University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Old Ballad.

The birth-day festival at the Rose Croft might be
said appropriately to belong to the eminent dominion
of the Lady Maria. It therefore lacked nothing of
her zealous supervision. With the aid of father
Pierre and some female auxiliaries she had persuaded
the Collector—a task of no great difficulty—to sanction
the proceeding, and she was now intent upon
the due ordering and setting out of the preparations.
The day was still a week off when, early after breakfast,
on a pleasant morning the business-fraught lady
was seen in the hall, arrayed in riding hood and
mantle, ready to mount a quiet black-and-white pony
that, in the charge of a groom, awaited her pleasure
at the door. Natta, the little Indian girl, stood by
entrusted with the care of a work-bag or wallet apparently
well stuffed with the materials for future
occupation,—the parcel-fragments which thrifty
housewives and idleness-hating dames, down to this
day, are accustomed to carry with them, for the

sake of the appearance, at least, of industry. Just
at this moment the Proprietary came into the hall,
and seeing that his worthy sister was bound on some
enterprise of more than usual earnestness, he added
to his customary morning salutation a playful inquiry
into the purport of her excursion.

“Ah, Charles,” she replied, “there are doings in
the province which are above the rule of your burgesses
and councils. I hold a convocation at the
Rose Croft to-day, touching matters more earnest
than your state affairs. We have a merry-making
in the wind, and I am looked to both for countenance
and advice. It is my prerogative, brother, to be
mistress of all revels.”

“God bless thine age, Maria!” was the affectionate
reply of the Proprietary—“it wears a pleasant
verdure and betokens a life of innocent thoughts and
kind actions. May the saints bear thee gently onward
to thy rest! Come, I will serve as your cavalier,
and help you to your horse, sister.—See now,
my arm has pith in it. Hither, Natta—there is the
wench on the pillion—who could serve thee with a
better grace than that?”

“Thanks—thanks, good brother!” ejaculated the
lady as the Proprietary lifted her to her seat, and
then swung the Indian girl upon the pillion behind
her. “Your arm is a valiant arm, and is blessed by
more than one in this province. It has ever been
stretched forth in acts of charity and protection.”

“Nay, Maria, you are too old to flatter. Fie! I
have no advancement to offer thee. In truth thou

art sovereign here—though you go through your
realm with but scant attendance for one so magnified.
Why is not Albert in your train? I may well
spare him—as he has a liking for such service.”

“Brother, I would not tax the Secretary. He
hath a free foot for his own pleasure; and, methinks,
he finds his way to the Rose Croft easily enough
without my teaching. It is an ancient caution of
mine, in such affairs, neither to mar nor make.”

“Heaven help thee for a considerate spinster!”
said the Proprietary with a benignant smile as he
raised his hands and shook them sportively towards
his sister. “Go thy ways, with thy whimsies and
thy scruples;—and a blessing on them! I wish
yours were our only cares:—but go thy ways, girl!”
he added, as the lady set forth on her journey, and
he withdrew from the door.

At the Rose Croft, the approaching merry-making
had superseded all other family topics, both in parlour
and kitchen. The larder was already beginning to
exhibit the plentiful accumulations which, in a place
of strength, might portend a siege: the stable boys
were ever on the alert, with their cavalry, to do
rapid errands to the town, and Michael Mossbank,
the gardener, was seen in frequent and earnest consultation
with John Pouch, a river-side cotter, touching
supplies of fish and wild fowl.

Whilst the elder sister Alice despatched the graver
duties of the housekeeping, she had consigned to
Blanche the not less important care of summoning
the guests, and the maiden was now seated at the

table with pen in hand registering the names of those
who had been, or were to be invited to the feast,—
or in other words making a census of pretty nearly
the whole titheable population of St. Mary's and its
dependencies.

“A plague upon it for a weary labour!” she exclaimed
as she threw down the pen and rested her
chin upon the palm of her hand. “I know I shall
forget somebody I ought not to forget—and shall be
well rated for it. And then again I shall be chid for
being too free with my fellowship.—What a world of
names is here! I did not think the whole province
had so many. There is Winnefred Hay, the Viewer's
sister,—they have tales about her which, if they
be true, it is not fit she should be a crony of mine—
and yet I don't believe them, though many do.—
Truly the Viewer will be in a grand passion if I
slight her! Sister Alice, give me your advice.”

