa Oh! he was a fine old hoss, as game as a bison bull, and as gray as a coon in the fall; you see he was kinder mad with his folks here, so he came over to America to look after the original branch of the family, that's our branch. We're older than the Trenchard's on this side of the water. Yes we've got the start of the heap.
Mary Tell me, Mr. Trenchard, did he never receive any letters from his daughter?
Asa Oh yes, lots of them, but the old cuss never read them, though. He chucked them in the fire as soon as he made out who they come from.
Mary [Aside.] My poor mother.
Asa You see, as nigh as we could reckon it up, she had gone and got married again his will, and that made him mad, and well, he was a queer kind of a rusty fusty old coon, and it appeared that he got older, and rustier, and fustier and coonier every fall, you see it always took him in the fall, it was too much for him. He got took down with the ague, he was so bad the doctors gave him up, and mother she went for a minister, and while she was gone the old man called me in his room, `come in, Asa, boy,' says he, and his voice rang loud and clear as a bell, `come in,' says he. Well I comed in; `sit down,' says he; well I sot down. You see I was always a favorite with the old man. `Asa, my boy,' says he, takin' a great piece of paper, `when I die, this sheet of paper makes you heir to all my property in England'. Well, you can calculate I pricked up my ears about that time, bime-by the minister came, and I left the room,