52

DEBBY, DEAR, DON'T USE THEM 'BOMINABLE PINK SAAS-ERS!"

When it is remembered that people much above the level of common humanity have had their weaknesses, it is not to be wondered at that the more general members of Father Adam's great family become tinctured with silly notions and whimsical desires. We have somewhere read that the great Cardinal Richelieu was fond to foolishness of perfumes, that Lord Byron had a passion for lay-down collars, that Rousseau prized jewellery to the inconsistent extent of ringing his toes, that Montaigne had a ridiculous admiration of tabbies, and that King Charles the Second was never so happy as when up to his nose in a warm bath. When these reminiscences of distinguished tom-foolery are taken into consideration, it is not to be wondered at, that Debby Dewberry, who was a simple-hearted, crude Yankee girl, had a penchant for pink saucers. Debby lived in a small, scattered village on the margin of the thriving little commercial town of Portsmouth, in the agricultural state of New Hampshire; and as every inconsiderable place has its belle, Miss Debby set herself up as the rising paragon of beauty and loveliness in her limited district. It is true, presentable maidens were scarce about this suburban settlement; and although hair more curling, brighter eyes, whiter teeth, and necks more gracefully chiselled might have been found, had any seeker of charms taken the trouble to look them out, yet Miss Debby Dewberry laid claim and really possessed several eminent physical qualifications to make her pass for what people usually call a "pretty girl." But there was one drawback which she conceived neutralized the effect of her features, and that was, a peculiar pallor that characterized her face. No matter how her eyes sparkled-no matter how archly she smiled-her hair might curl in the most loveable of ringlets-still she looked pale, "ghostly pale"-so she thought. Girls of less pretensions all around beamed in their buxom heartiness; and this mortified her vanity. Some people there are young ladies, too, with ultra ideas of gentility and breedingwho would have given the world to look just as pale as our rustic belle; but Debby set her face against this mandate of Nature in her case, and, accordingly, resorted to pink-saucers.

Her father, Duplicate Dewberry, was a small farmer and fisherman, mingling the two callings of the flail and line-occasionally tilling the fields, and more frequently skimming the Piscataqua River in pursuit of perch and pickerel. He was a hard, primitive, uncouth old fellow, with an abhorrence of everything in the shape of innovations, sticking like gum to the good old Yankee fashions, and declining the acquaintanceship of art in its remotest appliance. He had heard it talked about that his daughter was a belle, but he imperfectly understood the signification of the phrase; and when he discovered that she had taken

to use colouring matter for her cheeks, he associated the two hints, and was as much shocked as a queer old fellow with his temperament and sensibility well could be.

"Look-a here, you Deb," said he, after the communication had been made to him: "I've been told yeou put somethin on yeour face to make it red. I want to know."

Debby was peeling apples, and let a large one fall out of her hands, that she was peeling at the moment. She was taken all aback; for she never dreamed for an instant that any living soul knew of the wonderful prescription she had found to make herself appear blooming. Gazing at her father's huge, round, sunburnt face, she made no reply.

"Why, what in human kind's the matter, gal ?" continued he, with an expression of surprise in his eyes. "What do you sit lookin' there abeout? Why don't you speak? I say agin that folks say that you dab somethin' red on your face."

"Why, Daddy, who told you that?" she said at length, looking down into her lap, and affecting to be deeply engaged in tracing the crisping curl of a mottled apple-peel. "Who could ha' told you that?"

"Never mind, gal. There's always enough folks peeking arcound in other folke's affairs, to find out everything, I want to know about this dabbin' up of your face. Am I to understand that you're spileing the works of natur, by puttin' stuff on your cheeks, or is it all the pure tinge of old New Hampshire air?"

66

Why-why, Daddy, you know," said Debby, in a faltering tone"you know that I'm always pale as a specter; and❞—

"Pale as a speck-ter!" interrupted Duplicate. "Pale as a rooster's comb, more like! Why, your face is as red neow this minit as them apple-parin's.'

Yes, it may be now," pursued the girl; "but when I get up in the morning, it's just as white as the pillow case it laid on. "Wall, wall, what of that?" gruffly said Duplicate. "It's nothin' but natur, and yeou can't fix it enny other way, if you try. Natur's natur, eout and eout!"

"But it's not nice to look so pale," remarked Debby, still looking in her lap. "There's Abundance Artichoke and Elsey Vandyke, they always look so fresh; and when I'm in their company, I feel like a milk-weed alongside o' two red roses.

