for when I named myself and said I lived at Fonda's Bush, he fetched me a knock with his frozen mittens, – Lord, Jack, I saw a star or two, I warrant you; and a gay stream squirted from my nose upon the snow and presently the whole wintry world looked red to me, so I let fly a fist or two at the old man, and he let fly a few more at me.
"'Dammy!' says he, 'I'll learn ye to foller my darters, you poor dum Boston critter! I'll drum your hide from Fundy's Bush to Canady!'
"But after I had rolled him in the snow till his scratch-wig fell off, he became more civil – quite polite for a Tory with his mouth full o' snow.
"So I went with him to his sledge and made a polite bow to the ladies – who looked excited but seemed inclined to smile when I promised to pass by Pigeon-Wood some day."
"A rough wooing," said I, laughing.
"Rough on old man Browse. But he's gone with Guy Johnson."
"What! To Canada? The beast!"
"Aye. So I thought to stop some day at Pigeon-Wood to see if the cote were entirely empty or no. Lord, what a fight we had, old Browse and I, there in the snow of the Mayfield road! And he burly as an October bear – a man all knotted over with muscles, and two fists that slapped you like the front kick of a moose! Oh, Lordy! Lordy! What a battle was there… What bright eyes hath that little jade Betsy, of Pigeon-Wood!"
Now, as he spoke, I had a mind to see this same Tory girl of Pigeon-Wood; and presently admitted to him my curiosity.
And then, just as we had mounted and were gathering bridles and searching for our stirrups with moccasined toes, comes a galloper in scarlet jacket and breeks, with a sealed letter waved high to halt me.
Sitting my horse in the street, I broke the seal and read what was written to me.
The declining sun sent its rosy shafts through the still village now, painting every house and setting glazed windows a-glitter.
I looked around me, soberly, at the old and familiar town; I glanced at Nick; I gazed coldly upon the galloper, – a cornet of Border Horse, and as solemn as he was young.
"Sir," said I, "pray present to Lady Johnson my duties and my compliments, and say that I am honoured by her ladyship's commands, and shall be – happy – to present myself at Johnson Hall within the hour."
Young galloper salutes; I outdo him in exact and scrupulous courtesy, mole-skin cap in hand; and 'round he wheels and away he tears like the celebrated Tory in the song, Jock Gallopaway.
"Here's a kettle o' fish," remarked Nick in disgust.
"Were it not Lady Johnson," muttered I, but checked myself. After all, it seemed ungenerous that I should decline to see even Sir John, who now was virtually a prisoner of my own party, penned here within that magnificent domain of which his great father had been creator and absolute lord.
"I must go, Nick," I said in a low voice.
He said with a slight sneer, "Noblesse oblige – " and then, sorry, laid a quick hand on my arm.
"Forgive me, Jack. My father wears two gold rings in his ears. Your father wore them on his fingers. I know I am a boor until your kindness makes me forget it."
I said quietly: "We are two comrades and friends to liberty. It is not what we are born to but what we are that matters a copper penny in the world."
"It is easy for you to say so."
"It is important for you to believe so. As I do."
"Do you really so?" he asked with that winning upward glance that revealed his boyish faith in me.
"I really do, Nick; else, perhaps, I had been with Guy Johnson in Canada long ago."
"Then I shall try to believe it, too," he murmured, " – whether ears or fingers or toes wear the rings."
We laughed.
"How long?" he inquired bluntly.
"To sup, I think. I must remain if Lady Johnson requests it of me."
"And afterward. Will you ride home by way of Pigeon-Wood?"
"Will you still be lingering there?" I asked with a smile.
"Whether the pigeon-cote be empty or full, I shall await you there."
I nodded. We smiled at each other and wheeled our horses in opposite directions.
CHAPTER V
A SUPPER
Now, what seemed strange to me at the Hall was the cheerfulness of all under circumstances which must have mortified any Royalist, and, in particular, the principal family in North America of that political complexion.
Even Sir John, habitually cold and reserved, appeared to be in most excellent spirits for such a man, and his wintry smile shed its faint pale gleam more than once upon the company assembled at supper.
On my arrival there seemed to be nobody there except the groom, who took my mare, Kaya, and Frank, Sir William's butler, who ushered me and seemed friendly.
Into the drawing room came black Flora, all smiles, to say that the gentlemen were dressing but that Lady Johnson would receive me.
She was seated before her glass in her chamber, and the red-cheeked Irish maid she had brought from New York was exceedingly busy curling her hair.
"Oh, Jack!" said Lady Johnson softly, and holding out to me one hand to be saluted, "they told me you were in the village. Has it become necessary that I must send for an old friend who should have come of his own free will?"
"I thought perhaps you and Sir John might not take pleasure in a visit from me," I replied, honestly enough.
"Why? Because last winter you answered the district summons and were on guard at the church with the Rebel Mohawk company?"
So she knew that, too. But I had scarcely expected otherwise. And it came into my thought that the dwarfish Bartholomews had given her news of my doings and my whereabouts.
"Come," said she in her lively manner, "a good soldier obeys his colonel, whoever that officer may chance to be —for the moment. And, were you even otherwise inclined, Jack, of what use would it have been to disobey after Philip Schuyler disarmed our poor Scots?"
"If Sir John feels as you do, it makes my visit easier for all," said I.
"Sir John," she replied, "is not a whit concerned. We here at the Hall have laid down our arms; we are peaceably disposed; farm duties begin; a multitude of affairs preoccupy us; so let who will fight out this quarrel in Massachusetts Bay, so only that we have tranquillity and peace in County Tryon."
I listened, amazed, to this school-girl chatter, marvelling that she herself believed such pitiable nonsense.
Yet, that she did believe it I was assured, because in my Lady Johnson there was nothing false, no treachery or lies or cunning.
Somebody sure had filled her immature mind with this jargon, which now she repeated to me. And in it I vaguely perceived the duplicity and ingenious manœuvring of wills and minds more experienced than her own.
But I said only that I hoped this county might escape the conflagration now roaring through all New England and burning very fiercely in Virginia and the Carolinas. Then, smiling, I made her a compliment on her hair, which her Irish maid was dressing very prettily, and laughed at her man's banyan which she so saucily wore in place of a levete. Only a young and pretty woman could presume to wear a flowered silk banyan at her toilet; but it mightily became Polly Johnson.
"Claudia is here," she remarked with a kindly malice perfectly transparent.
I took the news in excellent part, and played the hopeless swain for a while, to amuse her, and so cunningly, too, that presently the charming child felt bound to comfort me.
"Claudia is a witch," says she, "and does vast damage to no purpose but that it feeds her vanity. And this I have said frequently to her very face, and shall continue until she chooses to refrain from such harmful coquetry, and seems inclined to a more serious consideration of life and duty."
"Claudia