IN GOOD GREEN WOOD
"Now what say you, Mistress Peggy?"
"Say? What could I say to such an offer save that, if my aunt allows,
'twill give me more pleasure than aught else that could befall. I have
longed for months to see your sister Mary and St. Gabriel's, and now
to see them, and besides to have sight of my brother and of Mistress
Calvert--"
"To say nothing of a ride through the forest under escort of the
Governor of the province!"
"Why, to tell the truth, it is that only which gives me pause, for
I know well that he has grave matters of state on his mind, and
would fain perhaps be alone to think them over, whereas I am such a
chattering magpie, as my brother has often told me, that no man can
have a thought in his head when I am about."
"And how do you know, little Peggy, that that is not just the reason
why I have asked for your company? It is quite true that I am vexed and
worried and harried half out of my senses over recent affairs here
in St. Mary's,--affairs which call for anxious meditation and drastic
action; but for this one day I would fain forget that I am a grizzled
man weighed down with matters heavy enough to sink him, and make
believe that I am a light-hearted lad again wandering about the forest
with a maiden as care-free as he. We will have a merry ride of it, and
we will stop by the wayside and build a fire in the snow to cook our
noonday meal."
"But--but--I know not how to cook," Peggy confessed with much
embarrassment.
"Not know how to cook! For shame! and you a pioneer--I must have speech
of your aunt, and counsel her to take order with you at once till the
deficiency be mended. But for this once it will not matter, for I am
taking back with me to Kent Fort a lame servant, Anne by name, owned
by Sir Edmund Plowden and lent by him to my sister Margaret. She will
be of our party, and likewise Councillor Neale and Captain Cornwaleys.
So with them to guard us against foes without, and her to fortify us
against the worse enemy of hunger within, you and I may have good hopes
of coming safely to St. Gabriel's."
"O Aunt, Aunt!" Peggy called out, "his Excellency has asked me to ride
with him to St. Gabriel's. Only think of it--to St. Gabriel's, and this
very day!"
"Foolish child!" said her aunt, with reproof in her voice. "You can
think of nothing but the pleasure of the moment. How could you manage
your home-coming? And how do you know that Mistress Brent desires your
company?"
"If you will permit me to take upon myself the burden of answering your
questions, Madam, I think I can set your mind at rest on both points.
My sister Margaret has in mind a journey to St. Mary's from Kent Fort,
and will stop on her way to pick up your niece and bring her home to
you in safety. As for the other question, it could only be asked by one
who knew little of Mary Brent. Why, I have seen her eyes light up with
joy when a total stranger stopped at the door for a meal or a night's
lodging, and at a friend's coming she is clean daft with pleasure.
Between you and me too she has a particular and foolish fondness for
this saucy slip of a niece of yours, and will count it a red-letter day
when she sees the baggage jump off her donkey at the gate, and come
running in at the door. Oh, there will be great rejoicing at the manor
this night,--I can promise you that."
The Governor of Maryland was not lightly to be denied. So it was
settled that Peggy was to go, and the saddle-bags were filled on
one side with her clothing, since, even in the wilderness, a maid
must needs carry her bit of finery, and in the other side her aunt's
hospitable care had stored away an ample supply of bread and meat and
wine, with other eatables and drinkables to be heated in the ashes of
the noonday fire.
When the two donkeys stood at the gate and Mistress Peggy and the lame
serving-woman were mounted there was no happier or prouder maid in the
province than Margaret Neville. Giles Brent joined the procession at
the edge of the village. He was seated on Governor Calvert's horse, one
of the few in the colony, and his large frame with its red-lined cloak
showed well on the big black Flemish steed.
Behind him walked three men. Yes, Peggy distinctly counted three,
though Governor Brent had named only two. There was Councillor Neale,
with his heavy staff and big foreign boots, and Captain Cornwaleys,
brave in his military uniform with gilt trimmings; but who was the
third? Not--surely not--Oh, no, nothing could be more unlikely!--and
yet--Yes, there was no doubt of it; however the thing had come about,
the man who walked between them was Romney Huntoon. If there had been
any doubt in her mind at the first glance, it was set at rest as they
drew nearer, for the young man stepped forward close to the little
brown donkey, and sweeping off his hat laid bare his dark curls,
and then looked up at Peggy as though he had been the devoutest of
Catholics, and she his patron saint.
