HAG-RIDDEN
So passed that unreal summer of '76; and so came autumn upon us with its
crimsons, purples, and russet-gold; its cherry-red suns a-swimming in
the flat marsh fogs; its spectral mists veiling Vlaie Water and
curtaining the Sacandaga from shore to shore.
Rumours of wars came to us, but no war; gossip of armies and of battles,
but no battles.
Armies of wild-fowl, however, came to us on the great Vlaie; duck and
geese and companies of snowy swans; and at night I could hear their
fairy trumpets in the sky heralding the white onset from the North.
And pigeons came to the beech-woods, millions and millions, so that
their flight was a windy roaring in the sky and darkened the sun.
Birches and elms and chestnuts and soft maples turned yellow; and so
turned the ghostly tamaracks ere their needles fell. Hard maples and
oaks grew crimson and scarlet and the blueberry bushes and sumachs
glowed like piles of fire.
But the world of pines darkened to a deeper emerald; spruce and hemlock
took on a more sober hue; and the flowing splendour of the evergreens
now robed plain and mountain in sombre magnificence, dully brocaded here
and there by an embroidery of silver balsam.
When I was strong enough to trail a rifle and walk my post on the
veranda roof, my Saguenay Indian took to the Drowned Lands, scouting the
meshed water-leads like a crested diving-duck; and his canoe nosed into
every creek from Mayfield to Fish House.
Nick foraged, netting pigeons on the Stacking Ridge, shooting partridge,
turkey, and squirrel as our need prompted, or dropping a fat doe at
evening on the clearing's edge beyond Howell's house.
Of fish we had our fill,--chain-pike and silver-pike from Vlaie Water;
trout out of Hans Creek and Frenchman's Creek.
Corn, milled grain, and pork we drew a-horse from Johnstown or Mayfield;
we had milk and butter of our own cows, and roasting ears and potatoes,
squash, beets, and beans, and a good pumpkin for our pies, all from
Summer House garden. And a great store of apples--for it was a year for
that fruit--and we had so many that Nick pitted scores of bushels; and
we used them to eat, also, and to cook.
Now, against first frost, Penelope had sewed for us sacks out o' tow
cloth; and when frost came to moss the world with spongy silver, we went
after nuts, Nick and I,--chestnuts from the Stacking Ridge, and gathered
beechnuts there, also. Butternuts we found, sticky and a-plenty, along
the Sacandaga; and hickory nuts on every ridge, and hazel filberts
bordering clearing and windfall in low, moist woods.
Sure we were well garnered if not well garrisoned at Summer House when
the first snow flakes came a-drifting like errant feathers floating from
a wild-fowl shot in mid-air.
The painted leaves dropped in November, settling earthward through still
sunshine in gold and crimson clouds.
"Mother Earth hath put on war-paint," quoth Penelope, knitting. She
spoke to Nick, turning her head slightly. She spoke chiefly to him in
these days, I having become, as I have said, a silent ass; and so
strange and of so infrequent speech that they did not even venture to
remark to me my reticence; and I think they thought my hurt had changed
me in my mind and nature. Yet I was but a simple ass, differing only
from other asses in that they brayed more frequently than I.
In silence I nursed a challenging in my breast, where love should have
lain secure and warm; and I wrapped the feverish, mewling thing in envy,
jealousy, and sullen pride,--fit rags to swaddle such a waif.
For once, coming upon Penelope unawares, I did see her gazing upon a
miniature picture of Steve Watts, done bravely in his red regimentals.
Which, perceiving me, she hid in her bosom and took her milk-pails to
the orchard without a word spoken, though the colour in her face was
eloquent enough.
And very soon, too, I had learned for sure what I already believed of
her, that she was a very jade; for it was plain that she had now
ensnared Nick, and that they were thick as a pair o' pup hounds, and had
confidences between them in low voices and with smiles. Which my coming
checked only so far. For it was mostly to him she spoke openly at table,
when, the smoking dishes set, she took her seat between us, out o'
breath and sweet as a sun-hot rose.
God knows they were not to blame; for in one hour I might prove glum
and silent as a stone; and in another I practiced carelessness and
indifference in my speech; and in another, still, I was like to be
garrulous and feverish, insisting upon any point raised; laughing
without decent provocation; moody and dull, loquacious and quarrelsome
by turns,--unstable, unhinged, out o' balance and incapable of any
decent equilibrium. Oh, the sorry spectacle a young man makes when that
sly snake, jealousy, hath fanged him!
