"About father's watch," she said. "I have just consulted Sir George, and
he says that neither I nor Ruyven have won, seeing that Ruyven used the
coin he did--"
"Very well," cried Ruyven, triumphantly. "Then let us match dates again.
Have you a shilling, Cousin Ormond?"
"I'll throw hunting-knives for it," suggested Dorothy.
"Oh no, you won't," retorted her brother, warily.
"Then I'll race you to the porch."
He shook his head.
She laughed tauntingly.
"I'm not afraid," said Ruyven, reddening and glancing at me.
"Then I'll wrestle you."
Stung by the malice in her smile, Ruyven seized her.
"No, no! Not in these clothes!" she said, twisting to free herself.
"Wait till I put on my buckskins. Don't use me so roughly, you tear my
laced apron. Oh! you great booby!" And with a quick cry of resentment
she bent, caught her brother, and swung him off his feet clean over her
left shoulder slap on the grass.
"Silly!" she said, cheeks aflame. "I have no patience to be mauled."
Then she laughed uncertainly to see him lying there, too astonished
to get up.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
"Who taught you that hold?" he demanded, indignantly, scrambling to his
feet. "I thought I alone knew that."
"Why, Captain Campbell taught you last week and ... I was at the
window ... sewing," she said, demurely.
Ruyven looked at me, disgusted, muttering, "If I could learn things the
way she does, I'd not waste time at King's College, I can tell you."
"You're not going to King's College, anyhow," said his sister. "York is
full o' loyal rebels and Tory patriots, and father says he'll be damned
if you can learn logic where all lack it."
She held out her hand, smiling. "No malice, Ruyven, and we'll forgive
each other."
Her brother met the clasp; then, hands in his pockets, followed us back
through the stockade towards the porch. I was pleased to see that his
pride had suffered no more than his body from the fall he got, which
augured well for a fair-minded manhood.
As we approached the house I heard hollow noises within, like groans;
and I stopped, listening intently.
"It is Sir Lupus snoring," observed Ruyven. "He will wake soon; I think
I had best call Tulip," he added, exchanging a glance with his sister;
and entered the house calling, "Cato! Cato! Tulip! Tulip! I say!"
"Who is Tulip?" I asked of Dorothy, who lingered at the threshold
folding her embroidery into a bundle.
"Tulip? Oh, Tulip cooks for us--black as a June crow, cousin. She is
voodoo."
"Evil-eye and all?" I asked, smiling.