Now, I will not deny that Peggy Neville was good to look at; but never
did any one bear less resemblance to a saint than she as she sat
perched upon her mottled brown and gray donkey, her saucy, smiling
face peeping out from its scarlet hood, her cheeks as red as the
wool covering around them, and her brown eyes sparkling with fun and
health and girlish glee. Her first care was to give this youth fully
to understand that it was with no thought of him she had joined this
expedition. She took pains, therefore, to throw an extra amount of
surprise into her tone as she exclaimed,--
"Master Huntoon!--and pray how happens it that you are acting as escort
to the Governor of Maryland? Or is it but out of courtesy that you are
walking with us as far as the gates of St. Mary's?"
"As far and farther," answered the young man, proudly.
"Not to St. Gabriel's!"
"And why not, pray? Did you think you were the only person honored with
an invitation? May not I too be a bidden guest?"
"But you were to sail for the York River to-morrow or next day."
"Ay," answered Huntoon, with some embarrassment, "I was; but there have
arisen certain complications with which I chanced to be connected, and
I have received a request which was as near a command as befitted the
message of a Governor of one province to the subject of another, asking
me to tarry for a few days yet and to set out with him this morning for
St. Gabriel's. It was not till an hour ago," he added, "that I learned
what cause I should have to give thanks for my assent."
"Come, come, young people!" called Giles Brent; "my horse has more
sense than you, for he is pawing the ground and eager to be off. Since
we can move but at a snail's pace along the trail, which is harder than
ever to keep, with the snow on it, we'd best waste no time. I will ride
in front to prospect, and the women shall follow. Do you, Huntoon, walk
by Mistress Neville's bridle, and Neale and Cornwaleys shall follow as
a rear guard keeping a sharp look-out, for wolves and other wild beasts
are grown desperate with hunger in this cold weather, and may be met
when least expected."
The little procession took up its line of march along the narrow street
and out at the gate which gave upon the road leading across country.
As they wound up a hill that lay behind the town Peggy turned in her
saddle for a last look at the huddle of log cabins. Hers was one of
those tender hearts that can cling to bare walls, so they be hung with
associations.
The scene on which the girl's eyes rested was fair enough in itself to
need no associations to give it interest. From the height she could
look down upon the broad, placid river lying in a series of loops like
little lakes. For a distance of eight miles it stretched away blue
as the sky above it till it merged itself in the dimmer gray of the
Potomac. Across the river rose gently swelling hills, and there in
the foreground like a giant sentinel loomed the great mulberry tree
which had witnessed Calvert's dealings with the natives, which bore on
its trunk placard and proclamation, and, in short, served most of the
purposes of a town hall.
Peggy looked long over the enchanting prospect, then letting her eyes
fall upon the hamlet of St. Mary's she scanned the little group of
houses, the great cross in the centre, the smoke curling up from the
mud chimneys, the blue reach of the stream at the foot of the bluff.
Suddenly she gave an exclamation of amazement.
"Why, where is Captain Ingle's ship?" she asked, turning from one to
another of her companions.
No one answered.
"I saw it last evening at sunset," she went on. "I am sure of it, for
I went down to the wharf with our serving-man to buy grain, and I asked
Captain Ingle when he would be off, and he said, 'Not for some time;'
and that when he went he would fire a salute of five guns in my honor."
"'Tis like his insolence," muttered Huntoon between his teeth.
"Yes, but how is it that he is gone? Surely, you who are about the
village so much must have heard something of the matter."
The mysterious silence continued a moment longer. Then Giles Brent said
repressively,--
"Master Ingle sailed last night."
"Oh, so you _do_ know all about it," cried the irrepressible Peggy.
"I know nothing to speak of," answered Brent, in so significant a tone
that even Peggy could find courage for no rejoinder, but turned to
Huntoon and bade him walk a little faster, or the donkey would tread
upon his heels.
Huntoon strode on as perfectly happy as is often given to mortals to
be in this sadly mixed world. There is an elation in the solitude of a
wilderness at any time, a sense of freedom, of room for soul-expansion,
and there is a beauty in a snow-clad forest that summer cannot match.
The shadows lay in long blue patches on the snow, the pine trees held
a load of white on their wide-spreading branches, each clump of green
capped with glittering frost. The gaunt branches of oak and maple
etched themselves against the blue of the morning sky. Everything in
nature was radiant. Was it likely that the heart of the young man who
walked with the rein over his arm was less jubilant than the scene
around him?
One thing only troubled him.
He could think of nothing to say.
At last he saw a bunch of scarlet berries peeping out of the snow at
the roots of a great pine tree. He stepped aside and picked them. When
he came back he handed them to Peggy.
"What are these for?" she asked.
"I thought you might wear them."
"So I do not look well enough as I am?"
"I said not so."
