Milady at Arms/Chapter 7
SALLY was singing. And Uzal Ball, listening outside his mother's kitchen window, was smiling with pleasure. For Sally's voice rose like a lark, higher, higher, until the clear sweetness of it seemed to fly into his very self and tug at his heartstrings. Suddenly, however, the song stopped with an abruptness that left Uzal a-gaping, when a very human ejaculation of dismay following the song sent him hurriedly stealing away, with a furtive, foolish glance around to see that no one had observed his foolishness
He flushed a deep, angry crimson when, raising his head, he saw David teasingly grinning down at him from the half-story landing of a flight of outside stairs. Neither brother said a word. Only Uzal knew that David was thinking: "Ha—he be sweet upon the little maid!" And Uzal was furious accordingly, for who likes to be observed paying unconscious court! Especially when one is a rather sour, dour young man of settled bachelorhood.
Meanwhile, Sally was staring down sadly at a great rent in her gown. And when Mistress Ball entered the kitchen a few minutes later, a stifled little sob made her look toward a dark corner of the big room.
"How now, my dear?" She stopped short upon her way to the cupboard. "Tears i' your eyes?"
"Aye." Sally dashed them away, however. "See what I did but now, Mistress Ball! And—and—the Williams sewing bee this very afternoon as ever is! I know not, forsooth, what I shall do!" Her lips trembled again. "This be mine only gown!"
Mistress Ball examined the long, jagged tear in her skirt that Sally held up for tremulous inspection. "However did ye do it, my child?" she asked. "Why, this be fit only for the rag bag, I'm thinking. Your best gown, ye say?"
"Aye." Again Sally nodded her head forlornly. "And what Mistress Todd will say when she doth return, I know not!"
"Humph—Mistress Todd should ha' provided gowns not quite so near the worn-out stage," thought Mistress Ball. But aloud she repeated: "How did ye tear it, lass?"
"On the fire-iron yonder," Sally told her, nodding toward the andirons. "I bent over to reach the back log—methought it was smouldering overly much—and snip! I heard my gown go as I straightened up. Oh, me, was ever maid so unfortunate! 'Tis plain to be seen I must gi' up going to the sewing bee!"
"Nay—wait!" Mistress Ball spoke absently, her eyes fixed upon a dower chest which stood beneath a window. She moved over to it and threw up the chest Hd. "Wait!" Her voice was muffled, now, as she bent over the chest. "Mayhap we can find something here for ye!"
With rising hope, Sally watched her. She caught delightful glimpses of gay satins, of lovely velvets, of many ribbons wound neatly in rolls. Anything, it seemed, might come forth from that chest! And like an eager Cinderella, she stood there in her old torn gown while Mistress Ball, fairy godmotherlike, delved and pulled at a generation's outgrown clothing. At last, with a little triumphant exclamation, the lady's searching fingers found what they sought, and, straightening herself, she turned around.
But, oh, how Sally's heart dropped with disappointment, like dead ashes putting out the tiny flame of joy which had commenced to flicker there! The gift gown was a drab one, indeed, in her young eyes, of a strange shade of plum-colored silk! A dark, elderly kind of gown!
Mistress Ball nodded at her smilingly as she held the gown up. "Take off thy torn gown and try this on!" she commanded kindly. "'Tis an outgrown one o' daughter Ray's, and I ha' thought, I know not how many times, to gi' it to ye, Sally."
A few minutes later, Sally drew a long, tremulous breath. "How do I look?" she asked hopelessly.
"Ye look rarely lovely!" cried Mistress Ball, with sparkling eyes. "And it fits ye as though made for ye! Look ye here, Ray," she turned to glance laughingly at her daughter as the latter entered the kitchen, "and see how didst look five years ago!"
Rachel Ball came over to place her hand affectionately upon her mother's shoulder as the latter sank heavily into an armchair. "Nay," she answered smilingly, "the gown ne'er became me as it does Sally! 'Tis made for the child!" She looked toward the door. "Is it not, Uzal?" she asked laughingly.
