XV.

"_Wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes,

But presently prevent the ways to wail._"

It was a hot August afternoon; and the garden at Hyde Manor was full of

scent in all its shady places,--hot lavender, seductive carnation, the

secretive intoxication of the large white lilies, and mingling with them

the warm smell of ripe fruits from the raspberry hedges, and the

apricots and plums turning gold and purple upon the southern walls.

Hyde sat at an open window, breathing the balmy air, and basking in the

light and heat, which really came to him with "healing on their wings."

He was pale and wasted from his long sickness; but there was speculation

and purpose in his face, and he had evidently cast away the mental

apathy of the invalid. As he sat thus, a servant entered and said a few

words which made him turn with a glad, expectant manner to the open

door; and, as he did so, a man of near sixty years of age passed through

it--a handsome, lordly-looking man, who had that striking personal

resemblance to Hyde which affectionate brothers often have to one

another.

"Faith, William, you are welcome home! I am most glad to see you."

"Sit still, Dick. You sad rascal, you've been playing with cold steel

again, I hear! Can't you let it alone, at your age?"

"Why, then, it was my business, as you know, sir. My dear William, how

delighted I am to see you!"

"'Tis twelve years since we met, Dick. You have been in America; I have

been everywhere. I confess, too, I am amazed to hear of your marriage.

And Hyde Manor is a miracle. I expected to find it mouldy and mossy--a

haunt for frogs and fever. On the contrary, it is a place of perfect

beauty."

"And it was all my Katherine's doing."

"I hear that she is Dutch; and, beyond a doubt, her people have a genius

that develops in low lands."

"She is my angel. I am unworthy of her goodness and beauty."

"Why, then, Dick, I never saw you before in such a proper mood; and I

may as well tell you, while you are in it, that I have also found a

treasure past belief of the same kind. In fact, Dick, I am married, and

have two sons."

There was a moment's profound silence, and an inexplicable shadow passed

rapidly over Hyde's face; but it was fleeting as a thought, and, ere

the pause became strained and painful, he turned to his brother and

said, "I am glad, William. With all my heart, I am glad."

"Indeed, Dick, when Emily Capel died, I was sincere in my purpose never

to marry; and I looked upon you always as the future earl, until one

night in Rome, in a moment, the thing was altered."

"I can understand that, William."

"I was married very quietly, and have been in Italy ever since. Only

four days have elapsed since I returned to England. My first inquiries

were about you."

"I pray you, do not believe all that my enemies will say of me."

"Among other things, I was told that you had left the army."

"That is exactly true. When I heard that Lord Percy's regiment was

designed for America, and against the Americans, I put it out of the

king's power to send me on such a business."

"Indeed, I think the Americans have been ill-used; and I find the town

in a great commotion upon the matter. The night I landed, there had come

bad news from New York. The people of that city had burned effigies of

Lord North and Governor Hutchinson, and the new troops were no sooner

landed than five hundred of them deserted in a body. At White's it was

said that the king fell into a fit of crying when the intelligence was

brought him."

Hyde's white face was crimson with excitement, and his eyes glowed like

stars as he listened.

[Illustration: "One night in Rome, in a moment, the thing was altered,"]

"That was like New York; and, faith, if I had been there, I would have

helped them!"

"Why not go there? I owe you much for the hope of which my happiness has

robbed you. I will take Hyde Manor at its highest price; I will add to

it fifty thousand pounds indemnity for the loss of the succession. You

may buy land enough for a duchy there, and found in the New World a new

line of the old family. If there is war, you have your opportunity. If

the colonists win their way, your family and means will make you a

person of great consideration. Here, you can only be a member of the

family; in America, you can be the head of your own line. Dick, my dear

brother, out of real love and honour I speak these words."

"Indeed, William, I am very sensible of your kindness, and I will

consider well your proposition for you must know that it is a matter of

some consequence to me now. I think, indeed, that my Katherine will be

in a transport of delight to return to her native land. I hear her

coming, and we will talk with her; and, anon, you shall confess,

William, that you have seen the sweetest woman that ever the sun shone

upon."

Almost with the words she entered, clothed in a white India muslin, with

carnations at her breast. Her high-heeled shoes, her large hoop, and the

height to which her pale gold hair was raised, gave to the beautiful

woman an air of majesty that amazed the earl. He bowed low, and then

kissed her cheeks, and led her to a chair, which he placed between Hyde

and himself.