"No, but you thought I could look better, and so I could not have been
perfect in your eyes."
"They hang offerings on the neck of the statue of the Madonna. It is
not that she may look better; but I suppose it brings her nearer to see
her wearing their gifts, be they never so humble."
[Illustration]
"You are quite a courtier, Master Huntoon," Peggy answered with a
nervous laugh; "you are thrown away upon these colonial wilds and
should betake yourself to Whitehall. The King would doubtless lend a
favorable ear to your silver tongue."
"Alas!" sighed Romney, in the folly of his youth, "what care I what the
_King_ might say, if the _Queen_ will not listen to me?"
What further softness he might have ventured on, no man knoweth, for
there is no setting limits to the weakness of lovers; but his speech
was interrupted by the crack of the fowling-piece from behind, and
looking back they saw Cornwaleys stooping to pick up a brace of quail
which his gun had just brought down; and which he straightway tossed
over the saddle of Anne, the serving-woman, bidding her pick them as
she rode.
The sun climbed higher and higher till its genial warmth began to
make itself felt. The icicles let fall drop after drop of water,
slowly trickling themselves away. The snow-banks melted into gurgling
streams, which ran along on the surface till they sank noiseless into
the softened ground. The air, balmy with the scent of pine trees and
mild with the bracing mildness of dry midwinter, pulsated in the
perpendicular rays of the noonday sunlight. "Come, friends," called
Giles Brent, reining in his horse and turning in his saddle to await
the arrival of the rest of his party, who could by no means keep the
pace he set, "I know not how it is with the rest of you, but one man
here hath an appetite which tells him that the dinner hour is come."
"Here is another!" cried Cornwaleys.
"Ay, and a third," came from Neale.
"How say you, Huntoon, has your walk given you a zest for an hour's
rest and a bite of good victual?"
"I?" stammered Huntoon. "Why, to say truth, I thought we had but just
set out."
At this Brent laughed and cast a meaning glance at Peggy, who colored
redder than the bunch of berries she had tucked into the front of her
cloak.
"There may be a magic in the bridle-rein of beauty to ward off hunger
and fatigue from him who touches it; but the rest of us poor mortals
have felt the pangs of both; so, as we are come to a clearing, with two
logs convenient for a seat, I counsel that we make a halt and build a
fire wherewith to test Anne's skill as a cook."
Peggy slipped from her saddle and opening the bags brought out the
bread and meat and wine. Cornwaleys spitted the birds upon his sword,
and Anne twirled them before the fire, seasoning them as they cooked.
The men sat on the logs, and Peggy laughed and sang and poured forth a
flood of mirth and gaiety which beguiled the anxious men about her from
all thought of care and worriment, while she herself was like a meadow
lark intoxicated with its own music.
"Is it all your fancy painted--this ride through the forest?" asked
Governor Brent, smiling as he seated himself beside Peggy.
"I should say so!--all and more--the very happiest day I have ever
known. I feel as if I were a snow-bird picking up crumbs here in the
desert. I think I will never live in a house more. I would we were all
going back together," added Peggy, after a little pause.
"But going back you will have my sister Margaret, and she is worth us
all."
"Shall I not be afraid of her?"
"No-o," answered Brent, conscious that he had known times when he was.
Then, loyal to kinship, he continued, "Margaret is a fine fellow. She
lives out the motto of Lord Baltimore, 'Deeds are masculine, words
feminine.'"
"Oh, I am sure I should be afraid with her!"
"No, you will not. Margaret's words have both weight and wit, and her
wit bites sometimes; but it is like a blooded dog and will not hurt a
friend. How often I have wished for her trenchant common-sense when we
were sitting round the council table and the men droning folly. If she
came in it would be like a north wind clearing the air of dulness."
"Ah, Huntoon is coming this way with a cup of sack. I like that youth.
There is meat in his discourse."
"Oh--ay--_veal_," answered Peggy, scornfully.
"Hush, you naughty girl! He will hear you. Here, Huntoon. Pass the cup.
Drink all of you to the happiest day Mistress Peggy has ever known, and
may there be many more like them!"
When the noonday meal was ended, the party took up the line of march
once more, but this time Neale walked by the governor's saddle.
"It is an ugly business--a very ugly business," Brent began.
"Ay, it could scarce have turned out worse."
"So many heard the row that the tale can scarce be suppressed, and
Ellyson is full of wrath over what he calls his wrongs."
"We will advise together yonder at St. Gabriel's. Neville is ever rich
in suggestions, and this young Virginian behind us has a ready wit of
his own. We must bring the matter before the Council; but they will be
sure to see it in the same light as we."