Sally glanced up quickly. What a pity, she thought dismally, that Uzal should see her thus—for she had noticed and naïvely liked the admiration she had caught in the young man's unguarded eyes once or twice. But Sally's glance turned to a stare, for admiration was written boldly upon Uzal's face, was reflected in Mistress Ball's and Rachel's faces as well.
"Ye look rarely nice, Sally," was all Uzal said, however, before he turned upon his heel and abruptly disappeared.
And Sally wonderingly advanced to an old mirror to look at herself. There, before it, however, she remained so long that Mistress Ball and Rachel exchanged a glance.
"How do ye like the gown, lass?" asked Rachel tolerantly.
Sally started, gave a little gasp. "Like it!" she cried. "Why—why—it doth become me well, after all!"
Rachel commenced to laugh. "Did—did—ye think we were but fooling ye, Sally?" she stammered. "Trying to rid ourselves o' ancient duds and rags!" And she burst into renewed laughter at the artless admission in Sally's words.
But Sally, preening herself, turning this way and that as she struggled to glimpse herself at every angle, only smiled vaguely. "I wish," she sighed presently, "we were going to a ball i'stead o' a sewing bee!"
"Why, Sally?" asked Mistress Ball, shaking her head at Rachel.
"Because it be such a lovely gown," said Sally simply.
Rachel tossed her head. "Ye do look nice, Sally," she said, "but I fear ye would feel amiss at a ball, for I do assure ye, the plain little gown, while it doth become your hair and eyes, would look very, very plain, indeed, beside the other ladies' attire!" And Rachel tried not to look too superior, for she had once visited some wealthy cousins in Philadelphia, and there had caught a view of life quite different from the plain one of her parents, a life filled with routs and parties and fine clothes, where hardships were unknown and work only something to discuss lightly, lazily over the teacups. Yet, since the war, there existed no sterner patriot than Rachel Ball, no one more self-denying for freedom's cause.
How could Sally eat her dinner, then, when she knew there hung, freshly pressed, that charming gown upon its wooden peg upstairs! More than once David glanced teasingly across the table at her beatific face and at last burst out: "What has happened to Sally f' Hast heard from thy long-lost parents, lass? Art going to leave us for" He stopped at his mother's chiding look.
"Nay, be not foolish, lad," said Mistress Ball reproachfully, glancing at Sally's drooping face. "We are but looking forward to this afternoon's sewing bee at Mistress Mary Williams's."
At that, Uzal raised his eyes from his trencher. "Watch thy words i' that household," he said dourly. "'Tis a hotbed o' Tories, there."
"Think ye so, Uzal?" answered his mother in a surprised voice. "Why, we are going to knit for the Continental soldiers, forsooth! And sew, too. Oh, I know young James be Tory; but he be only a foolish lad, not knowing his own mind as yet—adventuresome rather than bitter—as shown when he led the Tories after His Excellency that day some months ago."
"Mayhap ye will knit for the Continentals," retorted Uzal in a grim voice, "but I doubt an any o' Washington's men e'er see your stockings! All the Williamses be a blot on this patriotic community o' ours—and that be a fact!"
"Nay, I feel sure that ye wrong them," protested Mistress Ball, who was ever disposed toward lenience, while the others remained silent, interested listeners.
Uzal shoved his chair back violently from the table. "I tell ye. Mother, I do know the Williamses—Benjamin and Nathaniel and their families do be traitors to the Colonies' cause," he began in a loud angry voice, rising stormily to his feet. "Why name me nays? Old Amos Williams was as hot-headed and as bigoted a Tory afore he died as e'er saw this Mountain and his two sons be just like him. Why," Uzal thumped the table and Sally stared at the dancing dinner dishes, "they do say that Benjamin Williams hath e'en been seen wearing one o' Skinner's green uniforms o'er on Staten Island—though now the sneak be back on his farm, pretending loyalty. The Committee do be watching him, though," Uzal looked at them all significantly, "and when the Amnesty Act doth expire, that gentleman may have a different tune to sing—or lose his land!"