Of course the discussion of the American project was merely opened at

that time. English people, even at this day, move only after slow and

prudent deliberation; and then emigration was almost an irrevocable

action. Katherine was predisposed to it, but yet she dearly loved the

home she had made so beautiful. During Hyde's convalescence, also, other

plans had been made and talked over until they had become very hopeful

and pleasant; and they could not be cast aside without some reluctance.

In fact, the purpose grew slowly, but surely, all through the following

winter; being mainly fed by Katherine's loving desire to be near to her

parents, and by Hyde's unconfessed desire to take part in the struggle

which he foresaw, and which had his warmest sympathy. Every American

letter strengthened these feelings; but the question was finally

settled--as many an important event in every life is settled--by a

person totally unknown to both Katherine and Hyde.

It was on a cold, stormy afternoon in February, when the fens were white

with snow. Hyde sat by the big wood-fire, re-reading a letter from Joris

Van Heemskirk, which also enclosed a copy of Josiah Quincy's speech on

the Boston Port Bill. Katherine had a piece of worsted work in her

hands. Little Joris was curled up in a big chair with his book, seeing

nothing of the present, only conscious of the gray, bleak waves of the

English Channel, and the passionate Blake bearing down upon Tromp and De

Ruyter.

"What a battle that would be!" he said, jumping to his feet. "Father, I

wish that I had lived a hundred years ago."

"What are you talking about, George?"

"Listen, then: 'Eighty sail put to sea under Blake. Tromp and De Ruyter,

with seventy-six sail, were seen, upon the 18th of February, escorting

three hundred merchant-ships up the channel. Three days of desperate

fighting ensued, and Tromp acquired prodigious honour by this battle;

for, though defeated, he saved nearly the whole of his immense convoy.'

I wish I had been with Tromp, father."

"But an English boy should wish to have been with Blake."

"Tromp had the fewer vessels. One should always help the weaker side,

father. And, besides, you know I am half Dutch."

Katherine looked proudly at the boy, but Hyde had a long fit of musing.

"Yes," he answered at length, "a brave man always helps those who need

it most. Your father's letter, Katherine, stirs me wonderfully. Those

Americans show the old Saxon love of liberty. Hear how one of them

speaks for his people: 'Blandishments will not fascinate us, nor will

threats of a halter intimidate. For, under God, we are determined that

wheresoever, whensoever, or howsoever we shall be called to make our

exit, we will die free men.' Such men ought to be free, Katherine, and

they will be free."

It was at this moment that Lettice came in with a bundle of newspapers:

"They be brought by Sir Thomas Swaffham's man, sir, with Sir Thomas's

compliments; there being news he thinks you would like to read, sir."

Katherine turned promptly. "Spiced ale and bread and meat give to the

man, Lettice; and to Sir Thomas and Lady Swaffham remind him to take

our respectful thanks."

Hyde opened the papers with eager curiosity. Little Joris was again with

Tromp and Blake in the channel; and Katherine, remembering some

household duty, left the father and son to their private enthusiasms.

She was restless and anxious, for she had one of those temperaments that

love a settled and orderly life. It would soon be spring, and there were

a thousand things about the house and garden which would need her

attention if they were to remain at Hyde. If not, her anxieties in other

directions would be equally numerous and necessary. She stood at the

window looking into the white garden close. Something about it recalled

her father's garden; and she fell into such a train of tender memories

that when Hyde called quickly, "Kate, Kate!" she found that there were

tears in her eyes, and that it was with an effort and a sigh her soul

returned to its present surroundings.

[Illustration: "I must draw my sword again"]

Hyde was walking about the room in great excitement,--his tall, nervous

figure unconsciously throwing itself into soldierly attitudes; his dark,

handsome face lit by an interior fire of sympathetic feeling.

"I must draw my sword again, Katherine," he said, as his hand

impulsively went to his left side,--"I must draw my sword again. I

thought I had done with it forever; but, by St. George, I'll draw it in

this quarrel!"

"The American quarrel, Richard?"