"They may, and they may not," answered Neale. "The chief business of
councils from the beginning of the world has been to find a scapegoat
and then to send him out, as the Hebrews did theirs, loaded with the
sins of the nation."
"Nay, take it not so to heart! You did but as I should have done in
your place, and if the Council resent the escape of Ingle and fear
to involve themselves in the King's displeasure they must deal with
me as well as you. We are both in the same boat. Faith," Brent added
as they came to a swampy place, "it would be well to have an actual
boat if we come to many spots like this. It should be one of the first
pieces of work done in the province to lay a road where a Christian may
travel without losing his way or wading to his chin. Climb up behind my
saddle, and my horse shall save your heels."
Neale did as he was bid, and they waited to see how the rest would
manage. Anne was transferred to a seat behind Mistress Neville, and
Huntoon and Cornwaleys mounted the maid's donkey. Their legs were so
long and the donkey's so short that they were forced to hold their
knees half-way to their chins, and cut so sorry a figure that the
others who were safely across stood shaking their sides with laughter.
Cornwaleys, being over thirty and a man of sense, joined in the
laughter; but Romney Huntoon, being twenty and in love, turned sulky,
and walked along in would-be dignified silence in his old place at
Peggy's bridle. As he grew solemn she grew lively, and entertained
him with rambling tales of her wild doings before ever she came out
of England, how she had ridden a horse after all the grooms had given
him up, how she had stolen away from home and gone down the lane at
midnight to get her future told by an old gypsy woman.
In spite of himself Huntoon's interest kindled.
"These gypsy horoscopes have something uncannily like truth in them,"
he said. "Tell me, did the old crone predict aught about--about your
marriage?"
"Oh, ay, to be sure. What gypsy would ever get her palm crossed with
silver twice by a maiden, if she failed to promise her a husband?"
"So she described him--"
"To the length of his shoe-string and the color of his doublet."
"Hm! What said she of his looks?"
Peggy cast a malicious look at the dark curls and the clean lip and
chin beside her.
"Oh, she set him off to the top of my satisfaction! He was to be like
a Viking of old, with fair hair and mustachios like that--" and Peggy
twirled her fingers off at either side of her dimples.
"I am glad to know the manner of man you do prefer," said Romney,
stiffly, and they went on in silence for several minutes, and Mistress
Peggy quite at her ease nevertheless. Finally she broke the pause,
saying, "Do you remember what night the last was?"
"Surely I do, for I noted it on Governor Brent's order for Ingle's
arrest posted on the tavern door. 'Twas the twentieth of January."
"Ay, the twentieth; and what night was that?"
"In truth I know not. Being no Papist I keep scant account of Saints'
days."
"Nor I either for the most part; but this was a very particular night
indeed." Then, with great impressiveness, "_It was the Eve of St.
Agnes._"
"And what of that?"
"Why, 'tis on that night every maid may see her future husband,--that
is, if she have the wit to go about it the right way."
"And did you go about it the right way?"
Peggy nodded.
"And after what fashion was that?"
"Why, after dusk I went to my chamber as usual, and I took off my
garter--you must, you know, or the charm will not work. It must be the
left garter too, so I took it, and knit three knots in it, and then
with my eyes shut I said the rhyme--"
"What rhyme?"
"Stupid! You don't seem to know anything. Why, this rhyme, of course,--
"'I knit this knot, this knot I knit
To know the thing I know not yet--
That I may see
The man that shall my husband be,
Not in his best or worst array
But what he weareth every day,
That I to-morrow may him ken
From among all other men.'"
"And then did you see him?"
"No, not yet. After I had said the charm I lay down and folded my hands
like St. Agnes, and sure enough as soon as I fell asleep a young man
appeared before me. There he stood, as large as life and as clear as
day."
"Yes," said Romney, eagerly; "and what like was he?"
"Why, there's the queer thing," answered Peggy, "his mouth and his
curls and his odd-shaped nose were the image of thine."
"What is wrong with my nose? I have always thought well of it--"
"Oh, 'tis a proper nose enough. No doubt an excellent and serviceable
nose for all practical purposes; but for pure beauty it might be better
without the little hump in the middle of the bridge, and with the
nostrils set closer--but no matter! such as it is, the vision bore it
too, and the eyes were like also and the brows. There was the whole
face and figure, so like that any seeing them would have cried out,
''Tis Master Huntoon to the life.'"
"Peggy!"
"But--"
"Nay, no buts--"
"I must, for 'tis the strangest of all--_but_ his doublet was as like
as two peas to the one Captain Cornwaleys wears this morning, and his
figure was the captain's too, height and all. Now, what is a poor maid
to do under such distracting confusions?"
