CHAPTER XXVII
The summer days found Glover's regiment stationed, a portion atCambridge, and the remainder on the high grounds of Roxbury, where werealso all the other Massachusetts troops, as well as some of those fromConnecticut.
John Devereux, being on duty at Cambridge, had approved of his wifeaccepting Mistress Knollys' invitation to stop with her in Dorchester.Her brother-in-law had been killed at Bunker Hill, and his devotedwife, broken-hearted, died soon thereafter, thus leaving MistressKnollys entirely alone.
Mary insisted upon Dorothy accompanying her, for the girl had becomegreatly changed since her father's death, and Mary, as well as AuntLettice, deemed it wise to try the diverting effect of new scenes andassociations. Then, too, Dorothy had always been a prime favorite withMistress Knollys, and returned sincerely the good lady's motherlyaffection.
Thus it was that Aunt Lettice and 'Bitha were left alone at theDevereux farm, whose flocks and stores had already been much depletedby generous contributions sent up to the patriot army about Boston.
Mary saw her husband at rare intervals, when it was possible for him tosnatch a few hours from his post of duty; but Hugh never came.
Mary could readily divine the reason for this, and so could MistressKnollys, albeit the subject was never mentioned between them: for soonafter their arrival, Mary, with Dorothy's consent, had told her of allthat related to the young Englishman.
At first the old lady was filled with righteous indignation. But whenshe came to understand and realize how it was with Dorothy's ownfeelings, she accepted the result with the philosophy that was a partof her sweet nature,--even smiling to herself when she thought of theyoung man's rare audacity.
She had, despite her white hairs, a spice of romance yet left in herheart. And perhaps the memory of her own elopement, in the face of herparents' prohibition, went far toward softening her feeling in favor ofthe daring offender.
But she shook her head sadly as she thought of her own boy, the secretof whose heart she had long suspected, although he had not given herhis confidence; and her eyes moistened as she realized the downfall ofthe cherished castle she had been building for him, with this girl--ofher own choosing--for his wife.
Late one September day, Johnnie Strings brought word to Dorothy thatAunt Penine lay at death's door, and was craving to see her.
It was decided that she had better accede to her aunt's request, andthat Mary should go with her; and so, in pursuance of arrangements madeby the pedler, they started on horseback the following morning, withthat wary individual as escort, and rode directly to a certain tavernjust inside the American lines, and known as "The Gray Horse Inn,"where they procured a conveyance to carry them the remainder of thejourney.
Strings himself did not deem it wise to venture nearer than this toBoston, as he was expected to hold himself in readiness at the inn toreceive some papers to be delivered to the Commander-in-Chief atCambridge.
It was late in the afternoon when the two girls, after having seen AuntPenine and made peace with her, hurried down the street toward theplace where their carriage was awaiting them.
The day was gray, with clouds gathering slowly, when they had set outon foot from this point for their visit to Aunt Penine, their driverhaving considered it better that he should wait for them near the houseof an acquaintance, whose true sentiments were known to only a few ofhis countrymen. And now, as they returned, a strong east-wind wasmaking mournful soughings in the trees, and a downpour of rain seemedimminent from the solidly massed clouds overhead.
As they came down the steps of the house, Mary noticed a man across thestreet, lounging under the elms, as though awaiting some one. His tallfigure was well wrapped in a riding-cloak, whose folds he held in a wayto conceal his lower features, while his hat, slouched over hisforehead, made it still more difficult to obtain a clear view of hisface.
"Look at that man over there," she said nervously, clutching Dorothy'sarm.
"Yes, I see," Dorothy replied with no show of interest, as they starteddown the street. "What of him?"
She was paying little heed to anything about her, for the meeting withAunt Penine had aroused to new and acute paining the sense of her owngreat loss.
This, thanks to the diversion afforded by her new surroundings, hadbegun to be a little dulled; for when one is young it is no easy matterfor any sorrow, however heavy, to utterly crush out all the light andhope.
Then, too, it had seemed to Dorothy a most marvellous thing to see AuntPenine so softened and repentant. And this of itself served toincrease the homesick longing the very sight of her had brought to thegirl,--a craving for the happy days of the dear old home, when a unitedfamily gathered under its roof, with no war-clouds darkening theirhearts.
"I am sure he is the same man I noticed walking after us when we came;and if so, why has he been standing there all this time?"
Mary now spoke excitedly, and as though alarmed, glancing now and thenover her shoulder at the cause of her fears.
"He is probably attending to his own affairs, and giving no thought toours," Dorothy answered, without looking in the stranger's direction."If not, what then? It will be daylight for two hours to come, and infive minutes we will be where the man is waiting for us."
Mary said nothing more, but ventured to steal a parting glance as theyturned the corner of the street; and she was much disconcerted to seethe man still appearing to follow them.
They soon reached their destination and found the vehicle waiting. Aminute more and they were seated, the driver gathered the reins, andhis horses set off at a pace bespeaking their impatience to return totheir stalls at the Gray Horse Inn.
