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“Lugy!”

“Did you address a observation to me, Cap'n?”

“Yes, sir; on a former occasion I stated that you were
a villain and a wretch; I now add, that you are a poltroon!”

“Oh, Cap'n! Cap'n!” cried Lanky, who being wholly
ignorant of the meaning of the word poltroon, naturally considered
it something infinitely worse than wretch and villain.

“Yes, a poltroon!” continued the Captain, “and I will
wager a hundred pounds that your benighted ignorance is
such, that you do not know what it means.”

Lanky scratched his head.

“Come! say now, you rascal.”

“A poltroon?” said Lanky, studying the table; “is it
an individual who is broke into a hen-roost, and wringed the
necks of the cock-a-doodle-doo's, Cap'n?”

“No, you villain: you will never guess, at that rate.”

“Oh!” cried Lanky, “it's a feller who plays upon the
fiddle and don't know how!”

“No, sir.”

“Then I give it up, Cap'n: but I ain't a poltroon—I
ain't—that is, if it's any thing bad, leastways very bad.”

And Lanky was silent.

This conversation took place three or four days after the
scenes we have just related, in the mansion of the Captain.
The sun was declining—it was a pleasant afternoon, and the
waves of the James were lapping with a long swell upon the
shore beneath the cottage. The Captain occupied his habitual
seat, formerly used by old John Waters, and smoked his
meerschaum; Lanky sat doubled up upon his cricket, his
hands clasped around his knees, his fine new fiddle lying near;
his pine-knot head, and enormous feet, and striped stockings
and brilliant fustian waistcoat, all illuminated by the joy
shining from his eyes. Something had evidently occurred
very pleasing to Lanky, and his thoughts were plainly agreeable
thoughts.

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After his reply to the Captain, Lanky would have continued
his meditations, but this his master was by no means
willing to permit.

“You say,” continued the soldier, pouring forth a cloud
of snowy smoke, “that my charge against you, you scaramouch,
cannot be any thing bad,—`leastways very bad,' as
your elegant dialect has it. Now, sir, I will let you know
that `poltroon' is not a flattering expression. It means a
coward, sir!”

“Oh me! a coward, Cap'n!”

“Yes.”

“Me a coward?”

“Yes; I understand, sir, you are pluming yourself upon
overcoming one of the clergy the other day. Are you not
ashamed, you villain, to attack a holy man in the conscientious
discharge of his dignified and ennobling duty of training
up the youthful intellect in the paths of virtue and
exalted purity?”

And having addressed this stern reproach to Lanky, the
Captain smoked faster than ever. Lanky's face assumed an
expression of consternation.

“Why, Cap'n,” he said, “you called him a gobmoush,
yourself!”

The Captain forwned.

“I am not you, sir,” he said, “and I am surprised that
you place yourself on a level with me. The parson was an
old fellow-soldier, and we can interchange these small compliments;
but you, sir, are bound to regard him as a noble
spiritual guide.”

Lanky scratched his head.

“I say you are a poltroon, you rascal,” continued his
master, “in spite of your ferocious attack upon a man only
armed with a stick of wood, while you had a sword.”

“Oh! Cap'n, he was a-presumin' to threaten Donsy.”

“There—that is where you are a coward.”

“Oh, sir!”

“Donsy is the word.”

“Cap'n?”

“Ah! you don't understand. Well, sir, I say that you
are a coward because you have not attacked and reduced to
submission that citadel.”

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“Me, Cap'n?” said Lanky, with a self-satisfied smile, like
the sunshine on a pine knot.

“Yes, sir, and that in spite of every thing I have done for
you.”

Lanky smiled again.

“I gave you a seat in my coach by your sweetheart,—I
drank some execrable rum for your sake at that Mr. A. Z.
Smith's, the villain; I have done my best, opened the
trenches, fixed the scaling ladders, and when the word to advance
upon the fortress is passed to you, morbleu! you
hang fire, and lie down in despair like a sleepy dog.'

