Chapter IV: The Double Sleigh and the Goose-Nest

Hagar’s own private dreams of amusement are not to be forgotten, you may be assured. After the bells had been thoroughly scoured, the furs mended, and he had got all the work possible out of her, Dan never once referred to the promised sleigh-ride.

However, Hagar was not a woman to be trifled with after that fashion. She might bear a great deal, and be easily persuaded into doing half her companion’s labor; but that sleigh-ride was a thing the little woman had set her heart upon, and have it she would.

The night before thanksgiving, she reminded Dan of his promise, but his attention was occupied with other things; and it was not until she repeated her interrogatories very sharply that he heard at all.

“I say, you Dan, is that ar’ goose-nest ready?”

“In course it am, Hagar. This gemmen neber forgets his word.”

“So much de better,” said Hagar, sniffing.

“Mr. Peter, I ’spects we kin show you sleigh-ridin’ dat’ll be hard to beat, down in York, if cullered pussons do own their horses and sleighs, as ye tells me.”

The gallant Peter answered that he knew of one lubly cullered pusson ob de fair sect as did not need to own a hoss and cutter to make her killinger dan all de York gals put togedder. At which Hagar resolved to have that sleigh-ride out of Dan, or make him suffer for it.

The next morning she spoke of it again; and Peter, never having seen a “goose-nest,” asked for a sight of it.

Dan winked and screwed up his face in vain. There was no getting rid of the request, and, like an able general, he put the boldest face possible upon the matter.

“Sartin, Mr. Peter; do yerself de trouble to step out back of de barn,” he said, with a majestic wave of the hand, and flourished himself out of the room, quite ready to be surprised at the disappearance of a “goose-nest,” which had not existed for the last three years.

In a few moments the pair returned to the kitchen, where Hagar was awaiting Peter’s opinion of the nest. She was startled by a volley of exclamations from Dan, who entered like a man perfectly furious; and Peter followed, looking even more stupid than usual.

“De laws sake!” screamed Hagar. “Hev you seen a ghost thanksgiving mornin’, Dan?”

“It’s gone!” gasped he. “Quite gone!”

“What, de ghost? Oh, you didn’t see one! ’Taint true! Oh! massy’s sake, whar’s my missus? Ketch hold of me, somebody, I’m a gwine to faint! Was it railly a ghost, Dan?”

“I say it’s gone!” he exclaimed, with great emphasis.

“De ghost?”

“No, de ‘goose-nest,’ you fool. Who’s a-talking ’bout a ghost?”

Hagar came out of her spasm of fright, but she went off in a convulsion of rage, the like of which Dan had several times witnessed, and never failed to tremble before.

“Gone!” she repeated, scornfully. “Gone! Don’t tell me! Oh, you lazy wampire, you ontruthful smut-ball!” changing rapidly to hoarse tones of indignation. “It never was thar, you awdasheous liar you! And if it is gone, you’d better go arter it; for I’ll make dis ere kitchen too hot to hold ye, see if I don’t!”

“Why, Hagar, Hagar!” expostulated Dan, retreating as fast as she advanced. “Don’t be so corniptious! ’Taint my fault: somebody’s stole it. I seed it thar back of de barn on de top of de hen-house wid my own eyes, afore I went to bed, and so did Mr. Peter. Didn’t you?” he added, with an appealing look at that personage.

“Leastwise I heerd you remark that thar was its restin’-place,” said Peter.

“Thar now, you see, Hagar! Don’t be obstropolous! A gemmen can’t help what ain’t his fault,” pleaded Dan.

“Don’t tell me!” shouted the infuriated little woman. “I’ll be even wid yer, yes I will! Wait till de dinner comes! How much of dat turkey do yer tink yer’ll get? I know dat turkey’s gwine to get lost ’tween de out-room and kitchen, jest like yer goose-nest did. You’ll see,—only wait. Dis isn’t gwine to end here,—you jest wait!”

Dan was touched upon his tenderest point. A beating even with Hagar’s broomstick he might have endured, but the thought of losing his dinner was agony. It was certainly important that he should mollify Hagar, for he knew that she was quite capable of keeping her word.