"No other could so move me. We have the intelligence now of their

congress. They have not submitted; they have not drawn back, not an

inch; they have not quarrelled among themselves. They have unanimously

voted for non-importation, non-exportation, and non-consumption. They

have drawn up a declaration of their rights. They have appealed to the

sympathies of the people of Canada, and they have resolved to support by

arms all their brethren unlawfully attacked. Hurrah, Katherine! Every

good man and true wishes them well."

"But it is treason, dear one."

"_Soh!_ It was treason when the barons forced the Great Charter from

King John. It was treason when Hampden fought against 'ship-money,' and

Cromwell against Star Chambers, and the Dutchman William laid his firm

hand on the British Constitution. All revolutions are treason until they

are accomplished. We have long hesitated, we will waver no more. The

conduct of Sir Jeffrey Amherst has decided me."

"I know it not."

"On the 6th of this month the king offered him a peerage if he would

take command of the troops for America; and he answered, 'Your majesty

must know that I cannot bring myself to fight the Americans, who are not

only of my own race, but to whose former kindness I am also much

obliged.' By the last mail, also, accounts have come of vast desertions

of the soldiers of Boston; and three officers of Lord Percy's regiment

are among the number. Katherine, our boy has told me this afternoon that

he is half Dutch. Why should we stay in England, then, for his sake? We

will do as Earl William advises us,--go to America and found a new

house, of which I and he will be the heads. Are you willing?"

"Only to be with you, only to please you, Richard. I have no other

happiness."

"Then it is settled; and I thank Sir Jeffrey Amherst, for his words have

made me feel ashamed of my indecision. And look you, dear Kate, there

shall be no more delays. The earl buys Hyde as it stands; we have

nothing except our personal effects to pack: can you be ready in a

week?"

"You are too impatient, Richard. In a week it is impossible.

"Then in two weeks. In short, my dear, I have taken an utter aversion to

being longer in King George's land."

"Poor king! Lady Swaffham says he means well; he misunderstands, he

makes mistakes."

"And political mistakes are crimes, Katherine. Write to-night to your

father. Tell him that we are coming in two weeks to cast our lot with

America. Upon my honour, I am impatient to be away."

When Joris Van Heemskirk received this letter, he was very much excited

by its contents. Putting aside his joy at the return of his beloved

daughter, he perceived that the hour expected for years had really

struck. The true sympathy that had been so long in his heart, he must

now boldly express; and this meant in all probability a rupture with

most of his old associates and friends--Elder Semple in the kirk, and

the Matthews and Crugers and Baches in the council.

He was sitting in the calm evening, with unloosened buckles, in a cloud

of fragrant tobacco, talking of these things. "It is full time, come

what will," said Lysbet. "Heard thou what Batavius said last night?"

"Little I listen to Batavius."

"But this was a wise word. 'The colonists are leaving the old ship,' he

said; 'and the first in the new boat will have the choice of oars.'"

"That was like Batavius, but I will take higher counsel than his."

Then he rose, put on his hat, and walked down his garden; and, as he

slowly paced between the beds of budding flowers, he thought of many

things,--the traditions of the past struggles for freedom, and the

irritating wrongs that had imbittered his own experience for ten years.

There was plenty of life yet in the spirit his fathers had bequeathed to

him; and, as this and that memory of wrong smote it, the soul-fire

kindled, glowed, burned with passionate flame. "Free, God gave us this

fair land, and we will keep it free. There has been in it no crowns and

sceptres, no bloody Philips, no priestly courts of cruelty; and, in

God's name, we will have none!"

He was standing on the river-bank; and the meadows over it were green

and fair to see, and the fresh wind blew into his soul a thought of its

own untrammelled liberty. He looked up and down the river, and lifted

his face to the clear sky, and said aloud, "Beautiful land! To be thy

children we should not deserve, if one inch of thy soil we yielded to a

tyrant. Truly a vaderland to me and to mine thou hast been. Truly do I

love thee." And then, his soul being moved to its highest mark, he

answered it tenderly, in the strong-syllabled mother-tongue that it knew

so well,--

"Indien ik u vergeet, o Vaderland! zoo vergete mijne regter-hand zich

zelve!"

