shall be glad to see you,” spoke Lucille, after a pause, “though, perhaps, ’tis a slight welcome I can give in return for the service you have rendered me. Yet it will be from my heart.”
“None could be better,” I said. “I will come.” I could make no other answer. I wanted to be by myself and think of it all. For most strangely had this maid come into my life, and she had awakened strange feelings within me. Something much like love had found me off guard, for a surety.
CHAPTER V.
OF THE STONE BY THE BROOK.
I sat up late in the tavern that night, and to calm my thoughts I drew up some notices that I intended to post throughout the town, inviting recruits to join my little army. I judged that this would be a good time, since it could not be said when we would make the first venture against Canada, without waiting for the fleet. The weather was growing more and more mild every day now, and flowers and shrubs were beginning to show blossoms. The trees were in full leaf, when, one pleasant day, having after much labor written on several papers what I wanted to say I left the inn to put them up in conspicuous places.
They called upon all good men and true, who so might desire, to enlist under Captain Edward Amherst, to fight the French and the Indians. It was also noted that some skirmishes might take place before the arrival of Sir Francis with his men. The notices, which were posted on the door of the church among other places, also set forth that applicants would be examined at Salem inn.
Never had a day seemed so pleasant. Birds were singing away trilling the first few notes of mating songs. The trees waved their branches in the wind as it sighed through them. I felt in my veins the blood beginning to tingle, as the sap in the trees swells out the buds.
I finished my task, the while breathing in deep of the balmy air. I wanted something, I knew not what. To be acting, fighting, leading my men on. I wanted to walk, to run, to leap, to--in short, I suppose, to give way to that energy which health brings to every man.
I went on with little thought of where I was going until turning near where the old elm stands, down near the dead oak, I found myself in front of the house where Lucille dwelt. It was the first time I had been so near it since the night I brought her home from the glen. I was about to pass on, though I wanted to stop, but scarce dared to. As I dawdled past the gate, in two minds whether or no I should make bold and knock, I saw her in the garden.
It was too late to draw back now, had I wished to, for she had heard my step, and, looking up, she smiled.
“Good day, Captain,” she said.
“Good day to you, Mistress Lucille,” I made reply, and then there was silence between us, while I stood there as awkwardly as a school boy, though she was as cool as only a maid can be who knows that it is for the man to make the next advance. Not that she was altogether at her ease, for, by looking closely, I saw a faint tinge of red mounting upward in her cheeks.
“You see,” I began, “I come--I hardly expected your words the other day--I----” and, then, in desperation, lest I might turn and run in the very face of the enemy, I straightened up, drew my good sword and saluted her as I would my gracious Queen.
“You have commanded me and I am here,” I said.
Lucille raised her eyes.
“And it needed a command then, Captain?” she questioned.
“Not so, not so,” I hastened to exclaim, seeing that I had made an error. “A word, a wish, a look, from you, madame, were enough,” I replied in some confusion, almost wishing that I was back in Salem inn.
Once more silence crept between us, while, hardly knowing what I did, I opened the gate and walked in to stand beside her. I judge we must have been thus for near a minute ere she burst out laughing, and I, perforce, joined her mirth. That was an end to solemn silence then.
“Here,” she cried gaily, “if you will not talk you must work,” and she thrust a spade into my hand.
Then, at her bidding, I fell to with a will and dug where she pointed out. My sword clinked against the garden tool, and I hoped that none of my future soldiers would pass by to see in what manner of warfare I was engaged. When she thought I had dug enough she permitted me to stop, and right glad I was to do so.
“Now sit on the bench beneath the apple tree, while I plant these tulips,” was her second command.
I did as she bade me.
“Now talk,” she ordered.
“What shall I say?” I asked.
“Oh, anything, everything. The buds, the flowers, the sun, the Indians, the battles you have fought, the war we are to engage in. Why,” merrily, “there is no end.”
Then indeed I talked. Of what, I know not, save that ever I saw her sweet face before me, and her eyes looking to mine, until I would fain have stayed there in that garden forever.
’Twas strange how all my bashfulness had vanished, not that usually I am such a fool with the women. So we conversed of many things until of a sudden I noted that the sun was going down behind the hills. I jumped up from the bench where we had been sitting.
“I quite forgot it,” I exclaimed.
“What?” asked Lucille.
“My dinner,” I answered, aware of a gone and lonesome feeling below my belt. “I was to go back to the tavern for it, but, I--I--came this way, and----”
“You missed your dinner talking to me,” finished Lucille solemnly. “Welladay, Captain, I am indeed flattered. But there, you shall not say that I am a hard commander. Come in and sup with me. ’Tis true, I cannot make amends for the companionship to be found at the inn, nor can I boast of such cookery as can Mistress Willis. Yet if you will but deign to grace my humble board ’twill be of my best store that I will set before you,” and she dropped a bow to me that had much of sauciness in it, and stood waiting for my answer.
I protested that I could not trouble her, that I had no appetite, that I must be at Salem inn to meet any recruits that might come this first day.
“Very well then, Captain,” she said, with a stately bend of her head. “Since you prefer the inn to my poor roof so be it.”
’Twas then that I hastened to make a different meaning to my words, and I pleaded that I might even have a crust in her dooryard. That she would but suffer me to sit on the threshold, and see her eat. (My, but how the hunger gripped me then). Verily I was afraid she would take me at my last words. But at length with a merry laugh, she bade me enter the house, and, while I sat and watched the lengthening shadows, Lucille and the woman servant set the meal.
I forget what it was that I ate. Certain I am that I talked and looked at Lucile, more than I used my knife and fork, for I remember that when I reached the inn later I had to rout up WillisWillis, and dine again on cold meat. But, though the memory of the meal passes, I can see Lucille yet, as she sat opposite me then. And of the topics we conversed on, though they be in the dim, shadowy past, yet the sound of her voice is in my ears still.
That night when I went on my way to the tavern, I found myself humming a love song I had heard in England years ago.
The next day several men and youths appeared at the inn to enlist. I put their names down, and arranged for them to get arms, which would be sent from Boston. While the recruits were not much to boast of in looks they lacked not in spirit, which, after all, is the need of a soldier. Like some comrades with whom I have fought they seemed to go at fighting as they did at their religion, so that psalm tunes, rather than drinking songs and jests were heard among my men.
It was not long before enough had enrolled themselves at the inn, and then I began to drill them. I appointed as my lieutenants Giles Cory, a very muscular, though small man, and Richard Nicols, who had some notions of warfare. We