From Kingdom to Colony
"No mystery, young man," answered Joseph Devereux, with unbending
severity, "save to wonder why you should come riding to our door in the
fashion you have, with a troop o' your fellows, when we have no liking
for the entertainment of any such company."
The officer still smiled, but now sarcastically. "It can scarcely be
claimed that you have entertained me, sir. But since I find my
presence so disagreeable to you, I will bid you good-morning."
He bowed haughtily to the old man, while his eyes still lingered upon
Dorothy's face. Then turning quickly, he strode down the steps, and
mounted his horse, the servants, who had gathered about, falling away
from before him.
Mary Broughton and Aunt Lettice, who had been standing in the hall
listening to the colloquy, now came out to the porch and stood with the
others watching the scarlet-clad troop clatter noisily down the
driveway, following the rapid pace set by their youthful leader.
John Devereux and Hugh Knollys, returning from the town, met them just
within the open gate, and drew to one side, watching them with scowling
brows as they dashed past; and the young officer turned in his saddle
to glance over his shoulder, as if something in the former's face had
caught his attention.
"What did those Britishers want here, father?" the son asked, as he and
Hugh came up the steps, leaving their horses with Leet and Pashar.
"He would seem to wish to assure us of his courtesy and good-will; and
when I declined these, he demanded to see my son, whom he accused of
playing a boyish prank upon a King's officer, and threatened him with
irons, should he catch the rogue."
All eyes were now turned upon Dorothy, who laid her blushing face
against her father's arm as she stood clasping it.
Jack muttered something under his breath; and Hugh, his face alight
with mischief, said, "May his search take up all the attention of
himself and his soldiers, which will be all the better for us." Then
stretching out his hand to Dorothy, he said with a sudden change of
manner, "Will you shake hands, Dorothy?"
"What for?" she asked, still clinging to her father's arm.
"As my way of thanking you that I am a free man this morning, and not,
perchance, in irons myself, and on the road to the Governor, at Salem."
She laid her small hand in his broad palm, and the look he gave her as
his fingers closed over it seemed to make her uncomfortable.
"It was very little I did," she declared quietly, drawing her hand away.
"So it may seem to you," he said gravely. "But had it not been done,
the things that might have followed would show you otherwise."
In the afternoon the four young people set out to ride over to Hugh's
place, where a widowed mother was anxiously expecting the arrival of
her boy--and only child.
Jack, for reasons now well understood, kept close to Mary's
bridle-rein; so it befell that Dorothy and Hugh were thrown upon one
another's society more intimately than for some time heretofore.
As they rode leisurely along the Salem turnpike toward their
destination, which lay away from the town, the young man exclaimed
suddenly, "I don't believe another girl living would dare do such a
thing, Dorothy, as you did last night!"
"Do cease prattling of last night," she said impatiently. "I am sick
to death hearing of it."
"Are you?" And Hugh's laughing eyes widened with sober surprise. "I
see no call for you to be so."
"I did not ask that you should," was the tart answer, a wilful toss of
her head accompanying the sharp words.
"Why, Dorothy, whatever ails you?" And he looked more surprised than
hurt at this new phase of his quondam playfellow's disposition.
She did not reply; and Hugh, seeing a glitter of tears in her eyes,
said nothing more.
And so they plodded along in utter silence; the two ahead of them
seeming to find no need for haste, and conversing earnestly, as though
greatly entertained by each other's company.
The thickly planted cornfields rose on either side of their way, and
the afternoon sun flickered the landscape with fleeting shadows from
the clouds sailing in the blue overhead, while now and again there came
a glimpse of the sea.
Everything about them was quiet, save the breathing of the horses and
the noise of their trappings.
At length, coming within sight of the Knollys homestead, the two in
front drew rein and waited for their companions to join them.
Dorothy gave the impatient mare her head, and rode up briskly, with
Hugh not far behind; and then all four went clattering through the gate
and up the grass-grown roadway, halting before the porch of the low
frame house that stood surrounded by thickly planted fields running
back to meet sloping wooded hills, with grassy meadows intervening,
where flocks of sheep and many cows were grazing peacefully.
A sweet-faced old lady--Hugh's mother--came out of the door and greeted
them cordially, but first casting a searching glance at her son. Then
bidding a servant take their horses to the stable, she invited them to
come within.
But Hugh said: "No, mother; Sam need not take the horses away. We can
stop but a short time, and then I must go back to remain in town for
the night. I only rode over--and these kind folk with me--to see how
you were faring without having me to look after matters, and to assure
you of my well being; for I know how you like to fret if I stop away
long enough to give you the chance."
"You are a saucy boy," his mother replied, but with a look that belied
her words; then turning to the two girls, she asked after their
fathers, and inquired particularly about each member of their
households.
She listened eagerly to the news of the town, and its latest doings;
the color, fresh as a girl's, coming and going in her cheeks, and
making a dainty contrast with the snowy muslin of her mob-cap and the
kerchief wound about her throat and crossed over her ample bust.
"And have any of these red-coated gallants stolen their way to the
hearts of you two girls?" she asked banteringly,--her eyes upon Mary
Broughton's beautiful face.
