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Read Ebook: Μαλβίνα: Ρωμαντικό Μυθιστόρημα του 18ου αιώνος by Cottin Madame Sophie Argyropoulos K P Translator
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Ebook has 517 lines and 29585 words, and 11 pages
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
FOR KING OR COUNTRY.
A Story of the Revolution.
BY JAMES BARNES.
SOME FURTHER ADVENTURES.
As the hand reached out of the water it could be seen that William had twined his free arm about his brother's waist, and that the latter was still struggling weakly.
At this moment a shout sounded from the hill. "I's comin'! I's comin'!" called a voice.
There was a crushing sound, and through the alders and tangle of hardback bushes came the old colored man. His face was ashy gray; but he took in the situation in one frightened glance. Without pausing, he threw himself head foremost into the pool, and in an instant he had grasped both boys, and, puffing loudly after his exertions, landed them safely upon the shelving bank.
Grace's cries had softened to a nervous whimper, and the old man was the first to find his tongue. Probably he knew that neither of his young masters could reply to him just then, for he pitched into them furiously as they lay helpless and spluttering in the sand.
"You heah me," he said, "young Mars Willem an' young Mars George. I see you'll git a trouncin' fur all dis nonsense; scaring Miss Grace half out ob her wits, and spoilin' your bes' clo's; and look at me!" he added, "jes look at me! My waistcoat is plum ruined, an' whar--whar's my hat?"
The huge three-cornered affair lost in Cato's jump was drifting slowly down the brook.
William rolled over on his elbow and caught his breath with an effort.
"Silence!" he shouted. "Where's that fishing-rod?"
"You's done gwine ter ketch a fishin'-rod," said the old man. "Look at your brudder George, 'most drownded; I spec you dared him to jump in."
George managed to look up. "No," he said; "I went in by myself."
The old man, muttering and grumbling, stepped over to the boys, and stood both of them on their feet. It was all that either could do to keep his balance; but at last, they looked at one another, and William half laughed.
"Oh, won't we catch it when Aunt Clarissa sees us!" he exclaimed.
At this, Grace, looking toward the bridge, called out, excitedly, the tears still running down her cheeks, "There's Mr. Wyeth! There he is at last! And, look! there's some one with him. It must be our Uncle Daniel!"
She pointed up the road. Little clouds of dust rose here and there through the trees, and two thick figures, each mounted on a steadily plodding gray nag, were seen riding down the hill.
"Come on, we'll meet them," said William, and taking his brother's hand, they walked out into the meadow with as much dignity as two small dripping figures could assume.
Cato picked out two of the largest and straightest of the discarded switches, and, gazing disconsolately at his ruined waistcoat, strode after them.
Mr. Wyeth and his companion had seen the boys coming, and had halted at the bridge. The merchant was a short, fat man, with a round rosy face, like a ripe New Jersey apple. As he watched the little party walking slowly across the meadow his face took on a quizzical expression, and then wrinkled up into a smile. As they came nearer he burst into a laugh.
The other man, who was larger and quite as florid, joined him. "Well, bless my soul," he said, leaning forward in his saddle, his sides shaking.
The twins by this time were within speaking-distance. They did not smile, but still holding each other's hands bowed quite gravely.
"Mr. Wyeth, your presence, sir," they said.
"In the name of St. George," said the fat man, "what have you been doing?"
"We fell into the water," said the twins, together.
"You'll pardon our appearance," went on George, "but we are glad to see you here at Stanham Mills, I do assure you, sir. I--I suppose this is our Uncle Daniel? Is it not?"
This was said with such a fine imitation of Uncle Nathan's courtliest manner, that Mr. Wyeth could hardly repress another burst of laughter.
But Mr. Daniel Frothingham--for it was none other--gravely lifted his hat, and said: "Young gentlemen, I salute you. The honor is mine, I do declare."
Then seeing Grace, he took his feet from the stirrups. "Will the young lady come up here with me?" he asked.
In a minute the little girl, with her garland of oak leaves trailing to the ground, was seated before her uncle from London on the old gray horse.
"Well, this is an unexpected greeting," remarked the huge man to the merchant.
The twins had started down the road, leaving a trail of water dripping from their soggy coats.
"What are you doing with those switches, Cato?" asked Mr. Wyeth, turning in his saddle and winking at Uncle Daniel.
"I reckin, sah," said the old darky, smiling grimly, "Mars Nathaniel may have need of 'em. I's tol' Miss Frothingham dat dose chilluns oughter be teached ter swim."
Daniel Frothingham gazed at the soaked figures ahead, and his eyes twinkled merrily.
Just to the right of the highway, a short distance from the edge of the pond, a lane fringed with trees led up a gentle incline, at the end of which could be seen a large rambling building, with great white pillars supporting an overheavy Grecian portico.
Before the twins had turned the corner, two figures on horseback came down the main road at a steady trot.
The two boys did not move out of the way a single step, and if the first rider had not drawn off to the road-side they would have been almost under his horse's hoofs. But the twins appeared to pay no attention to this. In fact, so far as any motion of theirs was concerned the two riders might not have existed.
One was a tall man with long leather leggings, and the other a boy of fourteen on a small brown pony. As they passed Mr. Wyeth both gravely acknowledged his salute.
"Who are they?" asked Mr. Daniel Frothingham. He had not spoken for some time, and had been listening to his niece's description of the adventure up the brook.
"Dat's Mr. Mason Hewes and his son Carter," answered the old negro before Mr. Wyeth could reply. "I reckin you's heard 'bout de boundary-line trubbles, sah."
"Oh yes," replied Mr. Wyeth, and he smiled significantly; "that was the man of whom I spoke to you," he went on, addressing Mr. Frothingham. "He is the most advanced rebel in this colony. I have heard utterances attributed to him that ought to--if true bespoke them--place a halter round his neck. It is said that he has proposed resisting the impost taxes with the force of arms. He is a leader of the so-called Sons of Liberty." Mr. Wyeth said the last words with a sneer.
"An arrant scoundrel. I know of him. He should be clapped in prison," rejoined Daniel Frothingham in a voice so like Uncle Nathan's that little Grace looked up in fright. The pleasant expression had vanished from the old man's face.
"This is not England," remarked Mr. Wyeth, sententiously.
"No; I would it were," answered the other. "There's law for such a one as this. A 'Whig' he calls himself? He's a rebel, and naught else."
The twins had prudently fallen behind, and one observed to the other, as they watched the greetings from a distance:
"Did you see Carter Hewes? He made faces at us."
"Wait until we catch him off some time," was the reply. Then both boys ran for it, and dodged into the house through the kitchen door; but they had not escaped Aunt Clarissa's eagle eye. However, they received no punishment that night, and went to bed in peace.
The next day was quite as fine as the one that had preceded it. The morning was spent in a visit to the various works about the place, but the result of the inspection was not encouraging, and the family party at Stanham Manor was much depressed.
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