“Do wait momentary,” he said; “don’t be kitin’ at a pusson so, Hagar! Le’s see. Dar’s de sleigh. Dey’s goin’ out in dat! But dar’s the cutter——”

“Wal?” asked Hagar, impatiently; “wal?”

“But massa lent dat to Miss Peasely dis blessed mornin’.”

Hagar made a rush at him, but Dan retired behind Peter for protection.

“Don’t, now don’t?” he cried. “Oh, I kin fix it! Clar up, Hagar, clar up. I’ve got it! Thar’s an old crockery crate up in the loft,—thar’s plenty of straw. I’ll cut a couple of poles for runners, and rig it up in no time.”

“Do it now,” said Hagar, “or yer’ll git no dinner. ’Pend on dat.”

“In course, Hagar, but yer’d ort to be more ‘scrumptious afore strangers. That ar’ goose-nest was ready to receive yer lubly form,—it railly was.”

Hagar showed symptoms of reawakening ire.

“Wal, wal, neber mind. I’se gwine to fix another,—thar, thar!”

Dan retreated, and for once really was compelled to work in earnest. He brought down the old crockery crate, in which the hens had built their nests for a good twelve-months, tore open bundles of rye-straw, and twisted it into ropes, which were interwoven, basket-wise, through the wood of the crate till the goose-nest began to take promising form. But when half through his work, Dan grew tired, and sat down on the edge to ruminate, dragging the straw rope loosely in his hands “That is no use,” he muttered. “Why can’t a pusson hab him own fun widout workey, workey, workey foreber. How I’se jes tuckered out a-tryin’ ter please that gal as ain’t gwin ter be pleased, do what I will. I’se jis a good min’ ter give it all up, I has, and cut over ter town. Golly, wouldn’t she be mad. Ki! I’se a mind ter do it.”

“Dan, I say yer Dan, am dat nest ’bout built,” cried a sharp voice from the house.

Dan started to his work instantaneously.

“Dar it am, yer,—golly, dar ain’t no rest for dis nigger when she’s ’bout. She takes a fellar right and lef, she does. Darn her.”

A rustle in the straw, and Hagar’s black head peered over.

“What am that you’se sayin’?”

“Oh, nothin’, Hagar. I’se only throwin’ in a little chunk of a prayer, wid de work and kinder askin’ help ’bout dis ere goose-nest, dat it may be wordy ob its lubly burden when de fairest ob her sect gits inter it. Hope yer ’scuse me.”

Hagar waded-knee deep through the straw and came out close by Dan. Her black face beamed all over when she saw the progress of his work.

“Why Dan, Dan, yer blessed nigger, yer. If it ain’t enamost done. Here, chile. I’se been fryin’ doughnuts and ab broughten yer some hot in my apron; ’sides dat, I’se got a mug ob ginger an cider by de fire, ready for de hot tongs de minit yer done.”

“Oh, Hagar!”

“Dar, Dan. Work ’way! work ’way! I’ll go in an git de tongs red hot. Won’t de cider sizzle?”

Dan set to work with a will. The “goose-nest” was rigged, but, owing to his haste, by no means with the care requisite. The wisps of straw were not firmly tied, and the runners were put on in a very unworkmanlike style. Altogether, it was a deceptive thing, quite worthy of its originator. But, nevertheless, it was ready; and, towards the middle of the afternoon, they decided to start.

Dan brought out a broken string of bells from the loft remarking that “thar was music in ’em yet.” Mrs. Arnold furnished the colored party with quilts, and every thing was made as comfortable as circumstances permitted.

It was decided to drive round for Hagar’s friend, Miss Dinah, and afterwards they were to take the road over the hill, as that promised the best sleighing.

Hagar arrayed herself in her best cam-colored petticoat, and madder-red short-gown. The dark hood was lined with yellow, and her tresses were dexterously divided into innumerable little plaits, each tied with an end of red ribbon, and floating about her face in the most picturesque manner.

“As lubly as de mornin’,” said Dan, when she appeared at the kitchen-door, ready to start, and Peter echoed the opinion.