And my disorder was such that I knew I was sick o' jealousy and sore
hurt of it to the bones, yet conducted like a mindless creature that,
trapped, falls to mutilating itself.
And so I was ever brooding how I might convince her of my indifference;
how I might pain her by coldness; how I might subtly acquaint her of my
own desirability and then punish her by a display of contempt and a
mortifying revelation of the unattainable. Which was to be my proper
self.
Jealousy is sure a strange malady and breaketh out in divers disorders
in different young men, according to their age and kind.
I was jealous because she had been courted by others; was jealous
because she had been caressed by other men; I was wildly jealous because
of Steve Watts, their tryst by the lilacs; his picture which I
discovered she wore in her bosom; I was madly jealous of her fellowship
with my old comrade, Nick, and because, chilled by my uncivil conduct
and by my silences, she conversed with him when she spoke at all.
And for all this silly grievance I had no warrant nor any atom of lucid
reason. For until I had seen her no woman had ever disturbed me. Until
that spring day in the flowering orchard I had never desired love; and
if I even desired it now I knew not. I had certainly no desire for
marriage or a wife, because I had no thought in my callow head of
either.
Only jealousy of others and a desire to be first in her mind possessed
me,--a fierce wish to clear out this rabble of suitors which seemed to
gather in a very swarm wherever she passed,--so that she should turn to
me alone, lean upon me, trust only me in the world to lend her
countenance, shelter her, and defend her. And, though God knows I meant
her no wrong, nor had passion, so far, played any role in this my
ridiculous behaviour, I had not so far any clear intention in her
regard. A fierce and selfish longing obsessed me to drive others off and
keep her for my own where in some calm security we could learn to know
each other.
And this--though I did not understand it--was merely the romantic
desire of a very young man to study, unhurried and untroubled, the first
female who ever had disturbed his peace of mind.
But all was vain and troubled and misty in my mind, and love--or its
fretful changeling--weighed on my heart heavily. But I carried double
weight: jealousy is a heavy hag, and I was hag-ridden morn and eve and
all the livelong day to boot.
All asses are made to be ridden.
* * * * *
The first snow came, as I have said, like shot-scattered down from a
wild-duck's breast. Then days of golden stillness, with mornings growing
ever colder and the frost whitening shady spots long after sun-up.
I remember a bear swam Vlaie Water, but galloped so swiftly into the
bush that no rifle was ready to stop him.
We mangered our cattle o' nights; and, as frosty grazing checks milk
flow, Nick and I brought in hay from the stacks which the Continental
soldiers had cut against a long occupation of Summer House Point.
Nights had become very cold and we burned logs all day long in the
chimney place. My Indian was snug enough in the kitchen by the oven,
where he ate and slept when not on post; and we, above, did very well by
the blaze where we roasted nuts and apples and drank new cider from
Johnstown and had a cask of ale from the Johnson Arms by waggon.
Also, in the cellar, was some store of Sir William's--dusty bottles of
French and Spanish wines; but of these I took no toll, because they
belonged not to me.
But a strange circumstance presently placed these wines in my
possession; for, upon a day before the first deep snow fell, comes
galloping from Johnstown a man in caped riding coat, one Jerry Van
Rensselaer, to nail a printed placard upon our Summer House--notice of
sale by the Committee for Sequestration.
But who was to read this notice and attend the vendue save only the
birds and beasts of the wilderness I do not know; for on the day of the
sale, which was conducted by Commissioner Harry Outthout, only some half
dozen farmer folk rode hither from Johnstown, and only one man among 'em
bid in money--a sullen fellow named Jim Huetson, who had Tory friends, I
knew, if he himself were not of that complexion.
His bid was L5; which was but a beggarly offer, and angered me to see
Sir William's beloved Lodge come to so mean an end. So, having some
little money, I showed the Schoharie fellow a stern countenance, doubled
his bid, and took snuff which I do not love.
And Lord! Ere I realized it, Summer House Point, Lodge and contents, and
riparian rights as far as Howell's house were mine; and a clear deed
promised.
Bewildered, I signed and paid the Sequestration Commissioner out o' my
buckskin pouch in hard coin.
"You should buy the cattle, too," whispered Nick. "There be folk in
Johnstown would pay well for such a breed o' cow. And there's the pig,
Jack, and the sheep and the hens, and all that grain and hay so snug in
the barn."