Such communion he held with himself until the night came on, and the dew

began to fall; and Lysbet said to herself, "I will walk down the garden:

perhaps there is something I can say to him." As she rose, Joris

entered, and they met in the centre of the room. He put his large hands

upon her shoulders, and, looking solemnly in her face, said, "My Lysbet,

I will go with the people; I will give myself willingly to the cause of

freedom. A long battle is it. Two hundred years ago, a Joris Van

Heemskirk was fighting in it. Not less of man than he was, am I, I

hope."

There was a mist of tears over his eyes--a mist that was no dishonour;

it only showed that the cost had been fully counted, and his allegiance

given with a clear estimate of the value and sweetness of all that he

might have to give with it. Lysbet was a little awed by the solemnity of

his manner. She had not before understood the grandeur of such a

complete surrender of self as her husband had just consummated. But

never had she been so proud of him. Everything commonplace had slipped

away: he looked taller, younger, handsomer.

[Illustration: "We have closed his Majesty's custom-house forever"]

She dropped her knitting to her feet, she put her arms around his

neck, and, laying her head upon his breast, said softly, "My good Joris!

I will love thee forever."

In a few minutes Elder Semple came in. He looked exceedingly worried;

and, although Joris and he avoided politics by a kind of tacit

agreement, he could not keep to kirk and commercial matters, but

constantly returned to one subject,--a vessel lying at Murray's Wharf,

which had sold her cargo of molasses and rum to the "Committee of

Safety."

"And we'll be haeing the custom-house about the city's ears, if there's

'safety' in that,--the born idiots," he said.

Joris was in that grandly purposeful mood that takes no heed of fretful

worries. He let the elder drift from one grievance to another; and he

was just in the middle of a sentence containing his opinion of Sears and

Willet, when Bram's entrance arrested it. There was something in the

young man's face and attitude which made every one turn to him. He

walked straight to the side of Joris,--

"Father, we have closed his Majesty's custom-house forever."

"_We!_ Who, then, Bram?"

"The Committee of Safety and the Sons of Liberty."

Semple rose to his feet, trembling with passion. "Let me tell you, then,

Bram, you are a parcel o' rogues and rebels; and, if I were his Majesty,

I'd gibbet the last ane o' you."

"Patience, Elder. Sit down, I'll speak"--

"No, Councillor, I'll no sit down until I ken what kind o' men I'm

sitting wi'. Oot wi' your maist secret thoughts. Wha are you for?"

"For the people and for freedom am I," said Joris, calmly rising to his

feet. "Too long have we borne injustice. My fathers would have spoken by

the sword before this. Free kirk, free state, free commerce, are the

breath of our nostrils. Not a king on earth our privileges and rights

shall touch; no, not with his finger-tips. Bram, my son, I am your

comrade in this quarrel." He spoke with fervent, but not rapid speech,

and with a firm, round voice, full of magical sympathies.

"I'll hear nae mair o' such folly.--Gie me my bonnet and plaid, madam,

and I'll be going.--The King o' England needna ask his Dutch subjects

for leave to wear his crown, I'm thinking."

"Subjects!" said Bram, flashing up. "Subjection! Well, then, Elder,

Dutchmen don't understand the word. Spain found that out."

"Hoots! dinna look sae far back, Bram. It's a far cry, to Alva and

Philip. Hae you naething fresher? Gude-night, a'. I hope the morn will

bring you a measure o' common sense." He was at the door as he spoke;

but, ere he passed it, he lifted his bonnet above his head and said,

"God save the king! God save his gracious Majesty, George of England!"

Joris turned to his son. To shut up the king's customs was an overt

action of treason. Bram, then, had fully committed himself; and,

following out his own thoughts, he asked abruptly, "What will come of

it, Bram?"

"War will come, and liberty--a great commonwealth, a great country."

"It was about the sloop at Murray's Wharf?"

"Yes. To the Committee of Safety her cargo she sold; but Collector

Cruger would not that it should leave the vessel, although offered was

the full duty."

"For use against the king were the goods; then Cruger, as a servant of

King George, did right."

"Oh, but if a tyrant a man serves, we cannot suffer wrong that a good

servant he may be! King George through him refused the duty: no more

duties will we offer him. We have boarded up the doors and windows of

the custom-house. Collector Cruger has a long holiday."

He did not speak lightly, and his air was that of a man who accepts a

grave responsibility. "I met Sears and about thirty men with him on Wall

Street. I went with them, thinking well on what I was going to do. I am

ready by the deed to stand."