“Bid her to the feast, Blanche. We should be
slow to believe these rumours to the injury of a
neighbour. Winnefred Hay, is not over discreet—
and gives more semblance to an evil opinion than, in
truth, her faults deserve: but the townspeople are
scarce better in this quickness to censure—especially
such as look to the tobacco viewing. Lawrence
Hay's place has something to do with that scandal.”

“I am glad, sister Alice, you give me an argument
to indulge my own secret wish,” replied
Blanche; “for I like not to believe harsh reports
against any of our province. And so, that is at an
end. Alack!—here is another matter for counsel:

Grace Blackiston says Helen Clements is too young
to be at my gathering:—she has two years before
her yet at school, and has only begun embroidering.
Oh, but I would as soon do a barefoot penance for a
month as disappoint her!—she is the wildest of all
for a dance, and looks for it, I know,—though she
says never a word, and has her eyes on the ground
when we talk about it.—Ha, let Grace Blackiston
prate as she will, Helen shall be here! Fairly, my
gossip,—I will be mistress in my own house, I promise
you!”

“There is room for all thy friends, young and old,”
said Alice; “and you should not stint to ask them
for the difference of a span or so in height. You are
not quite a woman yourself, Blanche,—no, nor Grace
neither—although you perk yourselves up so daintily.”

“Would you have the gauger's wife, sister?” inquired
Blanche, with a face of renewed perplexity.
“I think my dear Lady Maria would be pleased if I
bid the dame—for the gauger is a good friend of his
Lordship—hot-headed, they say, but that does not
make him the worse—and his dame takes it kindly
to be noticed.”

“Even as you will, Blanche,—it is a mark of gentle
nurture not to be too scrupulous with thy questions
of quality—a kind neighbour will never disgrace
your courtesy. But one thing, child, your father will
look to:—see that you avoid these Coodes and Fendalls
and even the Chiseldines. There is a feud between
them and the Proprietary,—and my Lord's

friends are warm in the matter,—your father amongst
the rest.”

“I warrant you they get no bid from me,” said
Blanche, as the colour mantled in her cheek. “I
hate them stock and branch—yes, as my good lady
hates them.”

Blanche had scarcely uttered these words before
the good lady herself rode past the window. The
maiden bounded forth to receive her, and Alice with
less precipitation followed.

“I come with pony and pillion,” said the visiter
as she was assisted to the ground, and bustled into
the parlour. “I could not rest until I saw Blanche,
to know if all her biddings were abroad. My pretty
bird, pray look you to your task—you have no time
to lose: there are the families beyond Patuxent—and
our friends across the bay,—besides many at home
that I know have not heard from you yet. And here,
sweet, I have brought you some trinketry which you
shall wear at the feast: a part is for Grace Blackiston,
and a part for you. Thou shalt have the choice,
Blanche:—but whisht!—not a word of it to Grace,
because I think she hath a conceit to be jealous of
thy favour.”

Whilst the two sisters welcomed the lady and responded
to her voluble communications in a tone of
affectionate intimacy, the contents of the work-bag
were thrown open to view, and successively gave
rise to sundry discussions relating not only to the
objects presented, but also collaterally to the thousand
matters of detail connected with the festival,

thus engrossing the first hour of their interview, until
the subject was changed by an exclamation from
Blanche, as she looked through the window upon the
river—

“Oh, but here is a gallant sight!—see yonder
hawk following a heron. He will strike presently—
the heron cannot get away. Poor bird! how he
doubles and drops in his flight to escape the swift
hawk;—but it is of no avail. I should almost say it
was sinful,—if it was not approved and followed by
those I love best—I should hold it sinful to frighten
and torture a harmless heron by such pursuit. There,
the hawk has struck, and down comes hawk and
quarry to the water.”

“It is his Lordship's hawk,” said the Lady Maria,
as she looked out upon the river. “Derrick the falconer
must be abroad to-day with his birds:—and
now whilst I speak, there is walking along the
beach. And he is not alone neither:—by that short
mantle and that feather, Blanche, you may know a
friend.”

The colour rose on the maiden's cheek as she said,
“it is Albert, his Lordship's secretary.”

“His eyes are turned this way,” said the sister of
the Proprietary. “A wager he comes to the house
in the next ten minutes!—He would fain find some
business with the Collector—I know Master Albert's
occasions: nay, do not flurry thyself, my sweet
Blanche.”

“I wish the Secretary would come,” returned the
maiden; “we have need of him; he promised to

show me how I were best to arrange my flower
vases.”