So I asked very fiercely if any man desired to bid against me; and
neither Huetson nor his sulky comrade, Davis, having any such stomach, I
fetched ale and apples and nuts and made them eat and drink, and so drew
aside the Commissioner and bargained with him like a Jew or a shoe-peg
Yankee; and in the end bought all.[21]
[Footnote 21: The Commissioners for selling real estate in Tryon County
sold the personal property of Sir John Johnson some time before the Hall
and acreage were sold. The Commissioners appointed for selling
confiscated personal property in Tryon County were appointed later,
March 6, 1777.]
"Shall you move hither from Fonda's Bush and sell your house?" asked
Nick, who now was going out on watch.
But I made him no answer, for I had been bitten by an idea, the mere
thought of which fevered me with excitement. Oh, I was mad as a March
fox running his first vixen, in that first tide of romantic love,--clean
daft and lacking reason.
So when Commissioner Outthout and those who had come for the vendue had
drank as much of my new ale as they cared to carry home a-horse, and
were gone a-bumping down the Johnstown road like a flock of Gilpins all,
I took my parchment and went into my bed chamber; and there I sat upon
my trundle bed and read what was writ upon my deed, making me the owner
of Summer House and of all that appertained to the little hunting lodge.
But I had not purchased it selfishly; and the whole business began with
an impulse born of love for Sir William, who had loved this place so
well. But even as that impulse came, another notion took shape in my
love-addled sconce.
I sat on my trundle bed a-thinking and--God forgive me--admiring my own
lofty and romantic purpose.
The house was still, but on the veranda roof overhead I could hear the
moccasined tread of Nick pacing his post; and from below in the kitchen
came the distant thump and splash of Penelope's churn, where she was
making new butter for to salt it against our needs.
Now, as I rose my breath came quicker, but admiration for my resolve
abated nothing--no!--rather increased as I tasted the sad pleasures of
martyrdom and of noble renunciation. For I now meant to figure in this
girl's eyes in a manner which she never could forget and which, I
trusted, might sadden her with a wistful melancholy after I was gone and
she had awakened to the irreparable loss.
* * * * *
When I came down into the kitchen where, bare of arms and throat, she
stood a-churning, she looked at me out of partly-lowered eyes, as though
doubting my mood--poor child. And I saw the sweat on her flushed cheeks,
and her yellow hair, in disorder from the labour, all curled into damp
little ringlets. But when I smiled I saw that lovely glimmer dawning,
and she asked me shyly what I did there--for never before had I come
into her kitchen.
So, still smiling, I gave an account of how I had bought Summer House;
and she listened, wide-eyed, wondering.
"But," continued I, "I have already my own glebe at Fonda's Bush, and a
house; but there be many with whom fortune has not been so complacent,
and who possess neither glebe nor roof, yet deserve both."
"Yes, sir," she said, smiling, "there be many such folk and always will
be in the world. Of such company am I, also, but it saddens me not at
all."
I went to her and showed her my deed, and she looked down on it, her
hands clasped on the churn handle.
"So that," said she, "is a lawful deed! I have never before been shown
such an instrument."
"You shall have leisure enough to study this one," said I, "for I convey
it to you."
"Sir?"
"I give Summer House to you," said I. "Here is the deed. When I go to
Johnstown again I will execute it so that this place shall be yours."
She gazed at me in dumb astonishment.
"Meanwhile," said I, "you shall keep the deed.... And now you are, in
fact, if not yet in title, mistress of Summer House. And I think, this
night, we should break a bottle of Sir William's Madeira to drink health
to our new chatelaine."
She came from her churn and caught my arm, where I had turned to ascend
the steps.
"You are jesting, are you not, my lord?"
"No! And do not use that term, 'lord,' to me."
"You--you offer to give me--me--this estate!"
"Yes. I do give it you."
There was a tense silence.
"Why do you offer this?" she burst out breathlessly.
"Why should I have two estates and you have none, Penelope?"
"But that is no reason!" she retorted, almost violently. "For what
reason, then, do you give me Summer House? It--it must be you are
jesting, my lord!----"
At that, displeasure made me redden, and I damned the title under my
breath.
"If you please," said I, "you will have done with all these 'sirs' and
'my lords,' for I am a plain yoeman of County Tryon and wear a buckskin
shirt. Not that I would criticise Lord Stirling or any such who still
care to wear by courtesy what I have long ago worn out," I added, "but
the gentry and nobility of Tryon travel one way and I the other; and my
friends should remember it when naming me."