“Pooh! darn-a-t-i-o-n! A lily with two poppies, more like! I stick to natur through thick and thin; and if I was as white in the face as our old crooked-horned cow Nance, saw me up for boot-jacks if I'd touch paint with a forty-foot pole !"

"But, Daddy, you're a man," said Debby, at last venturing to look up.

66

Spose an' I am a man: you're nothin' but a gal; and it tisn't becomin' to anybody. Paint's a disgrace to petticoats as much as it is to treousers," remarked old Duplicate, with more warmth than generally marked his manner. "But that aint the pint. Do yeou dab your cheeks, neow?"

"Why-why-why"-She could get no further.

"Look here, Deb! Taint no use of yeur splutterin' and beatin'

about the bush. Out with it, if it splits your narves; for I want to know."

"Why-why, the fact is, Daddy, as I'm so pale at times that I'm obleeged to use pink-saucers."

It was a great effort, but now it was out; and once more her eyes dropped into her lap, as if they were doomed to be ever fixed in that one position.

"Pink-saas-ers!" exclaimed Duplicate, whose knowledge of the art of cosmetics was entirely too circumscribed to comprehend the use of those questionable adjuncts of the toilette. "Why, Deb, what, in the name of all that's ceurious, is pink saas-ers?"

Debby was again silent.

"Do you mean pink saasers yeou drink out of? Our chinee's all blue and white. We haint got a pink saaser in the house, that I ever seed."

They're saucers with pink paint inside of them," said Debby; “and they're made to impart a tinge to the countenance when it's not red enough.

66

Impart a tinge!" repeated Duplicate, drawing himself up, and looking somewhat puzzled at that portion of the language with which his daughter had expressed herself. That's some eddication that's got into your head, and which 'll spile your heart. Neow, Debby, don't you use them 'bominable pink saas-ers!--that's a father's advice."

How much longer old Duplicate would have continued his admonitions, we will not pretend to say; but they were cut short by the abrupt entrance of Miserable Muss-a chubby, comical little cow-boy, as fat as a Chinese pig, whose short, stubby hair, trimmed with uneven skill, resembled a crop-wig stuck on a bladder of lard. He had a pitchfork in one hand, and a thick raw-hide whip in the other.

"What's the matter, Miz'able ?" said Duplicate, leaning back in his chair, and opening his eyes very wide.

'The cow's got into the pumpkin-patch, and Bill Jewit and me ha' been trien' to get 'em out, but we cant," said the boy, whose mouth, --which for a youth was a very extravagant one indeed--was smeared completely around with a halo of white. This old Duplicate saw at once. "Say yeou Miz'able, where have yeou been? Come here tew me. Debby, hold the light close. I want to inspect his chops." The boy advanced several steps, and the girl did as she was directed. "Neow, Miz'able, yeou've had yeour nose in the milk pans agin, yeou tartanal critter!"

Miserable's fat stupid-looking figure just at that moment seemed in expressibly droll. All at once he dropped the pitchfork, and attempted to dissipate the creamy substance with the sleeve of his coat.

his arm.

"Heold on a bit, yeou-not so fast!" exclaimed Duplicate, catching "I'll send yeou to bed six weeks, neow, without your supper. How dare you put yeour face into the milk-pans!"

The boy's eyes filled with water, and bursting into a flood of tears, protested between the sobs that he had not been near the spring-house. "It's a darn lie, Miz'able, and for tellin' a lie to boot you shan't have yeour supper for twelve weeks,"

The tears fell faster from the fat boy; and again he protested that he had not touched the milk-pans.

"Heow did yeow git yeour face smeared then, yeou ugly lump?" Why," said he, looking the very picture of juvenile desolation, with the rim of milk by this time gradually washing away by the tears that rolled down his almost bursting cheeks, Why, sir, Bill Jewit caught old roan, and he's been milkin' into my mouth!"

"Eout of the way, yeou young sarpint!" and bestowing a sudden movement of his foot at the rear of the plump youngster, with almost a marvellous bound, duly respecting his obesity, he left the apartment all tears and terror, followed by the old farmer-fisherman; and in a few minutes from that time both master and lad were in the active occupation of ridding the pumpkin-patch of the "horned cattle," that were interspersed at pleasant intervals quietly browsing on the vines.

After her father's abrupt departure, Debby collected her thoughts, and began a series of mental speculations, in her way, on the propriety of pink saucers. She felt as if she would like to obey her father's request; but when she thought how pale she would always look if she put her bloom on short allowance, her mind oscillated between vanity and a sense of duty. Her reflections ended with the determination of diminishing her colour, and from a high rose-tinge descend to the modest hue of a light blush.

