OLIVER'S PRISONER
"I don't care anything about it," said Miss Moppet with decision. "It's
a nasty, horrid letter, and I've made it over and over, and it will not
get one bit plainer. Count one, two, jump one; then two stitches plain;
it's no use at all, Miss Bidwell, I cannot make it any better." And with
a deep sigh Miss Moppet surveyed her sampler, where she had for six
weeks been laboriously trying to inscribe "Faith Wolcott, her sampler,
aged nine," with little success and much loss of temper.
"W is a hard letter," said Miss Bidwell, laying down one of the
perpetual stockings with which she seemed always supplied for mending
purposes; "you will have to rip this out again; the first stroke is too
near the letter before it;" and she handed the unhappy sampler back to
the child.
"It's always like that," said Miss Moppet in a tone of exasperation. "I
think a sampler is the very _devil_!"
"Oh," said Miss Bidwell in a shocked voice, "I shall have to report you
as a naughty chit if you use such language."
"Well, it just _is_" said Moppet; "that's what the minister said in his
sermon Sunday week, and you know, Miss Bidwell, that you admired it
extremely, because I heard you tell Pamela so."
"Admired the devil?" said Miss Bidwell. "Child, what are you talking
about?"
"The sermon," said Miss Moppet, breaking her silk for the fourth time;
"the minister said the devil went roaring up and down the earth seeking
whom he might devour. Wouldn't I like to hear him roar. Do you conceive
it is like a bull or a lion's roar?"
"The Bible says a lion," said Miss Bidwell, looking all the more severe
because she was so amused.
"I am truly sorry for that poor devil," said Miss Moppet, heaving a deep
sigh. "Just think how tired he must become, and how much work he must
have to do. O--o--oh!"--a prolonged scream--"he certainly has possession
of my sampler"--dancing up and down with pain--"for that needle has
gone one inch into my thumb!"
"Come here and let me bind it up," said Miss Bidwell, seizing the small
sinner as she whirled past her. "How often must I tell you not to give
way to such sinful temper? And talking about the devil is not proper for
little girls."
"Why not just as well as for older folk?" said Moppet, submitting to
have a soft bit of rag bound around the bleeding thumb. "I think the
devil ought to be prayed for if he's such an abominable sinner--yes, I
do." And Moppet, whose belief in a personal devil was evidently large,
surveyed Miss Bidwell with uncompromising eyes.
"Tut!" said Miss Bidwell, to whom this novel idea savored of
ungodliness, but wishing to be lenient toward the child whose adoring
slave she was. "Miss Euphemia would be shocked to hear you."
"I shall not tell her," said the child shrewdly, "but I am going to pray
for the devil each night, whether any one else does or not."
"As you cannot work any longer on the sampler, you had best go to Miss
Pamela for your writing lesson," said Miss Bidwell.
"Pamela is out in the orchard with Josiah Huntington," said Moppet,
"and she would send me forthwith into the house if I went near her."
"Then find Miss Betty and read her a page in the primer. You know you
promised your father you would learn to read it correctly against his
return."
"Betty is gossiping in the garret chamber with Sally Tracy; surely I
must stop with you, Biddy, dear;" and Moppet twined her arms around Miss
Bidwell's neck, with her little coaxing face upraised for a kiss. When
Moppet said "Biddy dear" (which was her baby abbreviation for the old
servant), she became irresistible; so Miss Bidwell, much relieved at
dropping so puzzling a theological question as the propriety of
supplications for the well-being of his Satanic majesty, proposed that
she should tell Miss Moppet "a story," which met with delighted assent
from the little girl.
Miss Bidwell's stories, which dated back for many years and always began
with "when I was a little maid," were never failing in interest besides
being somewhat lengthy, as Moppet insisted upon minute detail, and
invariably corrected her when she chanced to omit the smallest
particular. That the story had been often told did not make it lose any
of its interest, and the shadows of the great elm which overhung the
sitting-room windows grew longer, while the sun sank lower and lower
unheeded, until Miss Bidwell, at the most thrilling part of her tale,
where a bloodthirsty and evil-minded Indian was about to appear,
suddenly laid down her work and exclaimed:--
"Hark! surely there is some one coming up the back path," and rising as
she spoke, she hurried out to the side porch, closely followed by
Moppet, who said to herself, with all a child's vivid and dramatic
imagination, "Perhaps it's an Indian coming to tomahawk us in our beds!"
which thought caused her to seize a fold of Miss Bidwell's gown tightly
in her hand.
As they came into the hall they were joined by Miss Euphemia, who had
also heard the sounds of approach; and as they emerged from the house
two tall figures, dusty and travel-worn, confronted them, with Reuben
following in their rear.
"Oliver!" exclaimed Miss Euphemia, as she recognized her youngest nephew
in one of the wayfarers, "whence come you, and what news? Where is your
honored father?"
[Illustration: MISS EUPHEMIA MEETS OLIVER AND HIS PRISONER]
"My father, madam," said Oliver Wolcott, uncovering his head as he
motioned to Reuben to take his place near his companion, "my father is
some thirty miles behind me, but hastening in this direction. What
news?--Fairfield burnt, half its inhabitants homeless, but Tryon's
marauders put to flight and our men in pursuit."
"And who is this gentleman?" said Miss Euphemia, as Oliver kissed her
cheek and stepped back.
