sort.”
“Have they, then, no fortune-teller, no person who has the dark art, in New York?”
“I have heard of such people, but have never had an opportunity of seeing or hearing for myself. If you do go to see this Mother Dorrichy, or whatever you call her, I should like amazingly to be of the party.” 28
Guert was delighted to hear this, and he caught eagerly at the offer. If I would stand his friend he would go at once; but he confessed he did not like to trust himself all alone in the old woman’s company.
“I am, perhaps, the only man of my time of life, in Albany, who has not, sooner or later, consulted Mother Doortje;” he added! “I do not know how it is, but, somehow, I have never liked to tempt fortune by going to question her! One never can tell what such a being may say; and should it be evil, why it might make a man very miserable. I am sure I want no more trouble, as it is, than to find Mary Wallace so undetermined about having me!”
“Then you do not mean to go, after all! I am not only ready, but anxious to accompany you.”
“You mistake me, Corny. Go I will, now, though she tell me that which will cause me to cut my throat—but, we must not go as we are; we must disguise ourselves, in order that she may not know us. Everybody goes disguised; and then they have an opportunity of learning if she is in a good vein, or not, by seeing if she can tell anything about their business, or habits, in the first place. If she fail in that, I should not care a straw for any of the rest. So, go to work, Corny, and dress yourself for the occasion—borrow some clothes of the people in the house, here, and come round to me, as soon as you please; I shall be ready, for I often go disguised to frolics—yes, unlucky devil that I am, and come back disguised, too!”
Everything was done, as desired. By means of a servant in the tavern, I was soon equipped in a way that satisfied me was very successful; inasmuch as I passed Dirck, in quitting the house, and my old, confidential friend did not recognise me. Guert was in as good luck, as I actually asked himself for himself, when he opened the door for my admission. The laugh, and the handsome face, however, soon let me into the secret, and we sallied forth in high spirits; almost forgetting our misgivings concerning the future, in the fun of passing our acquaintances in the street, without being known.
Guert was much more artistically and knowingly disguised, than I was myself. We both had put on the clothes of labourers; Guert wearing a smock-frock that he happened to own for his fishing occupations in summer—but I had my usual linen in view, and wore all the ordinary minor articles of my daily attire. My friend pointed out some of these defects, as we went along, and an attempt was made to remedy them. Mr. Worden coming in view, I determined to stop him, and speak to him in a disguised voice, in order to ascertain if it were possible to deceive him.
“Your sarvant, Tominie,” I said, making an awkward bow, as soon as we got near enough to the parson to address him; “be you ter Tominie, that marries folk on a pinch?”
“Ay, or on a handful, liking the last best.—Why, Corny, thou rogue, what does all this mean?”
It was necessary to let Mr. Worden into the secret; and he no sooner learned the business we were on, than he expressed a wish to be of the party. As there was no declining, we now went to the inn, and gave him time to assume a suitable disguise. As the divine was a rigid observer of the costume of his profession, and was most strictly a man of his cloth, it was a very easy matter for him to make such a change in his exterior, as completely to render him incognito. When all was ready, we went finally forth, on our errand.
“I go with you, Corny, on this foolish business,” said the Rev. Mr. Worden, as soon as we were fairly on our way, “to comply with a promise made your excellent mother, not to let you stray into any questionable company, without keeping a fatherly eye over you. Now, I regard a fortune-teller’s, as a doubtful sort of society; therefore, I feel it to be a duty, to make one of this party.”
I do not know whether the Rev. Mr. Worden succeeded in deceiving himself; but, I very well know, he did not succeed in deceiving me. The fact was, he loved a frolic; and nothing made him happier, than to have an opportunity of joining in just such an adventure as that we were on. Judging from the position of her house, and the appearance of things in and around it, the business of Mother Doortje was not of the most lucrative sort. Dirt and poverty were two things not easily encountered, in Albany; and, I do not say, that we found very positive evidence of either, here; but there was less neatness than was usual in that ultra-tidy community; and, as for any great display of abundance, it was certainly not to be met with.
We were admitted by a young woman, who gave us to understand that Mother Doortje had a couple of customers, already; but she invited us to sit down in an outer room, promising that our turn should be the next. We did so, accordingly, listening, through a door that was a little ajar, with no small degree of curiosity, to what was passing within. I accidentally took a seat in a place that enabled me to see the legs of one of the fortune-teller’s customers; and, I thought, immediately, that the striped stockings were familiar to me; when the nasal, and very peculiar intonation of Jason, put the matter out of all doubt. He spoke in an earnest manner; which rendered him a little incautious; while the woman’s tones were low and mumbled. Notwithstanding, we all overheard the following discourse—
“Well, now, Mother Dorrichay,” said Jason, in a very confiding sort of way, “I’ve paid you well, for this here business, and I want to know if there is any chance, for a poor man, in this colony, who doesn’t want for friends, or, for that matter, merit?”
“That’s yourself” mumbled the female voice—in the way one announces a discovery—“Yes, I see, by the cards, that your question applies to yourself. You are a young man, that wants not for friends; and you have merit! You have friends that you deserve; the cards tells me that!”
“Well, I’ll not deny the truth of what you assert; and, I must say, Dirck, it is a little strange, this woman, who never saw me before, should know me so well—my very natur’, as it might be. But, do you think, I shall do well to follow up the affair I am now on, or that I had best give it up?”
“Give up nothing,” answered the oracle, in a very oracular manner, shuffling the cards as she spoke; “no, give up nothing, but keep all you can. That is the way to thrive, in this world.”
“By the Hokey, Dirck, she gives good advice, and I think I shall follow it! But how about the land, and the mill-seat—or, rather, how about the particular things I’m thinking about?”
“You are thinking of purchasing—yes, the cards say purchasing; or is it ‘disposing—’”
“Why, as I’ve got none to sell, it can’t very well be disposing, Mother.”
“Yes, I’m right—this Jack of Clubs settles the matter—you are thinking of buying some land—Ah! there’s water running down-hill; and here I see a pond—Why, you are thinking of buying a mill-seat.”
“By the Hokey!—Who would have thought this, Dirck!”
“Not a mill; no, there is no mill built; but a mill-seat. Six, king, three and an ace; yes, I see how it is—and you wish to get this mill-seat at much less than its real value. Much less; not less, but much less.”
“Well, this is wonderful! I’ll never gainsay fortin-tellin’ ag’in!” exclaimed Jason. “Dirck, you are to say nothin’ of this, or think nothin’ of this—as it’s all in confidence, you know. Now, jist put in a last word, about the end of