“Then thou shouldst do well to despatch a messenger
to him,” interrupted the Lady Maria, playfully;
“dost thou not think he might forget?”

“Oh no, my dear lady,” replied Blanche, “Master
Albert never forgets a promise to me.”

“Indeed! Well, I should have thought that having
occasion to make you so many promises—for he
is here at the Rose Croft thrice a week at least—and
every visit has its promise, or I mistake—he would
forget full one half.”

“I deal but scantily in promises with the Secretary,”
replied Blanche. “Master Albert's errands
here are for pastime mostly.”

“Ah, he doth not forget,” exclaimed the Lady
Maria; “for there I see the feather of his bonnet as
he climbs up the bank,—and now we have his head
and shoulders; we shall get the whole man anon,—
and Master Benedict Leonard in the bargain, for I
see him trudging in the Secretary's footsteps, as he
is wont to do; his young Lordship hath become the
Secretary's shadow. And there is Derrick behind.
They are all bound for this haven.”

As the lady spoke, the Secretary was seen from
the window with the heir apparent and the falconer
on the verge of the bank which they had just ascended.
Benedict Leonard had a hooded hawk upon
his fist; and Derrick, waving a light rod to which
a small streamer or flag was attached, was busy in
luring down the bird that had just flown at the

heron. Whilst the falconer continued his occupation
the Secretary and his young companion entered
the mansion.

Albert Verheyden's accost to the ladies was
characterized by a familiarity not unmixed with
diffidence, and a momentary flush passed across
his cheek as, after saluting Mistress Alice, and turning
to Blanche, his eye fell upon the sister of the Proprietary.
“I did not expect to find my honoured
lady so early at the Rose Croft,” he said with a
profound reverence. “It should have been my duty,
madam, to attend you, but I knew not of your purpose;
and the falconer being bent to fly the cast of
lancrets which Colonel Talbot lately sent to my Lord,
would have me witness the trial, and so I came with
Master Benedict to see this sport.”

“Nay, Albert,” replied the lady, “you should not
have been of my company even if you had sought
permission. I come to-day on no idle errand which
might allow your loitering paces and customary delays
to gaze on headlands and meadows, whereby
you are wont to interrupt the course of your journey.
The matter of our present meeting has need of
stirring feet, which go direct to their work,—yours
are not such. Still, Master Albert, you shall not be
useless to-day:—here is occupation to thy hand;
Blanche is in much want of a penman, and as you
are of the writing craft, she would gladly enlist thee
in her service—that is, if thou hast not been already
marshaled and sworn under her colours.”

“Master Albert, our dear lady does but jest,” said

Blanche. “She knows I had at first no need of
better penman than myself, and now have need of
none,—for, in truth, my work was finished ere she
came. But your service I may command in a better
task. You did promise to bring me some device for
my flower-stands.”

“The joiner will have them here to-day,” replied
the Secretary. “I have not failed to spur his industry
as well as my own poor invention to that endeavour.”

“Then all is done but the rendering of thanks,”
said Blanche, “which yet I am not in the humour to
do, having matter of quarrel with you for that following
of the poor heron which, but now, we saw the
hawk strike down, whilst you were a looker-on, and,
as we suspect, an encourager of the trespass. It was
a cruel thing to assail the innocent fowl, which, being
native here, has ever found friends in our house;—
yes, and has daily fed upon the flat below the garden.
These herons scarce fly when I walk by them on the
beach. I wish the falconer had sought his quarry
elsewhere than amongst my harmless birds. You
should have controlled him.”

“I am deeply grieved,” replied the Secretary. “Indeed,
I knew not of the bird nor whence he came:
nor thought of it, in truth. A feather of his wing
should not have come to harm had I been aware that
he had ever pleased your eye. I am all unskilled in
these out-door sports, and have scarce worn out the
complexion of my school at Antwerp, where worldly
pastimes were a forbidden thought. A poor scholar

of the cloister might go free of blame if, in this sunny
and gallant world, the transport of a noble game
should rob him of his circumspection. I thought of
naught but the glorious circling of the hawk and his
swift and imperious assault. I crave your pardon for
my inconsiderate error.”

“You speak more like a practised cavalier than a
scholar of the cloister,” said the sister of the Proprietary;
“thou hast a cavalier's love of the sport,
Albert.”

