The Little Red Foot Part 41

I shall not praise Your brazen ways, Nor dare compare Your flaming gaze To those sweet rays Which play around Flavilla's hair.

"For lo, behold!

No sunshine bold Can hope to gild or make more fair The living gold, Where, fold on fold, In glory shines Flavilla's hair!"

There was a merry tumult of praise for the poet, and some rallied him, but he seemed complacent enough, and Penelope looked shyly at him over lagging needles,--a smile her acknowledgment and thanks.

"Sir," says a cornet of horse, in helmet and jack-boots--though I perceived none of his company about, and wondered where he came from,--"will you consent to entertain our merry Council with some account of the scout which, from your appearance, sir, I guess you have but recently accomplished."

To this stilted and somewhat pompous speech I inclined my head with civility, but replied that I did not yet feel at liberty to discuss any journey I may have accomplished until my commanding officer gave me permission. Which mild rebuke turned young Jack-boots red, and raised a t.i.tter.

An officer said: "The dry blood on your hunting shirt, sir, and the somewhat amazing appearance of your tame Indian, who squats yonder, devouring the back of your head with his eyes, must plead excuse for our natural curiosity. Also, we have not yet smelled powder, and it is plain that you have had your nostrils full."

I laughed, feeling no mirth, however, but sensible of my dull pain and my restlessness.

"Sir," said I, "if I have smelled gun-powder, I shall know that same perfume again; and if I have not yet sniffed it, nevertheless I shall know it when I come to scent it. So, gentlemen, I can not see that you are any worse off in experience than I."

A subaltern, smiling, ventured to ask me what kind of Indian was that who enquired me.

"Of Algonquin stock," said I, "but speaks an odd lingo, partly Huron-Iroquois, partly the Loup tongue, I think. He is a Saguenay."

"One of those fierce wanderers of the mountains," nodded an older officer. "I thought they were not to be tamed."

"I owned a tame tree-cat once," remarked another officer.

My friend, Jack-boots, now pulls out a bull's-eye watch with two fobs, and tells the time with a sort of sulky satisfaction. For many of the company arose, and made their several and gallant adieus to Penelope, who suffered their salute on one little hand, while she held yarn and needles in t'other.

But when half the plague of suitors and gallants had taken themselves off to their several duties, there remained still too many to suit young Jack-boots. Too many to suit me, either; and scarce knowing what I did or why, I moved forward to the tree where she was seated on a low swinging limb.

"Penelope," said I, "it is long since I have seen you. And if these gentlemen will understand and pardon the desire of an old friend to speak privately with you, and if you, also, are so inclined, give me a little time with you alone before I leave."

"Yes," she said, "I am so inclined--if it seem agreeable to all."

I am sure it was not, but they conducted civilly enough, save young Jack-boots, who got redder than ever and spoke not a word with his bow, but clanked away pouting.

And there were also two militia officers, wrapped in great watch cloaks over their Canajoharie regimentals, and who took their leave in silence.

One wore boots, the other black spatter-dashes that came above the knee in French fashion, and were fastened under it, too, with leather straps.

Their faces were averted when they pa.s.sed me, yet something about them both seemed vaguely familiar to me. No wonder, either, for I should know, by sight at least, many officers in our Tryon militia.

Whether they were careless, or unmannerly by reason of taking offense at what I had done, I could not guess.

I looked after them, puzzled, almost sure I had seen them both before; but where I could not recollect, nor what their names might be.

"Shall we stroll, Penelope?" I said.

"If it please you, sir."

Sir William had cut the alders all around the point, and a pretty lawn of English gra.s.s spread down to the water north and west, and pleasant shade trees grew there.

While she rolled her knitting and placed it in her silken reticule, I, glancing around, noticed that all the apple bloom had fallen, and the tiny green fruit-buds dotted every twig.

Then, as she was ready, and stood prettily awaiting me in her pink chintz gown, and her kerchief and buckled shoon, I gave her my hand and we walked slowly across the gra.s.s and down to the water.

Here was a great silvery iron-wood tree a-growing and spreading pleasant shade; and here we sat us down.

But now that I had got this maid Penelope away from the pest of suitors, it came suddenly to me that my pretenses were false, and I really had nothing to say to her which might not be discussed in company with others.

This knowledge presently embarra.s.sed me to the point of feeling my face grow hot. But when I ventured to glance at her she smiled.

"Have you been in battle?" she asked.

"Yes."

After a silence: "I am most happy that you returned in safety."

"Did you ever--ever think of me?" I asked.

"Why, yes," she replied in surprise.

"I thought," said I, "that being occupied--and so greatly sought after by so many gallants--that you might easily have forgotten me."

She laughed and plucked a gra.s.s-blade.

"I did not forget you," she said.

"That is amazing," said I, "--a maid so run after and so courted."

She plucked another blade of gra.s.s, and so sat, pulling at the tender verdure, her head bent so that I could not see what her eyes were thinking, but her lips seemed graver.

"Well," said I, "is there news of Mr. Fonda?"

"None, sir."

"Tell me," said I, smiling, "why, when I speak, do you answer ever with a 'sir'?"

At that she looked up: "Are you not Lord Stormont, Mr. Drogue?" she asked innocently.

"Why, no! That is, n.o.body believes it any more than did the Lords in their House so many years ago. Is that why you sometimes say 'my lord,'

and sometimes call me 'sir'?"

"But you still are the Laird of Northesk."

"Lord!" said I, laughing. "Is it that Scottish t.i.tle bothers you? Pay it no attention and call me John Drogue--or John.... Or Jack, if you will.... Will you do so?"

"If it--pleases you."

She was still busy with the gra.s.s, and I watched her, waiting to see her dark eyes lift again--and see that little tremor of her lips which presaged the dawning smile.