"And I with thee. Good-night, Bram, To-morrow there will be more to

say."

Then Bram drew his chair to the hearth, and his mother began to question

him; and her fine face grew finer as she listened to the details of the

exploit. Bram looked at her proudly. "I wish only that a fort full of

soldiers and cannon it had been," he said. "It does not seem such a fine

thing to take a few barrels of rum and molasses."

"Every common thing is a fine thing when it is for justice. And a fine

thing I think it was for these men to lay down every one his work and

his tool, and quietly and orderly go do the work that was to be done for

honour and for freedom. If there had been flying colours and beating

drums, and much blood spilt, no grander thing would it have been, I

think."

And, as Bram filled and lighted his pipe, he hummed softly the rallying

song of the day,--

"In story we're told

How our fathers of old

Braved the rage of the winds and the waves;

And crossed the deep o'er,

For this far-away shore,

All because they would never be slaves--brave boys!

All because they would never be slaves.

"The birthright we hold

Shall never be sold,

But sacred maintained to our graves;

And before we comply

We will gallantly die,

For we will not, we will not be slaves--brave boys!

For we will not, we will not be slaves."

In the meantime Semple, fuming and ejaculating, was making his way

slowly home. It was a dark night, and the road full of treacherous soft

places, fatal to that spotless condition of hose and shoes which was one

of his weak points. However, before he had gone very far, he was

overtaken by his son Neil, now a very staid and stately gentleman,

holding under the government a high legal position in the investigation

of the disputed New-Hampshire grants.

He listened respectfully to his father's animadversions on the folly of

the Van Heemskirks; but he was thinking mainly of the first news told

him,--the early return of Katherine. He was conscious that he still

loved Katherine, and that he still hated Hyde. As they approached the

house, the elder saw the gleam of a candle through the drawn blind; and

he asked querulously, "What's your mother doing wi' a candle at this

hour, I wonder?"

"She'll be sewing or reading, father."

"Hoots! she should aye mak' the wark and the hour suit. There's spinning

and knitting for the night-time. Wi' soldiers quartered to the right

hand and the left hand, and a civil war staring us in the face, it's

neither tallow nor wax we'll hae to spare."

He was climbing the pipe-clayed steps as he spoke, and in a few minutes

was standing face to face with the offender. Madam Semple was reading

and, as her husband opened the parlour door, she lifted her eyes from

her book, and let them calmly rest upon him.

[Illustration: "I am reading the Word"]

"Fire-light and candle-light, baith, Janet! A fair illumination, and nae

ither thing but bad news for it."

"It is for reading the Word, Elder."

"For the night season, meditation, Janet, meditation;" and he lifted the

extinguisher, and put out the candle. "Meditate on what you hae read.

The Word will bide a deal o' thinking about. You'll hae heard the ill

news?"

"I heard naething ill."

"Didna Neil tell you?"

"Anent what?"

"The closing o' the king's customs."

"Ay, Neil told me."

"Weel?"

"Weel, since you ask me, I say it was gude news."

"Noo, Janet, we'll hae to come to an understanding. If I hae swithered

in my loyalty before, I'll do sae nae mair. From this hour, me and my

house will serve King George. I'll hae nae treason done in it, nor said;

no, nor even thocht o'."

"You'll be a vera Samson o' strength, and a vera Solomon o' wisdom, if

you keep the hands and the tongues and the thochts o' this house.

Whiles, you canna vera weel keep the door o' your ain mouth, gudeman.

What's come o'er you, at a'?"

"I'm surely master in my ain house, Janet."

"'Deed, you are far from being that, Alexander Semple. Doesna King

George quarter his men in it? And havena you to feed and shelter them,

and to thole their ill tempers and their ill ways, morning, noon, and

night? You master in your ain house! You're just a naebody in it!"

"Dinna get on your high horse, madam. Things are coming to the upshot:

there's nae doot o' it."

"They've been lang aboot it--too lang."

"Do you really mean that you are going to set yoursel' among the

rebels?"

