"What is the meaning of all this?" he inquired, detaining one of the
hindmost.
"Oh, Marse Thuster, sir! oh, sir!" exclaimed the boy, rolling his eyes
quite wildly.
"What is the matter with the fool?"
"Oh, sir; my poor ole marse! my poor ole marse!"
"What has happened to your master? Can't you be plain, sir?"
"Oh, Marse Thuster, sir! he done fell down inter a fit, an had to be
toted off to bed."
"A fit! good heavens! has a doctor been summoned?" exclaimed Thurston,
springing from his seat.
"Oh, yes, sir! Jase be done gone arter de doctor."
Thurston stopped to inquire no farther, but ran into the house and up
into his grandfather's chamber.
There a distressing scene met his eyes. The old man, with his limbs
distorted, and his face swollen and discolored, lay in a state of
insensibility upon the bed. Two or three negro women were gathered
around him, variously occupied with rubbing his hands, chafing his
temples and wiping the oozing foam from his lips. At the foot of the bed
stood poor daft Fanny, with disheveled hair and dilated eyes, chanting a
grotesque monologue, and keeping time with a see-saw motion from side to
side. The first thing Thurston did, was to take the hand of this poor
crazed, but docile creature, and lead her from the sick-room up into her
own.
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