"'Tis more than I can answer," said Oliver, "for not one word concerning
himself can I obtain from him. He is my prisoner, Aunt Euphemia; I found
him lurking in the woods ten miles away this morning, and should perhaps
have let him pass had not a low-lying branch of a tree knocked off his
hat, when I recognized him for one of Tryon's crew."
"Speak more respectfully, sir," said the stranger suddenly, "to me, if
not to those whom you term 'Tryon's crew.'"
"I grant the respect due your arm and strength," said Oliver, "for you
came near leaving me in the smoke and din of Fairfield when you gave me
this blow," and he touched the left side of his head, where could be
seen some clotted blood among his hair. "Come, sir, my aunt has asked
the question. Do you not reply to a lady?"
"The gibe is unworthy of you," said the other, lifting the hat which had
been drawn down closely over his brow; "and I"--
"Oh, Oliver, 'tis my good kind gentleman!" cried Moppet, darting forward
and seizing the stranger by the hand; "he plunged into Great Pond last
night and pulled me forth when I was nearly drowning, and we begged him
to come home with us, did we not, Betty?"--seeing her sister standing in
the doorway. "Betty, Betty, come and tell Oliver he has made a mistake."
A smile lit up the stranger's handsome face as he bowed low to Betty,
who came swiftly to his side as she recognized him.
"Will you not bring the gentleman in, Oliver?" she said. "The thanks
which are his due can hardly be well spoken on our doorstep," and Betty
drew herself up, and waved her hand like the proud little maid she was,
her eyes sparkling, her breast heaving with the excitement she strove to
suppress.
Oliver looked from Moppet to Betty, in bewilderment then back at his
prisoner, who seemed the most unconcerned of the group.
"You are right, Betty," said Miss Euphemia, beginning to understand the
situation. "Will you walk in, sir, and let me explain to my nephew how
greatly we are indebted to you?" And she led the way into the mansion,
the others following, and opened the door of the parlor on the left,
Reuben, obedient to a sign from Oliver, remaining with Miss Bidwell in
the hall.
The stranger declined the chair which Oliver courteously offered him,
and remained standing near Betty, Moppet clinging to his hand and
looking up gratefully into his face while Miss Euphemia related to her
nephew the story of Moppet's rescue from her perilous accident of the
previous day.
"A brave deed!" cried Oliver impetuously, as he advanced with
outstretched hand toward his prisoner, "and with all my heart, sir, I
thank you. Forgive my pettish speech of a moment since; you were right
to reprove me. No one appreciates a gallant foe more than I; and though
the fortune of war has to-day made you my prisoner, to-morrow may make
me yours."
"I thank you," said the stranger, giving his hand as frankly in return.
"Believe me, my plunge in the pond was hardly worth the stress you are
kind enough to lay upon it, and but for the mischance to my little
friend here," smiling at Miss Moppet, who regarded him with affectionate
eyes, "is an affair of little moment. May I ask where you will bestow me
for the night, and also the privilege of a dip in cold water, as I am
too soiled and travel-worn to sit in the presence of ladies, even though
your prisoner."
"Prisoner!" echoed Betty, with a start. "Surely, Oliver, you will not
hold as a prisoner the man who saved our little Moppet's life, and that,
too (though he makes so light of it) at the risk of his own?"
"You will let him go free, brother Oliver," cried Moppet, flying to the
young officer's side; "you surely will not clap him into jail?"
"It was my purpose," said Oliver, looking from one to the other, "to
confine you until to-morrow and then carry you to headquarters, where
General Putnam will determine your ultimate fate. I certainly recognize
you as the author of this cut on my head. Do you belong to the British
army or are you a volunteer accompanying Tryon in his raid upon our
innocent and unoffending neighbors at Fairfield?"
"Sir," said the other haughtily, "I pardon much to your youthful
patriotism, which looks upon us as invaders. My name is Geoffrey Yorke,
and I have the honor to bear his majesty's commission as captain in the
Sixty-fourth Regiment of Foot."
Betty gave a faint exclamation. Oliver Wolcott stepped forward.
"Captain Yorke," he said, "I regret more than I can say my inability,
which you yourself will recognize, to bid you go forth free and in
safety. My duty is unfortunately but too plain. I, sir, serve the
Continental Congress, and like you hold a captain's commission. I should
be false alike to my country and my oath of allegiance did I permit you
to escape; but there is one favor I can offer you; give me your parole,
and allow me and my family the pleasure of holding you as a guest, not
prisoner, while under our roof."
Geoffrey Yorke hesitated; he opened his lips to speak, when some
instinct made him glance at Betty, who stood directly behind her
brother. Her large, soft eyes were fixed on his with most beseeching
warning, and she raised her dainty finger to her lips as she slowly,
almost imperceptibly, shook her head.
"Captain Wolcott," he said, "I fully appreciate your kindness and the
motive which prompts it. I have landed on these shores but one short
month ago, and Sir Henry Clinton ordered me--but these particulars will
not interest you. I thank you for your offer, but I decline to take
parole, and prefer instead the fortunes of war."
"Then, sir, I have no choice," said Oliver. "Aunt Euphemia, will you
permit me to use the north chamber? I will conduct you there, Captain
Yorke, and shall see that you are well guarded for the night." And with
a courtly bow to the ladies Geoffrey Yorke followed his captain from the
room, as Moppet threw herself into Betty's arms and sobbed bitterly.