CHAPTER VI
"Do you suppose, Joseph, that Jack will have had his supper?"
Aunt Lettice asked the question a little anxiously, as she drew abouther shoulders the soft shawl that little 'Bitha's impetuous claspinghad somewhat disarranged.
"Aye; I think the lad is sure to have taken it at the inn." His voicewas very gentle, as it always was when he addressed her.
"There he is!" shouted 'Bitha. And she darted down the steps to wavefrantic arms at two horsemen coming up the wooded way to the house,while Dot lifted her head from her father's knee, as he now sat moreerect in his chair.
"Have a care, 'Bitha, or we may run you down," called out JohnDevereux, laughingly. And at this the little maiden made haste tospeed back to the porch.
It was Hugh Knollys who accompanied him,--a stalwart, broad-chestedyoung fellow of twenty-five or six, with blunt features and a notover-handsome face. But for all this he had an irresistible magnetismfor those who knew him; and no one could ever associate evil or untruthwith his frank, keen-glancing gray eyes and clean-cut, smiling lips.
"Good-evening, Hugh, and welcome," said Joseph Devereux, rising toextend a friendly hand as the young man came up the steps.
Hugh removed his hat and nodded to Dorothy, glancing at her askance asshe arose and with a demure greeting passed him and went to herbrother, who was now giving some orders to old Leet.
"Jack," she whispered imploringly, under cover of the talk going on inthe porch,--"Jack, tell me, please, that you will not speak to fatherof Mary and me seeing Moll Pitcher this afternoon."
He looked at her smilingly, and then took her chin in his fingers andgave her head a gentle shake, in a way he had of doing.
"If I do as you ask, will you promise not to go over to that part ofthe town again without telling me first, and then not to go unless Isay you may?"
"Yes, yes," she answered eagerly.
"Well, then, 't is a bargain." With this he put an arm around her, andthey turned toward the house.
"Did Mary go home?" he asked, as they walked slowly along.
"Yes; but she is coming soon to stop with us, as her father is to go toBoston on business of some sort."
"He is like to go this very night," the young man said.
"This very night!" Dorothy echoed. "Why, then, Mary might have comehome with me, as I wished. But how do you know that, Jack?"
"Never mind now," was his evasive answer. "You will hear all about itlater."
They were now at the porch, and his father, who had been conversingearnestly with young Knollys, said: "Hugh tells me that ye both hadsupper at the inn. So come within, Jack,--come, both o' ye, and let ustalk over certain matters of importance. Hugh will stop with us forthe night; and, Dot, do you go and tell your Aunt Penine, so that hisroom may be prepared." And leading the way, the old gentleman wentinside, followed by his son and their guest.
"Grandame," asked 'Bitha, as Dorothy arose and went in quest of AuntPenine, "what did Hugh Knollys mean by his talk to Uncle Joseph justnow, of the King's soldiers at Salem?" The child spoke in an awedvoice, drawing closer to the old lady, and looking up at her withstartled eyes.
Aunt Lettice tried to give her delicate features a properly severe castas she answered, "Hush, 'Bitha! you should not listen to matters notmeant for your hearing."
"But I've heard it before, grandame," 'Bitha persisted. "JohnnieStrings said the same thing, this afternoon, to Dot and Mary Broughton.He said the soldiers were coming all over here, clear to the shore, andthat we best have guns ready to shoot them."
Aunt Lettice's expression had now become really severe, for she stillhad the old-time reverence for King and Parliament dwelling in herheart.
"Johnnie Strings is seditious and rebellious, to speak so of HisGracious Majesty's army," she said with marked disapproval; "and heshall sell no more of his wares to me, if he goes about the countrytalking in such fashion. But you must have mistaken his meaning,child."
But 'Bitha shook her small head wilfully, in a way to remind one of hercousin Dorothy, and took herself off to the charms of the kitchenregions, where old Tyntie was ever ready to listen to her prattle, andtell her charming tales when work was out of the way.
And this is how 'Bitha came to know that the bright green spots showinghere and there in the meadows were the rings made by the dancing feetof the Star-sisters, when they came down in a great ball of light fromtheir home in the sky, striking the ball about as they danced, andcausing it to give forth most ravishing music.
And Tyntie told her, also, that the flitting will-o'-the-wisp lightsthat showed on dark nights over the farthest away marsh-lands were thewandering souls of Indian warriors, watching to keep little childrenfrom getting lost or frightened; that the cry of the whippoorwill wasthe lament of Munomene-Keesis, the Spirit of the Moon, overdead-and-gone warriors vanquished by the white men; that the wild windscoming from the sea were Pawatchecanawas, breathing threatenings forbad men and their ships; and that the frogs hopping about in the cooldusk were all little Iiche, with a magic jewel in their ugly heads.
