"
It was by this time grey dawn. My window had been left open the evening
before, when it was hot and sultry enough, but it was now cold and damp,
and a wetting mist boiled in through the open sash, like rolling wreaths
of white smoke.
"What is that--where are we in the North Sea, or on the top of Mont
Blanc? Why, clouds may be all in your way, Massa Jupiter, but."
"Cloud!" rejoined the Deity--"him no more den marning fag, massa;
always hab him over de Vale in de morning, until de sun melt him. And
where is you?--why, you is in Massa Aaron house, here in St Thomas in de
Vale--and Miss."
"Miss"--said I--"what Miss?"
"Oh, for you Miss," rejoined Jupiter with a grin, "Miss Mary up and
dress already, and de horses are at de door; him wait for you to ride
wid him before breakfast, massa, and to see de clearing of de fag."
"Ride before breakfast!--see the clearing of the fog!" grumbled I.
"Romantic it may be, but consumedly inconvenient." However, my
knighthood was at stake; so up I got, drank my coffee, dressed, and
adjourned to the piazza, where my adorable was all ready rigged with
riding--habit and whip; straightway we mounted, she into her side
saddle with her riding--habit, and who knows how many petticoats beneath
her, while I, Pilgarlic, embarked in thin jean trowsers upon a cold,
damp, indeed wet, saddle, that made me shiver again. But I was
understood to be in love; ergo, I was expected to be agreeable.
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