"Josephus ain't above totin' one of the niggers 'long with the trunks," said Josh, determined to get even for the remarks he had heard Oscar and Susan make in regard to "po' white trash." The antagonism that exists between the mountaineer and darkey is hard to overcome.
So Oscar, the proud butler of "nothin' but fust famblies," was forced either to walk up the mountain, something he dreaded, or climb up on the seat of the cart by the despised "po' white trash." He determined on the latter course and took his seat in dignified silence with the expression of one who says: "My head is bloody but unbowed."
"The freight came and we have hauled it up and unpacked the best we could. I am afraid it is going to be mighty rough for you girls and for poor Aunt Lizzie, who is certainly a brick for coming, but we have done our best," said Lewis to Douglas.
"Rough, indeed! Who would expect divans and Turkish rugs at a camp? We are sure to like it and we are so grateful to you and Mr. Tinsley. But look at the view! Oh, Cousin Lizzie, just look at the view!"
"Now see here, Douglas, I said I would come and chaperone Cousin Robert Carter's granddaughters if no one would make me look at views. Views do not appeal to me." She couldn't help looking at the view, though, as there was nothing else to look at.
"I's jes' lak you, Miss Lizzie. I don' think a thing er views. I ain't never seed one befo' but I heard tell of 'em. Looks lak a view ain't nothin' but jes' seem' fur, an' if'n th'ain't nothin' ter see, what's the use in it?"
Wordsworth's lines came to Nan and she whispered them to herself as she looked off across the wonderful valley:
"'The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This sea that bares her bosom to the moon, The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.'"