Mistress Ball, gazing at her usually silent son, saw that he was really wrought up over the matter, as attested by his trembling hands.
"There, there, Uzal, it may be so," she said pacifically, "and we all do promise ye," she looked smilingly at Rachel and Sally, "to watch our tongues and not betray any patriot or war secrets this afternoon."
"Now ye do make fun o' me," said Uzal sullenly. He started for the door, stopped upon the kitchen threshold. "But I give ye serious warning, all"
Here Rachel interrupted her brother impatiently. "Oh, get along wi' ye!" she exclaimed. "Wi' your warnings and your worryings! Mother and I be discreet enow—we have not lived i' the same house wi' you since the war started not to be!—as for Sally, I know o' no more fiery patriot than she!" She smiled at the girl. Then, as Uzal disappeared, Rachel looked at her mother. "In truth, I find Uzal becoming more fanatical everyday!" she complained. "'Tis getting to be most unpleasant!"
"Patience, Rachel, my child," urged Mistress Ball. "Uzal hath seen much o' the sad side o' this war. Whereas you and I," she sighed, "what know we! We have been more fortunate and more protected than most! But Mistress Williams—" she paused for a thoughtful instant, pondered, brightened—"nay, I feel sure she be a true patriot and that Uzal be wrong!"
"Aye—mayhap about her," Rachel took the tablecloth to the door and shook it invitingly at some bright-eyed robins hopping upon the lawn, but Uzal be right about her husband and the Committee, Ma—Master Hedden's daughter—o' the Town by the River—she did tell me Samuel Williams was under watch! Master Hedden hath been appointed to enforce the oath o' allegiance, ye mind!"
"Is't true, indeed!" Mistress Ball's voice was shocked. "Well, mayhap 'tis best to be watchful o' our tongues this day. Ye, too, Sally," she turned to the listening girl, "for we do not know friend from foe this hard year!"
But that afternoon, looking around the Williamses' big, pleasant kitchen where Mistress Mary's guests—a dozen or so neighbor women—had informally gathered, Sally thought there could be no doubt that all were friends. Such a hum of voices, such merry laughter, such a click of knitting needles that flashed in the sunshine stealing in through tiny-paned windows, for pleasure gatherings were few and far between, nowadays, and everyone was determined to get the most fun possible out of this. The dusk came early to that house, however—soon shadows were stealing out from every corner, for, built long ago, in 1730, by old Amos Williams, it nestled so near to the foot of the First Mountain, and had so few windows in its thick stone walls—glass was too expensive!—that the sunshine departed early, and even the brightest day found the house interior gloomy and dark.
Friends! Yet, even as she thought this, Sally saw James Williams, Mistress Mary's second son, a fine-looking boy of eighteen or so, glance in as he passed the kitchen door and eye his mother's guests with an obvious sneer!
As he disappeared swiftly and silently, the giri thought involuntarily of Uzal Ball's words at dinner time. But the next instant she was remorseful and ashamed, for a gentle hand was placed upon her shoulder as she sat knitting in her modest corner and Mistress Williams's sweet face smiled down at her.
"Sally, my dear. Mistress Ball hath been telling me o' thy misadventures and thy homelessness. I knew, of course, that Master Todd had been taken away by the red-coats and that Mistress Todd had gone to Newark, but I did not think o' ye," began Mistress Mary, seating herself upon a chair next to Sally, which someone had vacated. She spoke in a low voice. "I ha' been wondering—how would ye like to visit here at the Corners for a while? Methinks 'twould be most pleasant for us, my child."
"Why" Sally stopped and bit her lips. Visit at Tory Corners, as the ground around bitter old Amos's farm had been called! Uzal's words came to mind. "A hotbed o' Tories!" But, after all, why not, the girl asked herself? The old longing came surging over her, the old rebellion. Drifting! Being shifted around to suit others' whims! Sally's eyes were rather bitter as she looked up at Mistress Williams. "I gather Mistress Ball be going away?" she said coolly.
