"Aye, aye! I hear you. You needn't batter down the doors. I'm a-going to
get up, though it's very early, and I an't as young as I used to be
twenty years ago, nyther," grumbled the "farmer," as with many a grunt
and sigh, as of an old and weary man, he got up and began to dress
himself.
"Sybil," he whispered to his wife before leaving the room, "I shall have
to take my breakfast at a stall in the market-house, and I shall not be
back until the market is out, which will be about twelve o'clock. You
can have your breakfast brought up here. And mind, my darling, don't
forget to put on your wig, and keep up your character."
"I shall be very careful, dear Lyon," she answered, as he kissed and
left her.
Lyon Berners went down stairs, where he found the landlord, who was an
"early bird," waiting for him.
"Morning, farmer. What is it that you've brought to market, anyways?"
he said, greeting his guest.
"Mostly garden truck," answered Lyon.
"No poultry, eggs, nor butter?"
"No."
"'Cause, if you had, I might deal with you myself."
"Well, you see, landlord, them kind of produce is ill convenient to
bring a long ways in a wagon. And I came from a good ways down the
country," explained Lyon, as he took his long leathern whip from the
corner where he had left it, and went out to look after his team.
He found it all right, and he mounted the seat and drove to the market
space, and took a stand, and began to offer his produce as zealously as
any farmer on the ground--taking care, in the mean time, to wear his
spectacles and broad-brimmed hat, and to keep up his character in voice
and manner; and, as the morning advanced, he began to drive a brisk
business.
Meantime Sybil, left alone in her poor room at the little inn, arose
and locked the door after Lyon, to prevent intrusion before she should
effect her disguise, and when she had thus insured her privacy, she
began to dress.
As soon as she had transformed herself, she opened the door and called
for Rachel.
The landlord's daughter entered, giving her guest good-morning, and
kindly inquiring how she had slept.
"I slept like a top! But I'm not well this morning neither. So I'd just
like to have my victuals sent up here," answered Sybil.
"Very well; what would you like?"
"Fried fish, and pork-steaks, and bri'led chickings, and grilled bacon,
and--let me see! Have you any oysters?"
"Yes, very fine ones."
"Well, then, I'll take some stewed oysters too, and some poached eggs,
and preserved quinces, and fried potatoes, and corn pone, and hot rolls,
and buckwheat cakes, and cold bread and butter, and some coffee, and
buttermilk and sweet milk. And that's all, I believe; for, you see, I
an't well, and I haven't come to my stomach yet; but if I can think of
anything else, I will let you know.