All this was imparted as they sat out on the great stumps of hewn-downtrees, while the twilight gathered and the stars came out in the vaultoverhead, and the two were at a safe distance from Aunt Penine'spractical bustling and sharp tongue.
For Aunt Penine ruled the household with a veritable "rod of iron;" andher courtly and calm-voiced brother-in-law was the only mortal to whomshe had ever been known to show deference of manner or speech.
She had gone within, and the maids with her. The dairy was closed forthe night, and Dorothy had returned to the porch, where she was nowseated in her father's favorite chair.
"Aunt Lettice," she said presently, "what think you all these queerthings mean? Mary Broughton said we might have a war; and there seemsa great lot for the men folk to be having meetings over, and secrettalk about."
"I know no more than you, Dorothy, but I wish it was all over, and thatI might have my tea once more; I miss it sadly."
"Why," exclaimed Dorothy, looking greatly surprised, "there is tea inthe house, Aunt Lettice! I thought it was not made for you because youdid not care for it."
"Indeed I do care for it very much," said the little old lady; and shesighed wistfully. "But Penine said there was to be no more tea, asyour father had forbidden it."
"Well, some one is drinking it," Dorothy asserted with positiveness,"for I found a small potful of tea in the store-closet this verymorning."
"Are you sure, my dear?" Aunt Lettice asked wonderingly.
"Of course I am sure, for I smelled it; and as I detest the odor, Ilooked to see what it came from. And I know as well that there is abig canful of tea there, for I caught the lace of my sleeve on the lidlast Sabbath day, as I reached to get the sugar to put on 'Bitha'sbread. Aunt Penine must know it is there."
"Penine is very fond of her tea." Aunt Lettice sighed again, and thistime rather suggestively.
"Well," said Dorothy, her fiery spirit all aglow, "if she be such a pigas to make it for herself when she lets you have none, I shall findout, and tell my father of her doings."
"My dear, my dear, you should not speak so," the gentle old ladyprotested, but with only feeble remonstrance. It was evident thatDorothy's words had put the matter in a new light.
"Now, Aunt Lettice," continued Dorothy, as she straightened her smallfigure in the chair, "you know that Aunt Penine often treats you withhard-hearted selfishness, and then next minute she will be reading hergood books and trying to look pious. I never want to be her sort ofgood,--never! And while I live, she shall not treat you so any more.I shall tell father to ask her about the tea, I warrant you."
Before Aunt Lettice could reply to this impetuous speech, a coach droveup, its lamps showing like glow-worms in the gathering dusk. In itwere Nicholson Broughton and Mary; and Dorothy rushed down the steps towelcome her friend as though they had been parted for weeks.
While the new-comers were alighting, Leet came up
to show the coachmanthe way to the stables; and then the two girls went directly to theporch, while Broughton himself tarried to give some low-spoken ordersto his servant.
The sound of the carriage wheels had brought John Devereux quickly tothe porch, while his father and Hugh Knollys followed after, theyounger man walking slowly, in deference to the slight lameness of hishost.
"Ah, neighbor Broughton, you are just the man we were wishing for.Heartily welcome!" And Joseph Devereux clasped the other man's hand,while John turned away with his sister and Mary Broughton.
They were joined a moment later by Hugh Knollys; and John Devereux, asthough suspecting a possible rival, watched keenly his blunt, honestface as he took the small hand Mary extended. But there was naught inHugh's look to alarm him, nor in the quiet greeting Mary gave hisfriend.
Dorothy now drew his attention. "Jack," she asked earnestly, "did youwarn Hugh not to speak aught of this afternoon?" But Hugh answered herquestion by a slight laugh, accompanied by a comprehending nod.
"Oh, Dot," said Mary, with gentle reproach, "you should not deceiveyour father in this way."
Dorothy raised her head as though she had been struck, and drew herselfup to the full limit of her small stature.
"Indeed, Mary, I intend to do no such thing," she replied almostaggressively. "'T is only that I wish to tell him all about it myself,and in my own fashion."
Here her father's voice broke in. "Come, John,--come, Hugh,--comeinside, with neighbor Broughton and me. We will get our matterssettled as soon as may be, while the girls visit with Aunt Lettice.But ye must all come within; 't is getting much too damp and cold tostop longer out o' the house."
He drove them in before him and closed the door, shutting out the roarof the surf along the shore, as it mingled with the shrilling of thedry-voiced insects in the grasses and woods.
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