Hagar was only a woman, after all, and these compliments quite restored her good humor. The two gallants assisted her over the side of the crate, and deposited her in the snuggest corner of the improvised vehicle.

According to promise, Dan brought forth a hot brick, neatly folded in red flannel, which he placed at her feet, observing that “they were lubly as two chestnuts in a bur.” Then, tucking the patchwork quilts around her, he waved his hand majestically for Peter to climb over the side, and followed him, holding whip and rein in one hand, while he clung to the nest desperately with the other. Settling down in front, he began to shake the reins, chirruping at the old horse, till he started off at a respectable trot, the broken string of bells sending forth asthmatic jingles, and snow-balls flying in all directions.

They reached the dwelling of Miss Dinah without the slightest misadventure. That sable damsel was at leisure for the rest of the day, and received their proposal with the utmost delight.

She soon came out, entirely ready; and then the question arose where she was to sit. The “goose-nest” was not over capacious, and it was quite a puzzle where this extra weight was to be deposited.

Now, Hagar and Dinah were the best possible friends,—sharp speeches and backbiting counting for nothing just there. Indeed, they were very like other women, whatever their color may be,—but Dinah had various little flirting ways, of which her friend by no means approved, and never failed to check by any means in her power.

“And whar am I to seat myself?” asked Dinah, with vivacious elegance.

“Take my place, and I’ll set in yer lap,” said Hagar.

“Oh, my!” giggled Dinah, “why you’d quite quash me, Hagar! What funny little countryfied ways you hev! I’m sure dis city gemman isn’t recustomed to dat way o’ doin’ tings.”

“Oh, ob course not,” said Peter. “De ladies must set in de gemmen’s laps, on sech ’casions as dis. It am de berry last fashion.”

“Thar!” said Dinah: “do you hear, Hagar? Come, Mr. Dan, are ye goin’ to let a lady go a-beggin’ for a seat?”

Her intention was quite too manifest, and Hagar would by no means submit to that sort of thing.

“Ef yer must set on a gemman’s lap,” she said, “take Mr. Peter’s, for it’ll be as much as Dan kin do to keep de ole hoss straight in de rode. Pete’s rayther oldish, and good for nothin’ else but holdin’ critters that can’t get along out ob somebody’s lap. Thar!”

There was no appeal from Hagar’s decision, and Dinah resigned herself to it with as much grace as possible.

“My arms is quite at de service of de fair,” said Peter, gallantly extending the aforesaid members, into which Dinah sank with a deprecating grace that was quite wonderful, casting a glance at Dan from under her drooping eye-lashes, which that sable Romeo was too wise—arrant flirt though he was—to think of returning. Hagar’s sharp eyes were fixed upon him, and there was enough lustre left flashing up from her recent passion to make him extremely careful how he irritated her again that day.

They drove off quite merrily, for Hagar was, after all, the best little woman in the world, and Dinah was quite welcome to exert all her powers of fascination upon the stranger, so that she did not poach over Hagar’s manor. They laughed and they chatted quite as gayly as their betters, and Hagar looked over towards Dan almost as lovingly as Dinah could have done, had she been free to act up to her most tender impulses.

But that insecure darkey was not easy in his soul, although he only betrayed it by an unusual number of grins, and it was more effectually concealed than many a philosopher could have managed to hide his anxieties. The truth was, soon after they started for the last time, that “goose-nest” began to wriggle about in the most unexampled manner, and sundry qualms, at least of fear, if not of conscience, seized Dan, as he remembered the hasty manner in which it had been thrown together. But the rest were buoyant with heartfelt gayety; and, as Dan only laughed the louder the more anxious he grew, their merriment was something comical to witness.

They passed the village with a dash, and glided along grandly for some distance; but, suddenly, Dan felt the “goose-nest” totter still more unsteadily upon its foundation. Hagar noticed it, for she was a true daughter of Eve,—always inquiring into things which were much better left alone.

“Dan,” she exclaimed, “isn’t der suthin’ out of Kilter ’bout dis ’ere ‘goose-nest?’”

“The wehicule is as safe as the chariot of Potiphar,” returned Dan. “Don’t be a bit uneasy, Hagar, fur one yer can trust in holds de lines!”