Mistress Mary's sweet face flushed at the shrewd guess. "Aye," she said gently. "Although I would have invited ye anyway, Sally!"
There was a little sensitive silence, while about them surged and eddied the bantering, the chatter, the light laughter. "Mistress Ball hath but now been worrying about ye, Sally," went on Mistress Williams at last. She rose to her feet and stood hesitating. "She did plan to take Rachel and David wi' her, and Uzal will be busy i' Newark, so ye see" Her voice broke off again.
Sally's heart was heavy, indeed. Yet, she told herself fiercely, that she had no right to complain, that these good people were taking care of her as best they could, planning for her, arranging for her. It was not their fault that she had no mother, no home!
But across the room her kind friend was watching her. Mistress Ball read aright the quick fluttering of Sally's eyelashes, the sudden hurt coloring of her mobile face, and before the girl could open her lips again, she was at her side.
"Nay, Mary," said Mistress Ball, as Sally rose to offer her chair, "I fear my little Sally doth misconstrue the situation, that she feels we want her no longer wi' us and are finding my Morris Town visit but a pretext to get rid o' her!"
"Why, how knew ye that?" Sally gazed at Mistress Ball in astonishment, then bit her lips in confusion.
"Ye see!" Mistress Ball turned with an eloquent gesture to her friend, Mary Williams.
"Ah, now that be too bad!" exclaimed that lady kindly. "For Sally doth indeed misjudge ye! Sally, my dear," she turned softly to the young girl, "wilt believe me when I tell ye I heard Mistress Ball plan this trip to Morris Town months ago—why, 'twas last spring, I mind, sometime in March or April—long before ye went to her house, forsooth! So that I know, of a certainty, 'tis no sudden whim, just to get rid o' ye as ye do believe! Will ye not believe me?" asked Mary Williams gently.
How Mistress Todd would have tossed her head and sneered at the trouble these two kind-hearted women were taking to convince a little bond maid that no hurt had been intended, that she was truly welcome in their homes! Perhaps a sudden thought of that irascible dame had something to do with Sally's surrender, with the fervor with which she kissed each soft, middle-aged cheek as she realized how truly good and kind they were to her. For a child is like a flower, quickly responsive to the sunshine of understanding kindness.
"Ah, I do believe ye!" said Sally gratefully. "And," she turned smilingly to Mistress Williams, who, watching her with anxious eyes, now returned the girl's smile happily, "I shall be glad to stay awhile wi' ye! Until Mistress Ball's return from Morris Town! Or"—a shade passed over Sally's face—"at least until Mistress Todd's return from the Town by the River, an she returns before!"
As the girl moved away. Mistress Williams turned to her friend. "Someone should speak to Parson Chapman about Sally," she said in a low tone, but decisively. "She did not look happy at mention o' her mistress's name! And I, for one, think Mistress Todd the wrong person to be in charge o' the poor little maid!"
"I think Parson Chapman knows the situation," returned the other lady. "I' fact, I feel sure he does, for he was much concerned and went straight from my house one day last May to Mistress Todd. I never heard what decision was reached, for much happened immediately thereafter. Through Uzal, whom Master Todd told, I learned that Parson Chapman barely escaped capture by a band of red-coats that day, that he got away only by a ruse—that is, daring to stop upon a hilltop and cheer for freedom i' the faces o' the oncoming red-coats, so that they, thinking from his daring that, concealed from them beyond the hilltop, were a troop o' Continentals, did gi' o'er the chase." Mistress Ball laughed. "Sally said that they turned and fled back down the hill, so sure they were o' American help coming to aid the parson!"
As Mistress Ball paused, Sally, who had turned back to listen assentingly, happened to let her gaze fall upon a mirror so placed upon the kitchen wall as to reflect beyond the open door. There, reflected in the mirror, the girl saw two listening faces! They were those of Master Williams and his son James!