Lanky burst out:

“Oh, I ain't done it!”

“What do you mean?”

“I fit it out,” observed Lanky, triumphantly

“Speak, you scaramouch! how have you done—have you
really charged the enemy?”

“Yes, sir—leastways, I been a-courting Donsy,” said
Lanky, with simplicity.

The Captain burst into laughter.

“Have you really?” he said.

“Yes I is, Cap'n.”

“Tell me how it was, and if I find that you have acquitted
yourself bravely, I'll retract that unjust aspersion on
your courage.”

Lanky seemed nowise averse to complying with this request,
and said:

“You know, Cap'n, Donsy and me had a nice Saturday
together, after the things 'at took place at the Oldfield
school.”

“Do I know it? not a whit of it, master scaramouch.
Speak.”

“Well, sir,” said Lanky, with an expression of modest
pride at his own generalship, “we had a nice fish that day,
and we had a walk, yestiddy, down in the woods.”

“You unconscionable rascal—not content with water
scenery, you must explore the woodland, too.”

“Yes, Cap'n: that's just what we did; we 'splored the
woodlan'. On the previous 'casion we had a good time; but
oh, Cap'n, that wa'nt nothin' to the other.”

“You had a pleasant fishing frolic, did you?”

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“Yes, sur; 'fore we went away in the fine coach, Donsy
and me made a bargain to go on the next day a-fishin' together.
Well, Cap'n, we went thar—and I 'tacked the enemy
all the time. I remembered what you told me, sur, and I kept
my chin up and my eyes straight—for, you see, havin' reskied
Donsy from the parson, I was proud.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Donsy did'nt laugh at me much, I tell you; but she
was quite still, an' good, an' we fished all day; and when we
come back, she giv' me both her hands, and said, in her nice
little voice, `Come again, soon, Lanky.' I feel like a villain
talkin' 'bout it,” continued Lanky, “but you ain't hard to
talk to, Cap'n.”

The Captain appreciated this compliment and smoked on.

“Then come the races,” continued Lanky, “and you
know, sur, me and Donsy both got a prize; she got the quire
of ballads, an' I got the fiddle.”

“Well, sir.”

“I got the stockin's, too, said Lanky, proudly, “and they
was to be giv' up to the han'somest girl upon the ground.
'Course, sir, I giv' 'em to Donsy, I did.”

“Of course; I'd have liked to have seen you presume to
give them to any one else.”

“Well, sur,” continued Lanky, embracing his knees and
not heeding this interruption, “Donsy liked that, and I think
it made a impression on her, Cap'n. 'Tai'nt every day that
girls get silk stockin's, I tell you, and they like 'em accordin'.”

“A profound remark, sir,” said the Captain, “and quite
true. I admire the moral and philosophic sentiments with
which you adorn your discourse, Lanky; you are a man of
sense.”

Lanky received this compliment with a modest expression,
as who should say, “Well, I believe I am,” and so continued:—

“Them stockin's walked into her 'fections, Cap'n.”

“You mean, sir, that she donned the said stockings and
walked into yours, eh?” said the Captain.

“Oh, sur, she done that long before I giv' her the stockin's.”

“Well, proceed.”

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“She smiled so sweet on me that day, sur,” continued
Lanky, proudly, “that I thought I'd make a 'pintment with
her, and put the question 'mediately.”

“Quite right, Lanky.”

“I thought I heard somethin' a sayin' to me, `Go in,
Lanky—go in an' win;' I'm—”

“Exactly what every great man would tell you—not excepting
the grand Frederic.”

Lanky was proud of this comparison, and proceeded:

“So I tol' Donsy I was comin' next Saturday—bein' last
Saturday, sur—to walk with her in the woods and play my
fiddle.”

“Ah, you rascal! not content with personating Mars,
the god of war—you are ambitious to excel Apollo, the god
of music.”

Lanky felt prouder still at this nobler compliment than
the first.