The next day her cheeks were clothed in just the faintest shade of the rose. Old Duplicate at the breakfast-table glanced several times at her face, and at length said—

Neow, Debby, darlin', don't use them 'bominable pink saas-ers, an' I'll buy yeow a new geown next birthday.'

Debby smiled at the prospect of the gift, but maintained a strict silence in regard to the beautifier.

66

And from day to day this advice was scrupulously delivered—“Don't use them 'bominable pink saas-ers" and yet day after day poor vain foolish little Debby would continue their use. Her mother, an old-timed eccentric creature, whose parents for some ginerations" had lived in "those parts," at length joined in the expostulations; but all to no purpose; Debby's passion had become confirmed, and the old folks lamented that their only child "had takin' tew sich a sinful practice." With this habit had been engendered an artful slyness, for the girl knowing her parent's opposition sought to conceal the secret of her rosy complexion beyond the scrutiny of the domestic ken. This puzzled the old folks; for often when Miss Debby was planting tulip-bushes in her little patch of garden, or walking on the lawn in friendly gossip with young neighbours, they were industriously engaged in rummaging drawers, and prying into every article of her property, in search of these pink saas-ers.

"Whar in the Dusenberry can she keep 'em, the jade?" said the old woman, poking her large high-backed cap, and turning over a medley of "notions" in her daughter's work-box.

Bury me if I du know-she's as sly as a trout. Ef I could jest git my paws on 'em, the way I'd tote 'em down to the bottom of the Piscataqua would be a sin to naburing States ;" and Duplicate, weary of the

search, would supply his mouth with a quid of pigtail, and take expectorating aim at a large box filled with sawdust, intended as a receptacle to small outcast objects.

"I'm fagged out lookin' for 'em. The hussy must carry 'em with her, and to-night when she's gone to bed I'll slip up and search her pockets," remarked the old woman.

"Bless your heart, that I done when yeou had gone to Portland, the night the ceows broke intew the pumkin-patch. Her pockets were just as empty as Aminadab Dawkins's, after he had his pus takin' at the horse-race.

"It now comes to this dreedful pint. She must take 'em to bed with her. That's the only way I can see through it," said the old lady, with a long-drawn sigh.

"That's it as slick as marrow!" exclaimed Duplicate, suddenly struck with the brilliancy of his wife's suspicions. She must take 'em to bed with her, as yeou say, or we'd got our feelers on 'em afore this.' The current of his thoughts then flowed suddenly in another direction. Massy! massy, me! Nabby, this is all pasky wicked, I calkelate. If she does such a thing neow, old Satin after while'll git full swing of her. Nabby, Nabby, I've been a hard sinner when I was a yeoung man-spry and peart I was as a 'coon in autumn; but I never tinktered my slumbers with 'bominations in that way." And so much affected was the old Yankee that his voice grew quite pathetic in his deplorations. That night, when the belle had retired, the old folks crept softly up to her room, and listened at the door. The desire to discover and destroy these pink saas-ers had now become the predominant thought of their minds; and the old lady having mooted a new idea, the worthy pair had agreed upon probing it to the bottom of the bed. At the door stood honest Duplicate and his better half in a shiver; for although they were on a secret mission in a good cause, yet, as the old Yankee said, "He felt consnortin' vexed havin' to poke and sneak about like a thief." They could distinctly hear the soft breathings of their sinful "datter," for although Debby did stain her cheeks, she did not snore; and breathing themselves very loud in their endeavours to be mute, in they glided, old Duplicate shading the light with his hand.

Slowly and quietly the old lady fumbled about the bed. Debby moved nervously in her sleep; and the old man was in a cold perspiration lest she should awake before they had accomplished the purpose of their nocturnal mission. She turned up just a wee portion of the sheet, then inspected the bolster, and even went so far as to feel both of her daughter's hands to see if she held so fast as all that to that which was bad. No pink saa-ser could be found.

"I say, Nabby," whispered Duplicate, with a blank gaze at his shadow on the white-washed wall, which looked so much bigger than himself, "Jeust yeou feel areound abeout the pillow. 'Praps its under her head."

Softly the dame run her long bony hand under the pillow, and quickly touched something hard and cold. Her heart pulsated, and her little grey eyes almost flushed. Duplicate saw her emotion.

"Have you found it?" whispered he.