"I declare, Dick, you might ha' told a body you wa'n't alone!"
she said reproachfully.
Her cry had aroused the other denizens of the raft. The tow
heads of the six little Cavendishes rose promptly from a long
bolster in the smaller of the two shanties, and as promptly six
little Cavendishes, each draped in a single non-committal
garment, apparently cut by one pattern and not at all according
to the wearer's years or length of limb, tumbled forth from their
shelter.
"Sho', Polly, he's senseless! But you dress and come here quick.
Now, you young folks, don't you tetch him!" for the six small
Cavendishes, excited beyond measure, were crowding and shoving
for a nearer sight of Yancy. They began to pelt their father
with questions. Who was it? Sho', in the river? Sho', all cut
up like that--who'd cut him? Had he hurt himself? Was he
throwed in? When did pop fish him out? Was he dead? Why did he
lay like that and not move or speak--sho'! This and much more
was flung at Mr. Cavendish all in one breath, and each eager
questioner seized him by the hand, the dangling sleeve of his
shirt, or his trousers--they clutched him from all sides. "I
never seen such a family!" said Mr. Cavendish helplessly. "Now,
you-all shut up, or I 'low I'll lay into you!"
Mrs. Cavendish's appearance created a diversion in his favor.
The six rushed on her tumultously. They seized her hands or
struggled for a fragment of her skirt to hold while they poured
out their tale.
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