She stood looking at me out of her brown eyes, and slowly their troubled
wonder changed to dumb perplexity. And, looking, took up her apron's
edge and stood twisting it between both hands.
"I give you Summer House," said I, "because you are orphaned and live
alone and have nothing. I give it because a maid ought to possess a
portion; and, thirdly, I give it because I have enough of my own, and
never desired more of anything than I need. So take the Summer House,
Penelope, with the cattle and fowl and land; for it gives you a station
and a security among men and women of this odd world of ours, and lends
to yourself a confidence and dignity which only sheerest folly can
overthrow."
She came, after a silence, slowly, and took me by the hand.
"John Drogue," says she in a voice not clear, "I can not take of you
this estate."
"You shall take it! And when again, where you sit a-knitting, the young
men gather round you like flies around a sap-pan--then, by God, you
shall know what countenance to give them, and they shall know what
colour to give their courting!--suitors, gallants, Whig or Tory--the
whole damned rabble----"
"Oh," she cried softly, "John Drogue!" And fell a-laughing--or was it a
quick sob that checked her throat?
But I heeded it not, having caught fire; and presently blazed noisily.
"Because you are servant to Douw Fonda!" I cried, "and because you are
alone, and because you are young and soft with a child's eyes and yellow
hair, they make nothing of schooling you to their pot-house
gallantries, and every damned man jack among them comes a-galloping to
the chase. Yes, even that pallid beast, Sir John!--and the tears of
Claire Putnam to haunt him if he were a man and not the dirty libertine
he is!"
I looked upon her whitened face in ever-rising passion:
"I tell you," said I, "that the backwoods aristocracy is the better and
safer caste, for the other is rotten under red coat or blue; and a
ring-tailed cap doffed by a gnarled hand is worth all your laced cocked
hats bound around with gold and trailed in the dust with fine, smooth
fingers!"
Sure I was in a proper phrensy now, nor dreamed myself a target for the
high gods' laughter, where I vapoured and strode and shouted aloud my
moral jeremiad.
"So," said I, "you shall have Summer House; and shall, as you sit
a-knitting, make your choice of honest suitors at your ease and not be
waylaid and hunted and used without ceremony by the first young hot-head
who entraps you in the starlight! No! Nor be the quarry of older
villains and subtler with persuasion. No!
"For today Penelope Grant, spinster, is a burgesse of Johnstown, and is
a person both respectable and taxed. And any man who would court her
must conduct suitably and in a customary manner, nor, like a wild
falcon, circle over head awaiting the opportunity to strike.
"No! All that sport--all that gay laxity and folly is at an end. And
here's the damned deed that ends it!" I added, thrusting the parchment
into her hands.
She seemed white and frightened. And, "Oh, Lord!" she breathed, "have I,
then, conducted so shamelessly? And did I so wholly lose your favour
when you kissed me?"
I had not meant that, and I winced and grew hot in the cheeks.
"I am not a loose woman," she said in her soft, bewildered way. "Unless
it be a fault that I find men somewhat to my liking, and their gay
manners pleasure me and divert me."
I said: "You have a way with men. None is insensible to your youth and
beauty."
"Is it so?" she asked innocently.
"Are you not aware of it?"
"I had thought that I pleased."
"You do so. Best tread discreetly. Best consider carefully now. Then
choose one and dismiss the rest."
"Choose?"
"Aye."
"Whom should I choose, John Drogue?"
"Why," said I, losing countenance, "there is the same ardent rabble like
that plague of suitors which importuned the Greek Penelope. There are
the sap-pan flies all buzzing."
"Oh. Should I make a choice if entreated?"
"A burgesse is free to choose."
"Oh. And to which suitor should I give my smile?"
"Well," said I, sullenly, "there is Nick. There also is your Cornet of
Horse--young Jack-boots. And there is the young gentleman whose picture
you wear in your bosom."
"Captain Watts?" she asked, so naively that jealousy stabbed me
instantly, so that my smile became a grimace.
"Sure," said I, "you think tenderly on Stephen Watts."
"Yes."
"In fact," I almost groaned, "you entertain for him those virtuous
sentiments not unbecoming to the maiden of his choice.... Do you not,
Penelope?"
"He has courted me a year. I find him agreeable. Also, I pity
him--although his impatience causes me concern and his ardour
inconveniences me.... The sentiments I entertain for him are virtuous,
as you say, sir. And so are my sentiments for any man."
