From Kingdom to Colony Part 22

"He has gone to the town on affairs of his own."

"They are like to be affairs of great weight." The young man's voice had a note of sarcasm.

"Whatever they be, they can a.s.suredly be no concern of an officer o'

the King."

"That is for me to decide, sir," the soldier retorted with evidently rising anger. "He has done that which gives me good cause to put him in irons, should I choose to be vengeful."

"What mean ye?" the old man demanded with flas.h.i.+ng eyes.

"I mean," replied the other, slowly, "he shall be taught that he cannot play boyish pranks upon His Majesty's officers with impunity."

"It would seem you are better aware o' what you are prating of than am I," said Joseph Devereux, now laying a rea.s.suring hand over the small one that had stolen tremblingly into his own. "As for my son playing 'boyish pranks,' as you say, he would scarcely be likely to turn back to such things in his twenty-eighth year."

"Do you mean me to understand that your son is so old as that?" was the officer's surprised inquiry.

"I care little of what your understanding may be," was the indifferent reply; "but such is the fact."

"And have you no other son--a young boy?"

"I have not, as any one can tell you."

The young man bit his lips, and looked perplexed. Then, as his eyes turned to Dorothy's flushed face, he smiled again, and said, as though addressing her, "I beg pardon for any seeming incivility; but there would appear to be some mystery here."

"No mystery, young man," answered Joseph Devereux, with unbending severity, "save to wonder why you should come riding to our door in the fas.h.i.+on 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 a.s.sure 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 blus.h.i.+ng 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 gra.s.s-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 gra.s.sy 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 a.s.sure 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 blus.h.i.+ng 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.