“It doth not beseem me, madam,” was the Secretary's
reply, “to affect a pastime which belongs neither
to my rank nor humble means; but, in sadness,
dear lady, I do love hawk, and hound, and steed.
And when in my sequestered study—where, being, as
I thought, destined to the service of the altar, I read
mostly of holy men and holy things, little dreaming
that I should ever see the world—it sometimes
chanced, in my stray reading, I fell upon a lay
wherein deeds of chivalry were told; and then I was
conscious of a wish, I am now almost ashamed to
confess, that fortune might some day bring me better
acquainted with that world to which such deeds belonged.
Oh, blessed chance! it hath befallen now:
—that is,—I mean to say,” continued the Secretary,
checking himself, as his flashing eye fell to the
floor and a blush flitted across his brow—“it hath
pleased Heaven to give me a kind master in my good
Lord, who doth not deny me to look on when these
sports are afield.”

“And if we did strike down the heron, Blanche

Warden,” said Benedict Leonard, saucily accosting
the maiden, and showing the hawk that was bound
to his wrist—“what is a heron good for, but to be
brought down? Herons were made for hawks—yes,
and for the hawks of the Proprietary above all
others; for I have heard say that every heron on the
Chesapeake, within my father's boundary, is his own
bird: so Derrick has said a hundred times. And
there 's my uncle Talbot, who flies a hawk better
than any other in the province—I do n't care if Derrick
hears me—and has the best mews,—he says that
these fire-arms have broken up hawking in the old
country; and he told me I must not let it fall through
when I come to the province; for my father, he
thinks, does n't care much for it. I promise you in
my time we shall have hawking enough—chide as
you like, Mistress Blanche. It was partly for me
that my uncle Talbot sent us this cast of birds. Look
at that laneret, Blanche,—look at her! Is n't that a
bird? Talk to me of a goshawk after that!”

“Benedict—nephew,” interposed the Lady Maria,
“why dost thou fling thy bird so rudely? She brushes
Blanche's cheek with her wing. Pray, not so bold:
Blanche will not like thee for it.”

“Blanche will never quarrel with me for loving
my hawk, aunt,” replied the boy playfully. “Will you,
mistress? A laneret's wing and Blanche Warden's
cheek are both accounted beautiful in this province,
and will not grow angry with each other upon acquaintance.”

“I know not that, Benedict,” replied the maiden;

“my cheek may grow jealous of your praise of the
wing, and mischief might follow. She is but a savage
bird, and hath a vicious appetite.”

“I will away to the falconer,” said the boy. “It
is but wasting good things to talk with women about
hawks. You will find me, Master Albert, along the
bank with Derrick, if you have need of me.”

“That boy hath more of the Talbot in him than
the Calvert,” said the Lady Maria, after he had left
the room. “His father was ever grave from youth
upwards, and cared but little for these exercises.
Benedict Leonard lives in the open air, and has a
light heart.—Thou hast a book under thy mantle,
Master Albert,” continued the lady. “Is your breviary
needful when you go forth to practise a laneret?”

“It is a volume I have brought for Mistress
Blanche,” replied the Secretary, as, with some evident
confusion, he produced a gilded quarto with
clasps, from beneath his dress. “It is a delightful
history of a brave cavalier, that I thought would
please her.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the sister of the Proprietary,
taking the book and reading the title-page—“ `La
très joyeuse et plaisante Histoire, composée par le
Loyal Serviteur, des faits, gestes et prouesses du
bon Chevalier sans peur et sans reproch.' Ay, and a
right pleasant history it is, this of the good Knight
Bayard, without fear and without reproach. But,
Albert, thou knowest Blanche doth not read French.”

“I designed to render it myself to Mistress Blanche,
in her native tongue,” replied the Secretary.

“Blanche,” said the lady, shanking her head, “this
comes of not taking my counsel to learn this language
of chivalry long ago. See what peril you will
suffer now in journeying through this huge book alone
with Master Albert.”

“I see no peril,” replied the maiden, unconscious
of the raillery. “Master Albert will teach me, ere
he be done, to read French for myself.”

“When thou hast such a master, and the Secretary
such a pupil,” said the lady, smiling, “Heaven speed
us! I will eat all the French thou learnest in a month.
But, Master Albert, if Blanche cannot understand
your legend, in the tongue in which it is writ, she can
fully comprehend your music—and so can we. It is
parcel of your duty at the Rose Croft to do minstrel's
service. You have so many songs—and I saw thee
stealing a glance at you lute, as if thou wouldst greet
an old acquaintance.”

