Dorothy, leaning forward, looked at me with dreamy blue eyes that saw beyond me.
"We are doubtless a little mad, … as they say," she mused. "Otherwise we seem to be like other folk. We have clothing befitting, when we choose to wear it; we were schooled in Albany; we are people of quality, like the other patroons; we lack nothing for servants or tenants–what ails them all, to nudge and stare and grin when we pass?"
"Mr. Livingston says our deportment shocks all," murmured Cecile.
"The Schuylers will have none of us," added Harry, plaintively–"and I admire them, too."
"Oh, they all conduct shamefully when I go to school in Albany," burst out Sammy; "and I thrashed that puling young patroon, too, for he saw me and refused my salute. But I think he will render me my bow next time."
"Do the quality not visit you here?" I asked Dorothy.
"Visit us? No, cousin. Who is to receive them? Our mother is dead."
Cecile said: "Once they did come, but Uncle Varick had that mistress of Sir John's to sup with them and they took offence."
"Mrs. Van Cortlandt said she was a painted hussy–" began Harry.
"The Van Rensselaers left the house, vowing that Sir Lupus had used them shamefully," added Cecile; "and Sir Lupus said: 'Tush! tush! When the Van Rensselaers are too good for the Putnams of Tribes Hill I'll eat my spurs!' and then he laughed till he cried."
"They never came again; nobody of quality ever came; nobody ever comes," said Ruyven.
"Excepting the Johnsons and the Butlers," corrected Sammy.
"And then everybody geths tight; they were here lath night and Uncle Varick is sthill abed," said little Benny, innocently.
"Will you all hold your tongues?" cried Dorothy, fiercely. "Father said we were not to tell anybody that Sir John and the Ormond-Butlers visited us."
"Why not?" I asked.
Dorothy clasped both hands under her chin, rested her bare elbows on the table, and leaned close to me, whispering confidentially: "Because of the war with the Boston people. The country is overrun with rebels–rebel troops at Albany, rebel gunners at Stanwix, rebels at Edward and Hunter and Johnstown. A scout of ten men came here last week; they were harrying a war-party of Brant's Mohawks, and Stoner was with them, and that great ox in buckskin, Jack Mount. And do you know what he said to father? He said, 'For Heaven's sake, turn red or blue, Sir Lupus, for if you don't we'll hang you to a crab-apple and chance the color.' And father said, 'I'm no partisan King's man'; and Jack Mount said, 'You're the joker of the pack, are you?' And father said, 'I'm not in the shuffle, and you can bear me out, you rogue!' And then Jack Mount wagged his big forefinger at him and said, 'Sir Lupus, if you're but a joker, one or t'other side must discard you!' And they rode away, priming their rifles and laughing, and father swore and shook his cane at them."
In her eagerness her lips almost touched my ear, and her breath warmed my cheek.
"All that I saw and heard," she whispered, "and I know father told Walter Butler, for a scout came yesterday, saying that a scout from the Rangers and the Royal Greens had crossed the hills, and I saw some of Sir John's Scotch loons riding like warlocks on the new road, and that great fool, Francy McCraw, tearing along at their head and crowing like a cock."
"Cousin, cousin," I protested, "all this–all these names–even the causes and the manners of this war, are incomprehensible to me."
"Oh," she said, in surprise, "have you in Florida not heard of our war?"
"Yes, yes–all know that war is with you, but that is all. I know that these Boston men are fighting our King; but why do the Indians take part?"
She looked at me blankly, and made a little gesture of dismay.
"I see I must teach you history, cousin," she said. "Father tells us that history is being made all about us in these days–and, would you believe it? Benny took it that books were being made in the woods all around the house, and stole out to see, spite of the law that father made–"
"Who thaw me?" shouted Benny.
"Hush! Be quiet!" said Dorothy.
Benny lay back in his chair and beat upon the table, howling defiance at his sister through Harry's shouts of laughter.
"Silence!" cried Dorothy, rising, flushed and furious. "Is this a corn-feast, that you all sit yelping in a circle? Ruyven, hold that door, and see that no one follows us–"
"What for?" demanded Ruyven, rising. "If you mean to keep our cousin Ormond to yourself–"
"I wish to discuss secrets with my cousin Ormond," said Dorothy, loftily, and stepped from her chair, nose in the air, and that heavy-lidded, insolent glance which once before had withered Ruyven, and now withered him again.
"We will go to the play-room," she whispered, passing me; "that room has a bolt; they'll all be kicking at the door presently. Follow me."
Ere we had reached the head of the stairs we heard a yell, a rush of feet, and she laughed, crying: "Did I not say so? They are after us now full bark! Come!"
She caught my hand in hers and sped up the few remaining steps, then through the upper hallway, guiding me the while her light feet flew; and I, embarrassed, bewildered, half laughing, half shamed to go a-racing through a strange house in such absurd a fashion.
"Here!" she panted, dragging me into a great, bare chamber and bolting the door, then leaned breathless against the wall to listen as the chase galloped up, clamoring, kicking and beating on panel and wall, baffled.
"They're raging to lose their new cousin," she breathed, smiling across at me with a glint of pride in her eyes. "They all think mightily of you, and now they'll be mad to follow you like hound-pups the whip, all day long." She tossed her head. "They're good lads, and Cecile is a sweet child, too, but they must be made to understand that there are moments when you and I desire to be alone together."
"Of course," I said, gravely.
"You and I have much to consider, much to discuss in these uncertain days," she said, confidently. "And we cannot babble matters of import to these children–"
"I'm seventeen!" howled Ruyven, through the key-hole. "Dorothy's not eighteen till next month, the little fool–"
"Don't mind him," said Dorothy, raising her voice for Ruyven's benefit. "A lad who listens to his elders through a key-hole is not fit for serious–"
A heavy assault on the door drowned Dorothy's voice. She waited calmly until the uproar had subsided.
"Let us sit by the window," she said, "and I will tell you how we Varicks stand betwixt the deep sea and the devil."
"I wish to come in!" shouted Ruyven, in a threatening voice. Dorothy laughed, and pointed to a great arm-chair of leather and oak. "I will sit there; place it by the window, cousin."
I placed the chair for her; she seated herself with unconscious grace, and motioned me to bring another chair for myself.
"Are you going to let me in?" cried Ruyven.
"Oh, go to the–" began Dorothy, then flushed and glanced at me, asking pardon in a low voice.
A nice parent, Sir Lupus, with every child in his family ready to swear like Flanders troopers at the first breath!
Half reclining in her chair, limbs comfortably extended, Dorothy crossed her ankles and clasped her hands behind her head, a picture of indolence in every line and curve, from satin shoon to the dull gold of her hair, which, as I have said, the powder scarcely frosted.
"To comprehend properly this war," she mused, more to herself than to me, "I suppose it is necessary to understand matters which I do not understand; how it chanced that our King lost his city of Boston, and why he has not long since sent his soldiers here into our county of Tryon."
"Too many rebels, cousin," I suggested, flippantly. She disregarded me, continuing quietly;
"But this much,