Back flooded Uzal Ball's words, "A hotbed of Tories!" With a quick, furtive tug at Mistress Ball's gown, Sally nodded toward the mirror; but before the other became cognizant of her meaning, the listening faces had vanished. And Sally knew that either Master Williams or James had seen her warning.
"I wish," thought the girl nervously, "I had not said I would stay here, for Uzal be right, I fear. Why, I know not an e'en Mistress Williams be patriot now, for how can she be an her husband be Tory! Yet she does not look like a deceiving person!" And doubtfully, miserably, Sally glanced at her hostess's open, guileless face. The next instant her doubt and bewilderment were further increased by Mistress Williams advancing briskly to a table where the woolen stockings were commencing to pile up, and placing her hand upon them.
"Esther!" she called above the din of conversation. Mistress Ball turned smilingly in her direction. "Wilt see that these stockings reach headquarters?" continued Mistress Williams. "I mind that Uzal be in communication wi' His Excellency and ha' thought he might take charge o' them for us, as well as the shirts that are ready."
As Mistress Ball nodded, Sally thought explosively: "There, that erases Uzal's surmises that the stockings would ne'er reach our men. Indeed," the girl giggled to herself, "the joke be upon him, since he be the very one selected by Mistress Williams to prove himself wrong!"
Yet, the next instant, doubt returned with the thought that here was but a clever ruse upon Mistress Williams's part to turn suspicion away from her family and herself! And when, later, the simple refreshments of buttermilk and pound cake were served, Sally, during the confusion of changing groups and shifting of chairs, while half-knitted stockings were laid aside and "housewives" were returned to capacious petticoat bags—drawstring bags suspended from a belt and worn beneath the gowns next to the petticoats—Sally, I say, found an opportunity to whisper her suspicions to Mistress Ball, telling her what she had seen in the mirror.
The latter shook her head in troubled puzzlement. "Nay, I do not know!" she whispered back. "Keep ears and eyes open, Sally. Ye may ha' much to report to the Council o' Safety when it meets!"
"But that seems traitorous!" objected the girl. "To eat o' a neighbor's bread and then betray him!"
"Think rather 'tis traitorous to turn against one's country," whispered Mistress Ball, and for a grim moment she showed relationship to her stern son, Uzal. "Nay, ha' no scruples, my child. As long as there be wealthy Tory families i' New Jersey to feed and help the enemy, just so long this most dreadful war will be prolonged! The quicker all Tories be discovered and banished—aye, though they be our best friends"—and the tears started involuntarily to Mistress Ball's eyes, to be surreptitiously wiped away—"the better 'twill be! Do ye not see that, Sally?"
"Aye," sighed the girl. "Yet, methinks Uzal be right and misfortune e'er finds me out! For I like not to stay here wi' the feeling o' mayhap turning traitor to this family!"
More and more she had that feeling of reluctance, as the afternoon waned at last, and she watched Mistress Williams happily bidding a cordial farewell to her guests, congratulating each one upon the amount of work she had done for a noble cause. More and more bitterly Sally asked herself why fate had chosen her to play so mean a part.
It was while she was standing beside Mistress Williams upon the doorstep, holding the Williams baby in her arms—for Sally could never see a baby without picking it up!—that she saw Mistress Ball stop David, who had come for her, and turn upon her pillion seat to beckon.
"Wilt see what Esther doth desire?" asked Mistress Williams. "Here, I will take little Nathaniel an ye will run down to her, Sally!"
When the girl, upon swift young feet, had reached the road and Mistress Ball's side, that lady looked down at her as though she had reached a sudden decision.
"Sally," she said in a low tone, "despite what ye ha' told me this afternoon, I believe Mistress Williams to be patriot. I ha' been troubled o'er the matter—I do own it—and I thought I would not gi' the message to her which Mistress Keturah Harrison did ask me to deliver. But now," she straightened herself determinedly, "I do believe her to be patriot. So will ye tell her that the women meet to-morrow at Mistress Harrison's to make bullets i' her cornfield?"