“If it were not for Master Albert,” said Alice,
“Blanche's lute would be unstrung. She scarce keeps
it, one would think, but for the Secretary's occupation.”

“Ah, sister Alice, and my dear lady,” said Blanche,
“the Secretary hath such a touch of the lute, that I
but shame my own ears to play upon it, after hearing
his ditties. Sing, Master Albert, I pray you,” she
added, as she presented him the instrument.

“I will sing to the best of my skill,” replied Albert,
“which has been magnified beyond my deservings.

With your leave, I will try a canzonet I learned in
London. It was much liked by the gallants there,
and I confess a favour for it because it hath a stirring
relish. It runs thus:

“Well done! Well touched lute—well trolled ditty!
Brave song for a bird of thy feather, Master
Verheyden!” exclaimed the Collector, who, when the
song was finished, entered the room with Cocklescraft.
“That's as good a song, Master Cocklesscraft—the
Skipper, ladies—my friend of the Olive
Branch, who has been with me this hour past docketing
his cargo: I may call him especially your friend
—he is no enemy to the vanities of this world. Ha,
Master Cocklescraft, thou hast wherewith to win a
world of grace with the petticoats!—thou hast an
eye for the trickery of the sex! Sit down, sir—I
pray you, without further reverence, sit down.”

The Skipper, during this introduction, stood near
the door, bowing to the company, and then advanced
into the room with a careless and somewhat over-bold
step, such as denotes a man who, in the endeavour
to appear at his ease in society, carries his acting
to the point of familiarity. Still his freedom was
not without grace, and his demeanour, very soon
after the slight perturbation of his first accost, became
natural and appropriate to his character.

“Save you, madam,” he said, addressing the sister
of the Proprietary, and bowing low, “and you, Mistress
Alice, and you, my young lady of the Rose
Croft. It is a twelvemonth since I left the Port, and
I am right glad to meet the worshipful ladies of the
province once again, and to see that good friends
thrive. The salt water whets a sailor's eye for friendly
faces. Mistress Blanche, I would take upon me
to say, without being thought too free, that you have
grown some trifle taller than before I sailed. I did
not then think you could be bettered in figure.”

The maiden bowed without answering the Skipper's
compliment.

“Richard Cocklescraft,” said the Collector, “I
know not if you ever saw Albert Verheyden. Had
he come hither before you sailed? His Lordship's
secretary.”

“I was not so lucky as to fall into his company,”
replied Cocklescraft, turning towards the Secretary,
and eyeing him from head to foot. “I think I heard
that his Lordship brought new comers with him.
We shall not lack acquaintance. Your hand, Master

Verdun—I think so you said?” he added, as he looked
inquiringly at the Collector.

The Collector again pronounced the name of the
Secretary with more precision.

“Nearly the same thing,” continued the Skipper.
“Master Verheyden, your hand: mine is something
rougher, but it shall be the hand of a comrade, if
thine be in the service of worshipful Master Anthony
Warden, the good Collector of St. Mary's. I know
how to value a friend, Master Secretary, and a
friend's friend. You have a rare voice for a ballad
—I pretend to have an opinion in such matters—an
excellent voice and a free finger for the lute.”

“I am flattered by your liking sir,” returned Albert
Verheyden coldly, as he retired towards a window,
somewhat repelled by the too freely proffered acquaintance
of the Skipper, and the rather loud voice
and obtrusive manner with which he addressed those
around him.

“Oh, this craft of singing is the touchstone of gentility
now-a-days,” said Cocklescraft, twirling his velvet
bonnet by the gold tassel appended to the crown.
“A man is accounted unfurnished who has no skill
in that joyous art. Sea-bred as I am, Collector—
worshipful Master Warden—you would scarce believe
me, but I have touched lute and guitar myself,
and passably well. I learned this trick in Milan,
whither I have twice gone in my voyages, and dwelt
there with these Italians, some good summer months.
That is your climate for dark eyes and bright nights
—balconies, and damsels behind the lattice, listening

to thrummers and singers upon the pavements below.
And upon occasion, we wear the short cloak and
dagger. I have worn cloak and stiletto in my travels,
Master Collector, and trolled a catch in the true
tongue of Tuscany, when tuck and rapier rung in the
burden. The hot blood there is a commodity which
the breeze from the Alps hath no virtue to cool, as it
doth in Switzerland.”