"Going? Na, na; I have aye been amang them. And ten years syne, when the

Stamp Act was the question, you were heart and soul wi' the people. The

quarrel to-day is the same quarrel wi' a new name. Tak' the side o'

honour and manhood and justice, and dinna mak' me ashamed o' you,

Alexander. The Semples have aye been for freedom,--Kirk and State,--and

I never heard tell o' them losing a chance to gie them proud English a

set-down before. What for should you gie the lie to a' your forbears

said and did? King George hasna put his hand in his pocket for you; he

has done naething but tax your incomings and your outgoings. Ask Van

Heemskirk: he's a prudent man, and you'll never go far wrong if you walk

wi' him."

"Ask Van Heemskirk, indeed! Not I. The rebellious spirit o' the ten

tribes is through all the land; but I'll stand by King George, if I'm

the only man to do it."

"George may be king o' the Semples. I'm a Gordon. He's no king o' mine.

The Gordons were a' for the Stuarts."

"Jacobite and traitor, baith! Janet, Janet, how can you turn against me

on every hand?"

"I'll no turn against you, Elder; and I'll gie you no cause for

complaint, if you dinna set King George on my hearthstone, and bring him

to my table, and fling him at me early and late." She was going to light

the candle again; and, with it in her hand, she continued: "That's

enough anent George rex at night-time, for he isna a pleasant thought

for a sleeping one. How is Van Heemskirk going? And Bram?"

"Bram was wi' them that unloaded the schooner and closed the

custom-house--the born idiots!"

"I expected that o' Bram."

"As for his father, he's the blackest rebel you could find or hear tell

o' in the twelve Provinces."

"He's a good man; Joris is a good man, true and sure. The cause he

lifts, he'll never leave. Joris and Bram--excellent! They two are a

multitude."

"Humff!" It was all he could say. There was something in his wife's face

that made it look unfamiliar to him. He felt himself to be like the

prophet of Pethor--a man whose eyes are opened. But Elder Semple was not

one of the foolish ones who waste words. "A wilfu' woman will hae her

way," he thought; "and if Janet has turned rebel to the king, it's mair

than likely she'll throw off my ain lawfu' authority likewise. But we'll

see, we'll see," he muttered, glancing with angry determination at the

little woman, who, for her part, seemed to have put quite away all

thoughts of king and Congress.

She stood with the tinder-box and the flint and brimstone matches in her

hands. "I wonder if the tinder is burnt enough, Alexander," she said;

and with the words she sharply struck the flint. A spark fell instantly

and set fire to it, and she lit her match and watched it blaze with a

singular look of triumph on her face. Somehow the trifling affair

irritated the elder. "What are you doing at a'? You're acting like a

silly bairn, makin' a blaze for naething. There's a fire on the hearth:

whatna for, then, are you wasting tinder and a match?"

"Maybe it wasna for naething, Elder. Maybe I was asking for a sign, and

got the ane I wanted. There's nae sin in that, I hope. You ken Gideon

did it when he had to stand up for the oppressed, and slay the tyrant."

"Tut, woman, you arena Gideon, nor yet o' Gideon's kind; and, forbye,

there's nae angel speaking wi' you."

"You're right there, Elder. But, for a' that, I'm glad that the spark

fired the tinder, and that the tinder lit the match, and that the match

burnt sae bright and sae bravely. It has made a glow in my heart, and

I'll sleep well wi' the pleasure o' it."

Next morning the argument was not renewed. Neil was sombre and silent.

His father was uncertain as to his views, and he did not want to force

or hurry a decision. Besides, it would evidently be more prudent to

speak with the young man when he could not be influenced by his mother's

wilful, scornful tongue. Perhaps Neil shared this prudent feeling; for

he deprecated conversation, and, on the plea of business, left the

breakfast-table before the meal was finished.

The elder, however, had some indemnification for his cautious silence.

He permitted himself, at family prayers, a very marked reading of St.

Paul's injunction, "Fear God and honour the king;" and ere he left the

house he said to his wife, "Janet, I hope you hae come to your senses.

You'll allow that you didna treat me wi' a proper respect yestreen?"

She was standing face to face with him, her hands uplifted, fastening

the broad silver clasp of his cloak. For a moment she hesitated, the

next she raised herself on tiptoes, and kissed him. He pursed up his

mouth a little sternly, and then stroked her white hair. "You heard

what St. Paul says, Janet; isna that a settlement o' the question?"