“Well, sur,” said Lanky, “she said she would—and
promised to bring her quire o' ballads; it's mighty purty,
sur, an's got a picture in the front that beats the world—all
of lovely ladies an' han'some gentlemanses a playin' in the
woods.”

“Ah—really?”

“Yes, sur; and they've got long waistses, and carry
things with a crook at the top, and ribbons are flutterin'
every where, and they are a smilin' an' simperin' an'—makin'
love,” added Lanky, after hesitating a moment.

“Making love! that's why you like the Corydons and
Phillises so much! Go on, sir.”

“Well, Cap'n,” continued Lanky, clasping his hands
round his knees, twirling his thumbs one over the other delightedly,
and gazing at his feet, “well, sur, me an' Donsy
went—and oh! we had such a time. Would you b'lieve
me, she had brought a whole bundle of red ribbons; and
when we got to where we was to eat the snack—”

“Snack! you horrible and atrocious wretch! Did you
mix up snack with love? Lanky, you are a dreadful fellow!”

“Oh, sur, you know we was hungry; but Donsy didn't
eat much—nuther did I: and she only nibbled off a little
piece o' biscuit, like a pretty mouse, you know, Cap'n.”

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“Rascal! to compare your sweetheart to a mouse!”

“A pretty mouse, Cap'n,” said Lanky, correcting his
master; “but, howsomdever, I'll go on. I broke a cake in
two, and says I, `Donsy, that's my heart, if you won't love
me.' She laughed, and took a cake and eat it like a heart.
`This is mine, Lanky,' says she, blushin.' `May I have it?'
says I; and she didn't take away her hand,—only she
started up, droppin' the cake into my hand.”

“And what did you do with it, sir?”

“I eat it, sur,” said Lanky, with great simplicity.

“Go on!” said the Captain, shaking with laughter.

“Donsy started up first an' told me she would sing, and
I must then play. Oh! what a voice she's got, sur! It
makes me feel like honey was a droppin' down from the sky,
and a feller had his mouth open!”

“A fine sentiment,” said the Captain, generously.

“Well, sur, then I played my fiddle, and you may be
sure I made it say, `Donsy, I'm a dyin' for you.' I didn't
play any but the mournful chunes, an' I made 'em talk to
her, and she understood, for she sort o' blushed, sur. Well,
I got through, an' then Donsy, laughin', took up the ribbon,
an' pointin' to the picture in the book, said I must
have ribbon knots tied all over me, sur. I didn't keer, an'
she tied 'em—on my coat, my breast, my elbows, my hair:
and then she did herself so too. Oh, sur, how she looked!
I felt a sort o' tremblin' when I saw her beautiful hair all
flutterin' with ribbons; the body of her dress covered;
her shoes with big rosettes in 'em; and, if a feller might be
allowed to say it, the silk stockin's I giv' her, on. Oh! she
looked so bright an' red an' laughin'; and when she give me
a sort o' crooked thing, and took one herself, she looked like
the lady in the picture. She stopped a little then, an' I see
her blush. `You shall be my shepherd, Lanky,' she said,
in her melojus voice—and I answered quick as lightnin',
`Then you must be my shepherdess, my dear Miss Donsy,'
and she blushed agin! I knew the time had come, sur,”
cried Lanky; “I recollected your advice, an' I put the
question right to her!—and made her a speech!—and it's
all arranged!—and she's agreed to marry me!—and she's
the sweetest creatur in the world!—and I love her to

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distraction!—and I feel like a villain, and a rascal, and a hen-roost
thief for tellin' 'bout it!—and—”

Lanky burst into tears, and swayed about, and laughed,
and cried. The recollection of his happiness had brought
on an access of joyful tears in the honest fellow: and the
Captain laughed no longer at him.

“Lanky,” said he, “if the Corydons and Phillises of
antiquity were as honest lads and lasses as you and Donsy,
the old Arcadian days were truly happy!”

And Lanky only said:

“Oh, Cap'n!”