"Aye." Sally nodded her head. "An ye believe it to be safe! Yet"
Mistress Ball looked at her with sudden sternness. "Is it not enow that I say I ha' decided, Sally?" Then her frown melted at the quick flush on the girl's cheeks. "Nay, ye be yet too young to judge what be best! Leave that to older heads. And now, good-bye, my dear—all right, David—I will not see ye to-morrow, for I may depart at once. But mayhap Mistress Williams will permit ye to accompany her to Mistress Harrison's!"
And the good lady's voice rose as her son touched his horse with his heels, to move away at a trot. Sally, seeing the look of wicked amusement upon his face, knew that he had enjoyed making his mother gasp out her words as she was jounced along. "What a tease he be!" she thought indulgently. "I verily believe age will not cure him, either! But I think I like Uzal the better—old sobersides that he be!"
"Did Mistress Ball leave a message for me?" inquired Mistress Williams curiously, when Sally, returning, took the baby from her arms and hugged the little fellow silently to her. Sally nodded. Then in a low voice she gave Mistress Ball's message to the other.
"Eh?" Mistress Williams put out a restraining hand toward little Nathaniel, who had commenced to crow and jump in Sally's arms. "Nay, I cannot hear, sweetheart!" she admonished the little fellow tenderly. "Now, what said ye, Sally?"
"I said," repeated Sally, in a louder voice, "that Mistress Harrison doth desire your company to-morrow morn—that the women are to meet to help wi' the bullet moulding and"
The girl stopped suddenly. This time there could be no doubt that someone was eavesdropping. For facing hostess upon threshold, Sally could see once more into the kitchen mirror—this time with her position reversed and the mirror reflecting those who stood Inside—and she plainly saw James Williams in the firelight, standing motionless in an attitude of acute listening!
"Aye—wi' the bullet-moulding and what, Sally?" Mistress Williams glanced at her in mild surprise. "Did not Mistress Ball say at what time?"
"She said to come early," Sally told her reluctantly. She paused again as James Williams appeared in the doorway, stepped aside for him to pass.
Mistress Williams hailed James as he started to walk away. "Nay, where be going, son?" she called reproachfully. "'Tis supper time, know ye not? Come back, James!" Her voice sharpened into domination as the lad, his back turned, hesitated. "Did ye hear me? I said to come back! Do not go, now, for I need your help wi' little Nat! Sally and I wish to prepare supper."
James returned to the doorstep with obvious reluctance. "Nay, let Zenas care for him!" he urged sullenly. "That lazy varlet can take care o' the baby as well as I—I ha' business to be done."
"What better business than helping your mother, James?" asked Mistress Williams still more reproachfully. "As for Zenas—lazy varlet. Indeed! He be still absent upon a long, hot errand for me! Nay, James, he be e'er the one to help—not ye!"
"Well, where be Amos?" asked James grumpily, taking his baby brother from Sally's arms. The little fellow crowed with delight as he felt James's strong arms around him, and the older brother's handsome, impatient face softened. The next instant, meeting Sally's eyes, he reddened and turned sullen again. "Where be Amos, forsooth?" he repeated. "Just because the rogue be older than I, he be e'er the one to avoid work!"
"Poor James—ye be abused, indeed!" laughed Mistress Williams serenely. "Amos be down at the mill, helping your uncle Ben." She turned and led the way into the kitchen, followed by Sally. "James doth protest," she confided to the girl, "yet it seems to happen that he be seldom called upon for household tasks!"
"Mayhap that be why he protests," observed Sally, smiling. "He be not used to it!"
"Mayhap," responded Mistress Williams. She stopped all at once in surprise. "Why, Nathaniel, dear, you home! I did not hear ye come in at the other door!"