Hagar was quieted for a few moments; but as they approached the foot of a hill, the old horse took it upon himself to start off in a sort of halting gallop, as lazy horses are apt to do at the beginning of a steep ascent, as if in desperation at the idea of being forced to mount it. The “goose-nest” twisted about more and more. Hagar was flung into Dinah’s arms, and Dan precipitated, headforemost, on the top of the whole party, his leg sticking up, like the crowning ornament to a pyramid. There was a united shriek of consternation; but the cutter was righted, each individual shook him or herself into place, and the general composure was in a measure restored.

Suddenly, the sound of bells attracted their attention: the sleigh containing the young Arnolds and their guests was coming down the hill on its road home.

“Dar’s young massa,” exclaimed Dan. “Now ye’ll see how I’ll parse by in fine style.”

He shouted to the old horse. The willing animal gave a bound forward, the runners hit against a stump with a force which freed them completely from the crate, and away went the horse and poles at full speed up the hill. The “goose-nest” gave a lurch, upsetting Dan in the snow-bank, with his legs uppermost, like a dancing Dervish; then performed a series of gyrations down the hill, gradually depositing its occupants in the most unexpected postures behind.

Peter and Dinah clung fast together, and were thrown on to the top of a rail-fence, against which the snow had banked itself, and there they remained, like two rare Ethiopian birds set up for a mark. Hagar clung to the “goose-nest” with both hands, screaming hard at every rebound. One of the sticks of the crate held fast to her dress, and away they went,—bump! clatter! bump! Now the crate was uppermost, now Hagar. The sticks rattled hoarsely against the stumps, and the little woman gave out hoarse yells in concert. Just us they reached the foot of the hill the crate gave a jump backwards, and falling over Hagar, pinned her fast to the earth. Her shrieks were alarming. Dinah chimed in with shrill screams, though Peter, the sly old fox, surreptitiously attempted to stop her mouth, which he accomplished only once; for Dinah fought gloriously, and grasping a handful of snow dashed it in his face, rubbing it in till a little water-spout meandered down his perfidious bosom. Hagar saw this extraordinary spectacle through the lattice-work of her prison, and shouted out:

“Gib it to ’im, Dinah! pummel him good,—pitch de snow down ’im throat. Lam dat city nigger de time o’ day! hi!”

Dan saw nothing of this. His head was so deep in the drift that he was nearing the unreported regions in the most unexpected manner, when Arnold stopped his horse, and, springing out of his sleigh, extricated him from his unfortunate plight.

Hagar was the next victim to be rescued; and they lifted the crockery crate from off her and assisted her to rise.

Poor Hagar! she was a sorry sight! Her holiday attire was a perfect wreck,—her ribbon-tied wool fluttering about in the most disconsolate manner. But all this ruin was nothing in comparison to the state of feeling into which she had been thrown by the catastrophe.

She gave three separate shrieks of misery and affright; then contending emotions gave way in a burst of overpowering rage. She flew at Dan like a wild cat, but he fortunately saw her in time. Still panting from his struggles in the snow, away he ran towards the horse, and Hagar after him, both yelling at every step with an energy which was truly appalling.

Dinah was at last induced to loose her hold of Peter’s wool, and the two came to their senses sufficiently to quit the fence, and trust themselves to earth again. They trotted on murmuringly after the sleigh, and all reached the gate in time to see Dan sink breathless on the kitchen steps.

“I’ll show yer! I’ll give yer ‘goose-nest!’ yer—yer ole smut-ball!” was bursting from Hagar’s irate lips; but when she saw the miserable humility of her Adonis, the kind heart in her bosom melted, and she passed him with a sniff, only muttering:

“Yer call yersef a gemman! Build anudder ‘goose-nest,’ now do.”

Dan made no answer, but imprisoned himself in the cellar-way for a little time; but finding that cold, he went off disconsolately to the barn and hid himself in the haymow.

Hannah prepared the tea, but as soon as it was over, and the merriment consequent upon the late adventure had subsided, young Arnold made a plea of urgent business, and left the house.