Page:Frank Stockton - Rudder Grange.djvu/160

Rh "I haven't got no name for my novel. I intended to think one out to-night. I wrote this all of nights. And I don't read the first chapters, for they tell about my birth and my parentage and my early adventures. I'll just come down to what happened to me while you was away, because you'll be more anxious to hear about that. All that's written here is true, jus' the same as if I told it to you, but I've put it into novel language, because it seems to come easier to me."

And then, in a voice somewhat different from her ordinary tones, as if the "novel language" demanded it, she began to read—

"Chapter Five. The Lonely House and the Faithful Friend. Thus was I left alone. None but two dogs to keep me com-pa-ny. I milk-ed the low-ing kine and watre-ed and fed the steed, and then, after my fru-gal repast, I clo-sed the man-si-on, shutting out all re-collec-tions of the past and also foresights into the future. That night was a me-mor-able one. I slept soundly until the break of morn, but had the events transpired which after-ward oc-cur-red, what would have happen-ed to me no tongue can tell. Early the next day nothing hap-pened. Soon after breakfast the vener-able John came to bor-row some ker-o-sene oil and half a pound of sugar, but his attempt was foil-ed. I knew too well the in-sid-i-ous foe. In the very outset of his vil-li-an-y I sent him home with an empty can. For two long days I wan-der-ed amid the ver-dant path-ways of the garden and to the barn, whenever and anon my du-ty call-ed me, nor did I ere neg-lect the fowlery. No cloud o'er-spread this happy pe-ri-od of my life. But the cloud was ri-sing in the horizon although I saw it not. "It was about twenty-five minutes after eleven