“We will try your singing craft ere it be long,”
replied the Collector. “We will put you to catch
and glee, with a jig to the heel of it, Richard Cocklescraft.
You must know, Blanche is eighteen on the
festival of St. Therese, and we have a junketing forward
which has set the whole province astir. You
shall take part in the sport with the town's-people,
Master Skipper; and I warrant you find no rest of
limb until you show us some new antics of the fashion
which you have picked up abroad. You shall dance
and sing with witnesses—or a good leg and a topping
voice shall have no virtue! I pray you do not forget
to make one of our company on the festival of St.
Therese. Your gewgaws, Richard, and woman's
gear, could not be more in season: every wench in
the port is like to be your debtor.”

“Thanks, Master Collector, I have a foot and
voice, ay, and hand, ever at the service of your good
company. I will be first to come and last to depart.
—I have been mindful of the Rose of St. Mary's in
my voyaging,” he said in a respectful and lowered
tone, as he approached the maiden. “Mistress
Blanche is never so far out of my thoughts that I

might come back to the Port without some token
for her. I would crave your acceptance of a
pretty mantle of crimson silk lined with minever. I
found it in Dort, and being taken with its beauty,
and thinking how well it would become the gay
figure of my pretty mistress of the Rose Croft, I
brought it away, and now make bold to ask—that is,
if it be agreeable to Mistress Blanche, and if I do
not venture too far—that I may be allowed to bring
it hither.”

“You may find a worthier hand for such a favour,”
said Blanche, with a tone and look that somewhat
eagerly repelled the proffered gift, and manifested
dislike of the liberty which the Skipper had
taken—a liberty which was in no degree lessened to
her apprehension by the unaccustomed gentleness of
his voice, and the humble and faltering manner in
which he had asked her consent to the present. “I
am unused to such gaudy trappings, and should not
be content to wear the cloak;” then perceiving some
reproof, as she fancied, in the countenance of her
sister Alice and the Lady Maria, she added, in a
kindlier voice, “I dare not accept it at your hand,
Master Skipper.”

“Nay,” replied Cocklescraft, presuming upon the
mildness of the maiden's last speech, and pressing
the matter with that obtrusiveness which marked his
character and nurture, “I shall not take it kindly
if thou dost not;” and as a flush overspread his cheek,
he added, “I counted to a certainty that you would
do me this courtesy.”

“Men sometimes count rashly, Master Cocklescraft,”
interposed the Lady Maria, “who presume
upon a maiden's willingness to incur such debts.”

“Save you, madam,” replied the Skipper; “I should
be sorry Mistress Blanche should deem it to be incurring
a debt.”

“I have not been trained,” said Blanche, with perfect
self-possession and firmness of manner, which
she intended should put an end to the Skipper's importunity,
“to receive such favours from the hand of
a stranger; when I have need of a mantle, the mercer
shall be my friend.”

“You will, perchance, think better of it when you
see the mantle,” said the Skipper, carelessly, and then
added with a saucy smile, “women are changeful,
Master Collector; I will bring the gewgaw for Mistress
Blanche's inspection—a chapman may have
that privilege.”

“You may spare yourself the trouble,” said the
maiden.

“Nay, mistress, think it not a trouble, I beseech
you; I count nothing a trouble which shall allow me
to please thy fancy.” As the Skipper uttered this he
came still nearer to the chair on which Blanche was
seated, and, almost in a whisper, said, “I pray you,
mistress, think not so lightly of my wish to serve you.
I have set my heart upon your taking the mantle.”

“Master Skipper, a word with you,” interrupted
the Secretary, who had watched the whole scene;
and aware of the annoyance which Cocklescraft's
rudeness inflicted upon the maiden, had quietly approached

him and now beckoned him to a recess of
the window, where they might converse without
being heard by the company. “It is not civil to importune
the lady in this fashion. You must be satisfied
with her answer as she has given it to you. It
vexes the daughter of Master Warden to be thus besought.
I pray you, sir, no more of it.”

