Part 12 (2/2)
”Emily Warren, we expect thee to eat thy Thanksgiving dinner with us; and that young gobbler will probably be on the table. Now what part of him will thee take on that occasion?”
”A piece of the breast, if you please.”
”Richard Morton, is not Emily Warren as false and cruel as I am?”
”Just about.”
”Is thee not afraid of her?”
”I would be if she were unfriendly.”
”Oh, thee thinks everybody in this house is friendly. Emily Warren, thee must keep up our good name,” he added, with a mischievous nod toward her.
”Mr. Yocomb, you are forgetting the chickens altogether. There are some staid and elderly hens that are going to bed in disgust, you have kept them waiting so long.”
”See how quick they'll change their minds,” he said, as he threw down a handful of corn. ”Now isn't that just like a hen?” he added, as they hastened back.
”And just like a woman also, I'm sure you want to suggest,” said Miss Warren.
”I suppose thee never changes thy mind.”
”I'm going to change the subject. Poultry with their feathers on don't interest me very much. The male birds remind me of a detestable cla.s.s of conceited men, that one must see daily in the city, whose gallantry is all affectation, and who never for a moment lose sight of themselves or their own importance. That strutting gobbler there, Mr. Morton, reminds me of certain eminent statesmen whom your paper delights to honor, and I imagine that that ridiculous creature embodies their idea of the American eagle. Then the hens have such a simple, unthinking aspect. They act as if they expected to be crowed over as a matter of course; and thus typify the followers of these statesmen, who are so pre-eminent in their own estimation. Their exalted perches seem to be awarded unquestioningly.”
”So you think, Miss Warren, that I have the simple, unthinking aspect typified by the physiognomy of these hens?”
”Mr. Morton, I was generalizing. We always except present company.
Remember, I disagree with your paper, not you; but why you look up to these human species of the gobbler is something I can't understand, and being only a _woman_, that need not seem strange to you.”
”Since I must tell you the truth on all occasions, _nolens volens_, you have hit on a subject wherein I differ from my paper. Human phases of the gobbler are not pleasant.”
”But the turkey phase _is, very_,” said Mr. Yocomb, throwing a handful of corn down before his favorite, which, like certain eminent statesmen, immediately looked after his own interests.
”Mr. Yocomb, please, let me help you feed the horses,” said Miss Warren, leading the way into the barn, where on one side were mows for hay and grain, and, on the other, stalls for several horses. The sleek and comfortable animals seemed to know the young girl, for they thrust out their black and brown noses toward her and projected their ears instead of laying them back viciously, as when I approached; and one old plow-horse that had been much neglected, until Miss Warren began to pet him, gave a loud ecstatic whinny.
”Oh, you big, honest old fellows!” she exclaimed, caressing one and another, ”I'd rather teach you than half my pupils.”
”In which half do you place me?” I asked.
”You? oh, I forgot; I was to teach you topography. I will a.s.sign you by and by, after you have had a few lessons.”
”A man ought to do as well as a horse, so I hope to win your favor.”
”I wish all men did as well as Mr. Yocomb's horses. They evidently feel they have the family name and respectability to keep up. Mr. Yocomb, what is it that smells so sweetly?”
”That is the red-top clover we cut last week.”
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