"I'm no blaming St. Paul, Alexander. If ever St. Paul approves o'

submitting to tyranny, it's thae translators' fault. He wouldna tak'

injustice himsel', not even from a Roman magistrate. I wish St. Paul was

alive the day: I'm vera sure if he were, he'd write an epistle to the

English wad put the king's dues just as free men would be willing to pay

them. Now, don't be angry, Alexander. If you go awa' angry at me, you'll

hae a bad day; you ken that, gudeman."

It was a subtile plea; for no man, however wise or good or brave, likes

to bespeak ill-fortune when it can be averted by a sacrifice so easy and

so pleasant. But, in spite of Janet's kiss, he was unhappy; and when he

reached the store, the clerks and porters were all standing together

talking. He knew quite well what topic they were discussing with such

eager movements and excited speech. But they dispersed to their work at

the sight of his sour, stern face, and he did not intend to open a fresh

dispute by any question.

Apprentices and clerks then showed a great deal of deference to their

masters, and Elder Semple demanded the full measure due to him.

Something, however, in the carriage, in the faces, in the very, tones of

his servants' voices, offended him; and he soon discovered that various

small duties had been neglected.

"Listen to me, lads," he said angrily; "I'll have nae politics mixed up

wi' my exports and my imports. Neither king nor Congress has anything

to do wi' my business. If there is among you ane o' them fools that ca'

themselves the 'Sons o' Liberty,' I'll pay him whatever I owe him now,

and he can gang to Madam Liberty for his future wage."

[Illustration: He was standing on the step of his high counting-desk.]

He was standing on the step of his high counting-desk as he spoke, and

he peered over the little wooden railing at the men scattered about with

pens or hammers or goods in their hands. There was a moment's silence;

then a middle-aged man quietly laid down the tools with which he was

closing a box, and walked up to the desk. The next moment, every one in

the place had followed him. Semple was amazed and angry, but he made no

sign of either emotion. He counted to the most accurate fraction every

one's due, and let them go without one word of remonstrance.

But as soon as he was alone, he felt the full bitterness of their

desertion, and he could not keep the tears out of his eyes as he looked

at their empty places. "Wha could hae thocht it?" he exclaimed. "Allan

has been wi' me twenty-seven years, and Scott twenty, and Grey nearly

seventeen. And the lads I have aye been kindly to. Maist o' them have

wives and bairns, too; it's just a sin o' them. It's no to be believed.

It's fair witchcraft. And the pride o' them! My certie, they all looked

as if their hands were itching for a sword or a pair o' pistols!"

At this juncture Neil entered the store. "Here's a bonnie pass, Neil;

every man has left the store. I may as weel put up the shutters."

"There are other men to be hired."

"They were maistly a' auld standbys, auld married men that ought to have

had mair sense."

"The married men are the trouble-makers; the women have hatched and

nursed this rebellion. If they would only spin their webs, and mind

their knitting!"

"But they willna, Neil; and they never would. If there's a pot o'

rebellion brewing between the twa poles, women will be dabbling in it.

They have aye been against lawfu' authority. The restraints o' paradise

was tyranny to them. And they get worse and worse: it isna ane apple

would do them the noo; they'd strip the tree, my lad, to its vera

topmost branch."

"There's mother."

"Ay, there's your mother, she's a gude example. She's a Gordon; and

thae Gordon women cried the '_slogan_' till their men's heads were a' on

Carlisle gate or Temple Bar, and their lands a' under King George's

thumb. But is she any wiser for the lesson? Not her. Women are born

rebels; the 'powers that be' are always tyrants to them, Neil."

"You ought to know, father. I have small and sad experience with them."

"Sae, I hope you'll stand by my side. We twa can keep the house

thegither. If we are a' right, the Government will whistle by a woman's

talk."

"Did you not say Katherine was coming back?"

"I did that. See there, again. Hyde has dropped his uniform, and sold a'

that he has, and is coming to fight in a quarrel that's nane o' his.

Heard you ever such foolishness? But it is Katherine's doing; there's

little doot o' that."

"He's turned rebel, then?"

"Ay has he. That's what women do. Politics and rebellion is the same

thing to them."

"Well, father, I shall not turn rebel."

"O Neil, you take a load off my heart by thae words!"

"I have nothing against the king, and I could not be Hyde's comrade."

[Illustration: Chapter heading]