Cocklescraft eyed the Secretary for a moment with
a glance of scornful resentment, and then replied in a
voice inaudible to all but the person to whom it was
addressed. “Right! perhaps you are right, sir; but
when I would be tutored for my behaviour, he shall
be a man, by my troth, who takes that duty on him,
and shall wear a beard and sword both. I needed not
thy schooling, master crotchet-monger!” Then leavingt
he Secretary, he strode towards the maiden, and
assuming a laughing face, which but awkwardly concealed
his vexation, he said, “well, Mistress Blanche,
since you are resolved that you will not take my
poor bauble off my hands, I must give it over as a
venture lost, and so an end of it. I were a fool to
be vexed because I could not read the riddle of a
maiden's fancy: how should such fish of the sea be
learned in so gentle a study? So, viaggio, it shall
break no leg of mine! I will dance none the less
merrily for it at the feast: and as for the mantle,
why it may find other shoulders in the Port, though
it shall never find them so fit to wear it withal, as the
pretty shoulders of Mistress Blanche. Master Warden
I must fain take my leave; my people wait me
at the quay. Fair weather for the feast, and a

merry time of it, ladies! A Dios, Master Collector!”

The gaiety of this leaving-taking was dashed with
a sternness of manner which all the Skipper's acting
could not conceal, and as he walked towards the door,
he paused a moment to touch Albert Verheyden's
cloak and whispered in his ear, “We shall be better
acquinted, sir;” then leaving the house he rapidly
shaped his course towards the town.

He had scarcely got out of sight before Blanche
sprang from her chair and ran towards her father,
pouring out upon him a volley of reproof for his unadvised
and especially unauthorized invitation of the
Skipper to the festival. The maiden was joined in
this assault by her auxiliaries, the Proprietary's sister
and Mistress Alice, who concurred in reading the
simple-minded and unconsciously offending old gentleman
a lecture upon his improvident interference
in this delicate matter. They insisted that Cocklescraft's
associations in the port gave him no claim to
such a favour, and that, at all events, it was Blanche's
prerogative to be consulted in regard to the admission
of the younger and gayer portions of her company.

“Have you not had your will, my dear father,”
was the summing up of Blanche's playful attack, “to
your full content, in summoning all the old humdrum
folks of the province, even to the Dominie and his
wife, who have never been known to go to a merry-making
any where, and who are both so deaf that
they have not heard each other speak this many a

day? and now you must needs be bringing the Skipper
hither.”

“Lackaday, wench! what have I done to redden
thy brow?” interrupted Mr. Warden, with a face of
perplexed good humour, unable longer to bear the
storm of rebuke, or to parry the arguments which
were so eagerly thrust at him; “I warrant now I
have made mischief without knowing how! The
Skipper is a free blade, of good metal, and of a figure,
too, which, methinks, might please a damsel in a
dance, and spare us all this coil; his leg has not its
fellow in the province. You take me to task roundly,
when all the while I was so foolish as to believe I was
doing you regardful service.”

“He hath a wicked look, father,” was Blanche's
reply; “and a saucy freedom which I like not. He
is ever too bold in his greeting, and lacks gentle breeding.
He must come to me, forsooth, with his mantle,
as an especial token, and set upon me with so much
constancy to take it! Take a mantle from him! I
have never even seen him but twice before, and then
it was in church, where he must needs claim to speak
to me as if he were an old acquaintance! I will none
of him nor his mantle, if he were fifty times a properer
man than he is!”

“Be it so, my daughter,” replied the Collector.
“But we must bear this mishap cheerily. I will not
offend again. You women,” he said, as he walked
to and fro through the parlour, with his hands behind
his back, and a good natured smile playing over his
features, “you women are more shrewd to read the

qualities of men, especially in matters touching behaviour,
than such old pock-puddings as I am. I
will be better counselled before I trespass in this sort
again. But remember, Blanche, the Skipper has his
summons, and our hospitality must not suffer reproach;
so we will e'en make the best we can of this
blundering misadventure of mine. For our own
honour, we must be courteous, Blanche, to the Skipper;
and, therefore, do thou take heed that he have no
cause to say we slight him. As I get old I shall
grow wise.”

Blanche threw her arms around her father's neck
and imprinting a kiss upon his brow, said in a tone
of affectionate playfulness, “for your sake, dear
father, I will not chide: the Skipper shall not want
due observance from me. I did but speak to give you
a caution, by which you shall learn that the maidens
of this province are so foolish as to stand to it, and I
amongst the rest, that they are better able to choose
their gallants than their fathers,—though their fathers
be amongst his Lordship's most trusty advisers.”

“Now a thousand benisons upon thy head, my
child!” said the Collector, as he laid his hand upon
Blanche's glossy locks, and then left the apartment.