"But is not your heart engaged in this affair?"
"With Captain Watts?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I thought you meant with you, sir."
I affected to smile, but my heart thumped my ribs.
"I have not pretended to your heart, Penelope."
"No, sir. Nor I to yours. And, for the matter, know nothing concerning
hearts and the deeper pretensions to secret passions of which one hears
so much in gossip and romance. No, sir; I am ignorant. Yet, I have
thought that kindness might please a woman more easily than sighs and
vapours.... Or so it seems to me.... And that impatient ardour only
perplexes.... And passion often chills the natural pity that a woman
entertains for any man who vows he is unhappy and must presently perish
of her indifference....
"Yet I am not indifferent to men.... And have used men gently.... And
forgiven them.... Being not hard but pitiful by disposition."
She made a movement of unconscious grace and drew from her bosom the
little picture of Steve Watts.
"You see," said she, "I guard it tenderly. But he went off in a passion
and rebuked me bitterly for my coquetry and because I refused to flee
with him to Canada.... He, being an enemy to liberty, I would not
consent.... I love my country.... And better than I love any man."
"He begged an elopement that night?"
"Yes."
"With marriage promised, doubtless."
"Lord," says she, "I had not thought so far."
"Did he not promise it?"
"No, sir."
"What? Nor mention it?"
"I did not hear him."
"But in his courtship of a year surely he conducted honestly!" I
insisted angrily.
"Should a man ask marriage when he asks love, Mr. Drogue?"
"If he means honestly he must speak of it."
"Oh.... I did not understand.... I thought that love, offered, meant
marriage also.... I thought they all meant that--save only Sir John."
We both fell silent. After a little while: "I shall some day ask Captain
Watts what he means," said she, thoughtfully. "Surely he must know I am
a maiden."
"Do you suppose such young men care!" I said sullenly.
But she seemed so white and distressed at the thought that the sneer
died on my lips and I made a great effort to do generously by my old
school-mate, Stevie Watts.
"Surely," said I, "he meant no disrespect and no harm. Stephen Watts is
not of the corrupt breed of Walter Butler nor debauched like Sir
John.... However, if he is to be your lover--perhaps it were convenient
to ask him something concerning his respectful designs upon you."
"Yes, sir, I shall do so--if he comes hither again."
So hope, which had fallen a-flickering, expired like a tiny flame. She
loved Steve Watts!
I turned and limped up the stairway.
And, at the stair-head, met Nick.
"Well," said I savagely, "you may not have her. For she loves Steve
Watts and dotes on his picture in her bosom. And as for you, you may go
to the devil!"
"Why, you sorry ass," says he, "have you thought I desired her?"
"Do you not?"
"Good God!" cried he, "because this poor and moon-smitten gentleman hath
rolled sheep's eyes upon a yellow-haired maid, then, in his mind, all
the world's aflame to woo her too and take her from his honest arms!
What the plague do I want of your sweetheart, Jack Drogue, when I've one
at Pigeon Wood and my eye on another, too!"
Then he fell a-laughing and smote his thighs with a loud slapping.
"Aha!" he cried, "did I not warn you? Did I not foresee, foretell, and
prophesy that you would one day sicken of a passion for this
yellow-haired girl from Caughnawaga!"
"Idiot," said I in a rage, "I do not love her!"
"Then you bear all the earmarks!" said he, and went off stamping his
moccasins and roaring with laughter.
And I went on watch to walk my post all a-tremble with fury, and fair
sick of jealousy and my first boyish passion.
* * * * *
Now, it is a strange thing how love undid me; but it is still stranger
how, of a sudden, my malady passed. And it came about in this way, that
toward sunset one day, when I came from walking my post on the veranda
roof to find why Nick had not relieved me, I descended the stairs and
looked into the kitchen, where was a pleasant smell of cinnamon crullers
fresh made and of johnnycake and of meat a-stewing.
And there I did see Nick push Penelope into a corner to kiss her, and
saw her fetch him a clout with her open hand.
Then again, and broad on his surprised and silly face, fell her little
hand like the clear crack of a drover's whip.
And, "There!" she falters, out o' breath, "there's for you, friend
Nicholas!"
"My God!" says he, in foolish amaze, "why do you that, Penelope!"
"I kiss whom I please and none other!" says she, fast breathing, and her
dark eyes wide and bright.