Nathaniel Williams raised placid eyes to hers. He was snugly ensconced on a settle whose high back, Sally was swift to note, prevented him from being seen by anyone standing upon the doorstep. Now he took a quiet puff upon his long-stemmed Flemish pipe before he answered, almost as though he were choosing his words. Yet, the girl asked herself, why he should choose his words, unless—a guilty feeling of having been suspected of eavesdropping might be present, for suspicion breeds suspicion. Did he suspect that she was spying! A little cold shiver ran up Sally's spine as she curtseyed to him and set about preparing the supper table. But his words dispelled her distrust, momentarily, at least.
"I heard your words to James," said Master Williams mildly. "I will take care o' the baby an ye wish, Mary—an the lad desires to go about his own work."
"Nay," rejoined Mistress Williams, stooping to "blaze" the fire with a pair of bellows. "Ye be too lenient wi' him, Nat! I have said he must take care o' the baby, and take care o' him he shall!" She straightened herself to eye her husband combatively. Then, at his bowed head, as though he were trying to weather her unexpected sharpness, she burst into sweet-tempered laughter. "Nay, ye do not need to look so downhearted, Nat! 'Tis not you I be scolding—save, mayhap, for your interference."
"I but meant to be kind," began Nathaniel Williams hastily. Then he too burst into laughter, glancing at Sally, who was sympathetically smiling at them from the table. "Am I not an abused husband, forsooth!" he chuckled to the girl. "See ye how my wife doth browbeat me, Sally!"
Sally shook her head. "Nay, ye look not too abused, sir!" she said, with a giggle.
One by one the Williams children, gathered in the big kitchen, responded hungrily when summoned to the long supper table. All were fine-looking, from twenty-year-old Amos to little Nathaniel, now gurgling sleepily to himself in his cradle beside his mother, whose foot, as she sat at the table, continually rocked him.
Conversation turned, of course, upon Mistress Williams's sewing bee. "Didst have a good time at thy party, Mary?" asked Master Williams tenderly. It was plain to be seen that he was fond of his wife and proud of her competent ways and independent manner. Eating their suppers, the young people listened silently, for these were the days when children were to be seen but not heard—that is, generally.
Mistress Williams sighed. "I be tired!" she acknowledged. "But I am glad I had them here, for we did finish five shirts, Nat, and six pairs o' woolen stockings for our men at Morris Town."
"Our men!" burst out young James, as a shade passed over his father's face. "Nay, Mother, why will ye be so perverse! Everyone knows the Colonists are fools for going against His Majesty!"
"James! I like not your words to me!"
"James, leave the table, sir!"
At his parents' exclamations, the boy, red and angry, shoved back his stool from the supper table with a clatter that woke little Nathaniel. Snatching his hat from its wooden peg behind the door, James tramped out of the door, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind him. Sally, embarrassed, kept her eyes upon her plate until Mistress Williams, with an obvious effort, commenced to speak cheerfully, when the girl answered eagerly. But Master Williams remained silent and depressed and soon retired to his chamber, saying that he was tired and was going to bed.
It was after the dishes were washed and wiped and the children had gone to bed, too, that Mistress Williams came to Sally, as she was putting the cat out. "Sally," she whispered seriously, "think ye, mayhap, ye could find James and gi' him this porringer o' bread and milk! He be out there i' the garden sulking, I make no doubt—and—and—" her motherly voice faltered—"I be feared he be hungry. His father gave him no chance to finish his supper."
Sally glanced distastefully out into the dense darkness of the garden; but she took the porringer in her hands. "I can but try, dear mistress," she answered cheerfully. She was about to step down from the threshold when Amos spoke unexpectedly behind his mother.
"Why worry ye about James?" asked Amos philosophically. "He does not deserve supper! But, indeed, Mother, ye take him and his words too seriously! To-night, I mean! He doth but like to hear his own tongue clacking!"
"Mayhap," answered Mistress Williams, in a troubled fashion. She motioned to Sally, who had hesitated. "But try and find him, anyway, my dear. 'Twill ease my mind to know the perverse lad hath had his supper."