The rain held back until they drew up in front of the entrance. Indeedit seemed as if the storm had waited for the girls to reach shelter,for no sooner were they inside the house than it let go with a suddenburst, doubtless setting in for an "all-nighter," as Johnnie Stringsaverred when he met them at the door.
It was impossible for them to continue their journey on horseback thatnight, and the landlord refused to send the carriage to Dorchester, byreason of all his horses being needed early the following morning tocarry some supplies to the outposts. And so, yielding to theinevitable, Mary and Dorothy decided to pass the night at the inn,letting Johnnie Strings, who cared nothing for the storm, go on andexplain matters to Mistress Knollys.
The Gray Horse Inn was an old building, whose precise age none couldtell. The street whereon it stood was little more than a lane, leadingoff the main thoroughfare to Boston; and a person outside could easilyglance through the lower windows, when these were unshuttered, as noshrubbery veiled them. Inside it was cheery and well-kept, and itsrambling style of construction afforded accommodation for a surprisingnumber of guests.
Back of the building extended a cornfield, which ended in a tract ofwoodland, while upon its townward side was a sturdy growth of oak andnut trees, encircling the cornfield, and running quite to the line ofthe woods beyond.
Mistress Trask, the landlady, gave the two girls a small parlor,communicating with a sleeping-room; and here their supper was served.
As the buxom dame brought in the well-filled tray, a loud, aggressivevoice came through the open door, evidently from the taproom, where afire blazing on the hearth--although the night was barely cold--temptedthe wayfarers to congregate.
"An' I tell ye," said the unseen speaker, "that Boston is the heart an'mouth o' the colonies. The wind that blows from Boston will set everyweathercock from New Hampshire to Georgia."
A silence followed, suggestive of no one caring to dispute theassertion.
Mistress Trask, noting Mary's expression of annoyance and her glancetoward the door, made haste to close it. Then she explained, as shebegan setting the food upon the table: "That's only farmer Gilbert.He's a decent enough body when sober, but once he gets a bit o' liquorunder his waistcoat, it seems to fly straight to his brains and addle'em. And then he do seem fairly grieving for a fisticuff with allcreation."
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br /> "I surely trust he will make no such disturbance while we are in thehouse," Mary said uneasily.
"Never ye have any fear, dearie," replied the good woman. She was anold acquaintance of Johnnie Strings, and he had duly impressed her asto the high standing of the guests he left in her charge.
"Never ye fear," she repeated. "The sight of a real lady is sure to bea check on his tongue an' manners; an' I'll see to it that he knows whobe in this room. 'T is true sorry I am to have to put ye on this lowerfloor; but ye see, we've strict orders to keep the whole o' the upperfloor for some gentry who will be here by late evening."
Then bending her head quickly, she whispered with great impressiveness,"Who, think ye, we expect?"
"I have no idea," was Mary's indifferent answer. She had scarcelyheard the question, for wondering what it might be that Dorothy wasthinking about as she stood by the window, from which she had drawnaway the curtain.
Certain it was that the girl could distinguish nothing in the pitchydarkness outside, even if she could see through the rain-dashed panes,that looked as if encrusted with glass beads.
Mistress Trask's information--whispered, like her question, as if shefeared the furniture might hear her words--caused Mary to sit veryerect, with kindling eyes and indrawn breath.
"Hush-h," warned the landlady, with a broad smile of delight at thesurprise she had aroused. "Hush-h; we was ordered on no account to letit get out."
"Dot, did you hear what she said?" Mary asked, when the two, left tothemselves, sat down to the tempting supper.
Dorothy shook her head, wondering the while at Mary's agitation.
"She said," and Mary lowered her own voice, "that theCommander-in-Chief is to arrive here soon, and that he will stop hereall night, as there is to be a meeting of some sort with many of hisprincipal officers."
"General Washington!" A new light came to Dorothy's face, kindling arush of color in her cheeks, and sending a glitter from her eyes thatrouted all their sad abstraction.
Mary nodded.
"I wish we could see him," said Dorothy. "Oh--I must get a peep athim."
"We will certainly try to see him," Mary agreed, adding eagerly, "Andoh, Dot--mayhap Jack will be of them."
"And perhaps Hugh," Dorothy said impulsively. Then quickly, as she sawthe sudden change in Mary's face, "Whatever is the matter with HughKnollys, I wonder? He has not been to see his mother since we went tostop with her; and I have noticed that whenever his name is mentioned,you and Jack--and even his mother--look oddly. Has he done anythingamiss?"
"Nothing, indeed, that I know of." And Mary lifted her cup of tea sothat it hid her eyes for the moment.
"I have wished so often that he would come--I should like to see himonce more. How long--how very long it seems since he left us lastfall!" Dorothy sighed; and Mary knew it was not for Hugh, but becauseof all that had happened since his going.
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