Jack's eyes were there as well; and Hugh alone saw the sudden mounting
of the blood to Dorothy's cheeks and the troubled drooping of her
eyelids.
John Devereux rose from his chair, and taking Mary's hand, led her to
the old lady.
"I am that one, good Mistress Knollys," he said proudly, "who has
stolen his way to this sweet girl's true heart; and you are the first,
outside the family, to know of it."
"Dearie me!" exclaimed Mistress Knollys, in a happy fluttered way, as
she drew Mary's blushing face down and gave her a hearty kiss. "I
always suspected it would be so; and I am sure every one will wish you
joy, as I do with all my heart." Then turning to her son, "Hugh, dear,
get some wine and cake, and let us pledge our dear friends. With all
these Britishers bringing trouble upon us, who can say how much chance
there'll be left for joyful doings?"
She bustled about with a beaming face, doing herself most of the
setting forth she had requested of her son. But Hugh's face looked far
graver than was its wont; his eyes strayed over to Dorothy, who was now
laughing and chatting like the rest, and he seemed to be puzzling over
a matter for which he could not find a ready solution.
It was later than they thought when they set out upon their return,
Mistress Knollys urging them to come again soon, and saying, as she
kissed Dorothy last of all: "It ever makes me feel young again, my dear
child, to have you in the house. And now that your brother and Mary
have one another, and your father has one more daughter, they can spare
you to your old friend with better grace."
CHAPTER XVII
The air was yet chill with the fresh north-wind, that had blown all
day, to go down only with the sun, while the misty horizon of the
afternoon was now a well-defined fog-bank rolling in from over the sea,
and sending a damp breath in advance of its own coming.
"We shall have a nasty night," said Hugh, looking at the smoke-like
wall. He and Dorothy were again riding side by side, with the other
two just ahead, but out of ear-shot, and they were making a short
detour across the fields, their course taking them past the Jameson
place.
It was a pretentious-looking house, painted white, with green blinds;
and a broad piazza was set back amid the fluted columns that ran up to
support the upper floor, whose dormer windows jutted out among the
branches of the oak and elm trees. On the piazza, were several
scarlet-coated gentry.
"Enjoying himself, no doubt, with rogues of his own ilk," was John
Devereux's comment, as he looked over his shoulder at Hugh,--the two
now being quite close to one another.
"There might be a thousand rather than a hundred of the redcoats at the
Neck, by the way they seem to be ever turning up about the place," Hugh
muttered in reply, without taking the trouble to look toward the house.
"And here come some more," announced Mary, in a tone of disgust, as
half-a-dozen scarlet coats appeared suddenly in the field before them.
They were riding at a reckless pace which soon brought them abreast of
the four, who were now taking their way quite soberly. And as they
swept past, the officer in the rear doffed his hat, while he bent his
eyes upon Dorothy's flushed face with an intensity that made Hugh
Knollys say half aloud, "The impudent young dog--what does he mean?"
Mary Broughton sat rigidly in her saddle, turning her head away at
sight of the face disclosed by the uplifted hat. But Dorothy smiled
shyly into the bright, daring eyes.
A little farther along they came upon three fishermen trudging the same
way as they were bound, one of them being young Bait, whose attempt at
singing had brought upon him Doak's wrath the night before.
"Jameson be givin' a dinner to some o' the redcoats," he said, as the
riders overtook him and his companions, one of whom added angrily,--
"An' he best have a care that he don't get his roof burnt over him an'
his d----d King's friends."
"Have a care yourself, man," said John Devereux, warningly. "'T is not
wise to do aught yet that will give them a handle to use for our own
hurt."
"Aye," muttered the third, "that may do for now. But if Jameson don't
go with his own sort when they leave the place, it may not be so easy
for him as it has been in the past."
"How long, think ye, Master John, afore the redcoats quit the Neck?"
inquired Bait.
"That were a hard matter for any one to say," was the young man's
reply. Then, as he urged his horse forward, he turned to add over his
shoulder, "But take my advice, and avoid any brawling with the
soldiers, for the present, should you run foul of them."
"That will have to be as it may," one of the men answered doggedly,
"accordin' as to how they mind their own affairs and let us alone."
"We shall come to have fighting in our streets yet, Jack; you may be
sure of it," said Hugh Knollys. "Our men can never brook with any
patience the swaggering of these impudent fellows."
The other glanced at him warningly, with a significant motion of the
head toward Dorothy; but the girl did not appear to notice their talk,
and was looking dreamingly away into the distance.
Mary Broughton, who was slightly in advance, turned her head; and Hugh
saw how her blue eyes were kindling as she exclaimed, "I, for one,
should not care if we _did_ come to blows! I'd like to see our men
show the Britishers that they cannot have matters altogether their own
way down here."
"Would you like to take a gun yourself, Mary, and help teach them this
lesson?" was Hugh's laughing question.
"Yes," she declared resolutely. "And I am sure I could handle it, too."
"You'll never need to do that, sweetheart, so long as I live to carry