"Whom you please," quoth Nick, abashed but putting a bold face on
it--"well then, you please me, and therefore ought to kiss me----"
"No, I will not! John Drogue hath shown me what is my privilege in this
idle game of bussing which men seem so ready to play with me, whether I
will or no!... Have I hurt you, Nick?"
She came up to him, still flushed and her childish bosom still rising
and falling fast.
"You love Jack Drogue," said he, sulkily, "and therefore belabour me who
dote on you."
"I love you both," said she, "but I am enamoured of neither. Also, I
desire no kisses of you or of Mr. Drogue, but only kindness and good
will."
"You entertain a passion for Steve Watts!" he muttered sullenly, "and
there's the riddle read for you!"
But she laughed in his face and took up her pan of crullers and set them
on the shelf.
"I am chatelaine of Summer House," said she, "and need render no account
of my inclinations to you or to any man. Who would learn for himself
what is in my mind must court me civilly and in good order.... Do you
desire leave to court me, Nick?"
"Not I!--to be beaten by a besom and flouted and mocked to boot! Nenni,
my pretty lass! I have had my mouthful of blows."
"Oh. And your comrade? Is he, do you think, inclined to court me?"
"Jack Drogue?"
"The same."
"You have bedeviled him," said Nick sulkily, "as you have witched all
men who encounter you. He hath a fever and is sick of it."
She was slicing hot johnnycake with a knife in the pan; and now looked
up at him with eyes full of curiosity.
"Bewitched him? I?"
"Surely. Who else, then?"
"You are jesting, Nick."
"No. Like others he has taken the Caughnawaga fever. The very air you
breathe is full of it. But, with a man like my comrade, it is no more
than a fever. And it passes, pretty maid!--it passes."
"Does it so?"
"It does. It burns out folly and leaves him the healthier."
"Oh, then--with a gentleman like your comrade, Mr. Drogue--l'amour n'est
qu'une maladie legere qui se guerira sans medecin, n'est-ce pas?"
"Say that in Canada and doubtless the very dicky-birds will answer
wee-wee-wee!" he retorted. "But if you mean, does John Drogue mate below
his proper caste, then there's no wee-wee-wee about it; for that the
Laird of Northesk will never do!"
"I know that," said she coolly. And opened the pot to fork the steaming
stew, then set on the cover and passed her hand over her brow where a
slight dew glistened and where her hair curled paler gold and tighter,
like a child's.
"Friend Nick?"
"I hear thee, breeder of heart-troubles."
"Listen, then. No thought of me should trouble any man as yet. My heart
is not awake--not troublesome,--not engaged,--no, not even to poor
Stephen Watts. For the sentiment I entertain for him is only pity for a
boy, Nick, who is impetuous and rash and has been too much flattered by
the world.... Poor lad--in his play-hour regimentals!--and no beard on
his smooth cheek.... Just a fretful, idle, and self-indulgent boy!...
Who protests that he loves me.... Oh, no, Nick! Men sometimes bewilder
me; but I think it is our own passion that destroys us women--not
theirs.... And there is none in me,--only pity, and a great friendliness
to men.... And these only have ever moved me."
He was sitting on a pine table and munching of a cruller. "Penelope,"
says he, "your honesty and wholesome spirit should physic men of their
meaner passions. If you are servant to Douw Fonda, nevertheless you
think like a great lady. And I for one," he added, munching away, "shall
quarrel with any man who makes little of the mistress of Summer House
Point!"
And then--oh, Lord!--she turns from her oven, takes his silly head
between both hands, and gives him a smack on the lips!
"There," says she, "you have had of your sister what you never should
have had of the Scottish lass of Caughnawaga!"
He got off the table at that, looking mighty pleased but sheepish, and
muttered something concerning relieving me on post.
And so, lest I should be disgraced by my eavesdropping, and feeling mean
and degraded, yet oddly contented that Penelope loved no man with secret
passion, I slunk away, my moccasins making no sound.
So when Nick came to relieve me he discovered me still on post; and said
he pettishly: "Penelope Grant hath clouted me, mind and body; and I am
the better man by it, though somewhat sore; and I shall knock the head
of any popinjay who fails in the respect all owe this girl. And I wish
to God I had a hickory stick here, and Sir John Johnson across my knee!"
I went into my chamber and laid me down on my trundle bed.
I was contented. I no longer seemed to burn for the girl. Also, I knew
she burned for no man. A vast sense of relief spread over me like a soft
garment, warming and soothing me.
And so, pleasantly passed my sick passion for the Scottish girl; and
pleasantly I fell asleep.