"Well," said Amos, yawning, "I be off to bed. Good-night!"
"Good-night, my son." Mistress Williams looked after her tall, quiet, eldest son affectionately. "Careful o' the candle, Amos," she added warningly. "And place it where it will not waken Zenas—the poor fellow hath had a hard day!"
"Aye, Mother!" Amos turned sleepily, toward the loft stairs. But in a moment he was back. "Did Sally put Noggins out?" he asked. "I was minded to take the cat upstairs wi' me—the rats be so thick up there! Sometimes," he hesitated, "I think 'tis not wise to keep the grain bin up there, for it doth call the rats and mice."
"But, Amos, your grandfather built it that way—it seems not quite right to change it after all these many years!" protested his mother. "Besides," she urged, "'tis so handy to ha' the spout for drawing off the grain right here i' the house, without going outdoors for it, especially when the snow do be on the ground!"
"Mayhap," answered Amos indifferently. "Here, Noggins, Noggins—to me, cat!"
"Hush!" warned Mistress Williams. "Ye will waken the baby!"
"'Tis right!" Amos grinned, "I cannot remember we ha' a baby i' the house! All right, Ma—to bed!" And he shuffled off good-naturedly.
Meanwhile, Sally walked slowly forward into the thick shadows of the garden. Gaining confidence as she went, however, she told herself that she did not mind the absence of moonlight, for she was sure that James would be loitering somewhere along the bank of Wigwam Brook, the stream which, cutting Nathaniel Williams's property in half, yet added value to it by irrigating it. Contrary to her expectations, James was not to be found. It was only when she had slowly turned around to go back that Sally, the porringer still held in her two hands, was stopped by low voices.
"So the women are to make bullets, eh!" said someone. There was a little silence, while Sally held her breath, then the voice proceeded reflectively: "Mistress Harrison's? That be at the turn o' Northfield Road?"
"Aye, just before the road lifts o'er the Mountain," answered James's voice.
"And who did tell your mother, ye say?"
"A maid—Mistress Todd's Sally!"
"Mistress Todd's Sally, eh? And who may she be?"
"Nay, sir, this be beside the question! I will bid ye good-night—I am hungry—I must go before the kitchen door be locked!"
"Not so fast!" A deeper note had crept into the deep voice. "Cannot ye go wi'out your supper for once? Why, this be war! Wait! Ye have not explained your tardiness! Ye did not keep your appointment, sir! I was here at sundown, as agreed. Where were ye?"
Sullenness crept into James's voice. Sally could imgine the angry red of his countenance. "I was—detained, sir."
"Ah, by the pretty Sally, mayhap!" Sly amusement was in the other voice now.
"Nay, sir!" burst out James angrily. "I was detained by my mother, an ye must know!"
"Well, well, give o'er, lad! I was but jesting!"
"I like not such jests!" returned James's voice furiously. "As for the maid, I cannot bear her, forsooth—she be an ugly wench wi' red hair—I do dislike red hair!—and she be a bond maid besides!"
There was a loud guffaw of laughter, tardily suppressed. But Sally stood stiff and angry, her Hps drawn to a thin, haughty line. He did despise red hair, forsooth! Very well, let him go without his supper! No auburn-haired damsel should serve him that night!
And very noiselessly, very carefully, she carried the porringer back to Mistress Williams, who was waiting anxiously upon the doorstep.
"I did not see James!" said Sally calmly, which, of course, was the truth. "He must have come in and gone up to bed while we were busy wi' the dishes, mistress! Or mayhap he went over to Master Benjamin Williams to sleep."
Mistress Williams sighed. "Aye, perchance he did go to his Uncle Ben's wi' his tantrum!" she agreed. "Poor James, I fear for his future, wi' his hot temper!"
Sadly, she swung the heavy kitchen door shut. Sally, with grim satisfaction, watched her bolt and bar it, well knowing that James would not dare awaken anyone to give him entrance.
"Let him stay out!" she thought. "Red hair, indeed!"