"
With an impatient jerk after the manner of Capitola, Clara signified
that she did not wish to converse. Wool dropped obediently behind,
mounted his horse and followed at a respectful distance until Clara
turned her horse's head and took the bridle-path toward Tip Top.
This move filled poor Wool with dismay. Riding toward her, he
exclaimed:
"'Deed, Miss Cap, yer mus' scuse me for speakin' now! Whar de
muschief is yer a-goin' to?"
For all answer Clara, feigning the temper of Capitola, suddenly
wheeled her horse, elevated her riding whip and galloped upon Wool
in a threatening manner.
Wool dodged and backed his horse with all possible expedition,
exclaiming in consternation:
"Dar! dar! Miss Cap, I won't go for to ax you any more questions--
no--not if yer rides straight to Old Nick or Black Donald!"
Whereupon, receiving this apology in good part, Clara again turned
her horse's head and rode on her way.
Wool followed, bemoaning the destiny that kept him between the two
fierce fires of his old master's despotism and his young mistress's
caprice, and muttering:
"I know old marse and dis young gal am goin' to be the death of me!
I knows it jes' as well as nuffin at all! I 'clare to man, if it
ain't nuff to make anybody go heave themselves right into a grist
mill and be ground up at once." Wool spoke no more until they got to
Tip Top, when Clara still closely veiled, rode up to the stage
office just as the coach, half filled with passengers, was about to
start.
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