"Mistress Neville, you are a coquette."
Peggy raised her eyebrows till they arched like a rainbow.
"I'd rather be a tailor and make coats for the moon than fit myself to
your humors."
"Every man knows best what trade fits him; and now you have spoken of
it, the goose doth seem your proper symbol.
"Yes," Romney went on, growing more and more nettled, "the moon changes
but every quarter, while to meet the changes of your whims a man must
be on tip-toe every hour."
"Tip-toe--ah, yes! now I do recall that the vision _was_ on tip-toe and
looking first at the moon and then at me, as though he knew not which
he liked the best."
"It is my belief you never saw any such vision."
"Perhaps I was mistook. Anyway, the charm has not come true, for it
said I was to meet the man I should marry to-day, and you see for
yourself he is not here. Now my limbs are weary sitting so long; I
think I will try walking."
With this she slipped from her saddle and walked on a few steps in
advance of Romney, humming as she went,--
"'I am as I am, and so will I be;
But how that I am, none knoweth truly;
Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free,
I am as I am, and so will I be.'"
There was a peculiar quality in Peggy's voice that made it an
interpreter of her personality. It had as many changes in it as her
moods. Now it sounded like a church bell over distant meadows, now like
a child praying at its mother's knee, and then would come a sudden
break of laughter like the trill of a bobolink shooting Parthian arrows
of song as he flies.
Huntoon followed her, watching the scarlet cloak against the green
background of the pines, and the stray curls that the wind blew
backward as she walked. Neale and Cornwaleys were far behind beyond
the turn in the road. At length he could bear it no longer. They were
alone. He drew closer and whispered something in her ear.
"Indeed! And pray what of it?" answered the girl, coolly.
"I will tell you what of it," said the young man between his teeth.
"I am not to be treated as I have seen you treat those tame gallants
in the town back there. When I tell you I love you, you may refuse
the love and you may say me nay; but you shall hear me out with
respect, and you shall give me a serious answer, as the true love of an
honorable man deserves whether it be returned or no."
Peggy did not turn, but she listened. This masterful note in his voice
was a new thing. She could scarcely have told whether she liked it or
resented it--perhaps a little of both. Certainly she was not inclined
to accept it meekly or without protest. As Huntoon finished speaking,
Peggy had just bent forward a pine bough that she might pass without
stepping in the mud. A wicked impulse seized the girl, and releasing
the branch suddenly she stepped aside, and the bough struck Huntoon
sharply in the face, his cheek reddening under the blow of its stiff
needles.
In an instant Peggy was sorry for her naughty trick, and turned with an
apology on her lips; but without a word Huntoon seized her in his arms,
and kissed her passionately.
A red spot of anger showed itself in Peggy Neville's cheek. She
stopped and stamped her foot.
"How dare you?" she exclaimed.
Romney made no answer--only stood looking at her. At last he said, "I
forgive you."
This was too much.
What Peggy might have said in answer can never be set down, for at this
moment the donkey, whose rein had slipped off Huntoon's arm, finding
himself free of restraint, kicked up his heels and set off at full
gallop along the path. Huntoon started after him at his fastest pace,
whilst Peggy could not to save her life refrain from bursting into a
fit of laughter at this undignified ending of a lovers' quarrel.
As the donkey, and Huntoon following after, rushed past Brent, the
Governor's horse shied so violently into the bushes that the rider had
hard work to keep his seat. In his vexation Brent called out,--
"I would there were as many donkeys in the province with four feet as
with two. Chase him, Huntoon! Not that way!--to the left--to the left!"
Huntoon had lost sight of the donkey; but now catching the last words,
he turned to the left, following the trail of the animal's feet in the
new-fallen snow. Brent paused a moment and then started after him, for
it was no light matter to be lost in the woods, and the path the young
man had taken was an unfinished one ending in a tangle, though a side
path connected it with the main road to St. Mary's.
The fallen leaves lying thick in the forest path crackled like brown
icicles as they crisped beneath the horse's hoofs, and Brent held a
tight rein to prevent his slipping. Huntoon's pace was swifter and he
was gaining rapidly; but before he had gone fifty rods, he stopped
suddenly.
"My God!" he cried. His breath came in deep gasps, and the sweat stood
out in beads on his forehead.
"Huntoon! Huntoon! Where are you?"
"Here."
"Where's your voice, man? I can scarce hear it. And how white you are,
like one who has seen a ghost."
"I have. LOOK THERE!"