“The right mustachio still excels the left,” muttered he discontentedly, as by help of a tiny pocket mirror he carefully scrutinized the result of his labors, and separating the hairs of the left-hand mustache tried to give it a more formidable appearance, although it already nearly touched his eye and covered his cheek. A gentle tap upon the door disturbed him, but without interrupting his occupation he cried, “Come in,” and a moment later, “Oh, ’tis my little Betty again! She has brought some paper and pens, and she finds me at my toilet. What think you of my lovelocks, little Betty?” “I never saw such on a man before, sir.” “Nay, that’s no answer, madam! I asked how liked you them.” “I would like them”-- “Well, say it out, thou strange child.” “I would like them on a woman right well, sir.” “But not on a man?” “Nay. Even Alick was shorn long since.” “And who is Alick, pr’ythee?” “Alick Standish, the captain’s oldest son.” “And your little sweetheart?” “Nay, sir, mother says ’tis not pretty to talk of such things, though like enough we’ll marry when we’re old enough, for our two fathers are close friends.” “And how much older must you be, mistress, ere you may speak of such things?” “Well, Susan Ring is no more than fifteen, and she is to marry Thomas Clarke so soon as he has William Wright’s house finished, for he’s a carpenter, and William Wright would fain marry Prissie Carpenter, the governor’s wife’s sister”-- “Ohé! I had forgotten! So, so, indeed, and so it is! Now, then, here is a coil!” Betty, perceiving that her prattle was no longer heard, ceased abruptly, and in silence completed the spreading of the bed, and dusting and arranging the furniture with all the mature and responsible methods not uncommonly characterizing the oldest daughter of a large family, especially in those early days. Suddenly the knight broke silence:-- “Betty, you know Mistress Carpenter?” “Prissie?” “Yes.” “Oh, yes, sir, I know her very well. We have merry games of play together, and I am main fond of her.” “Well, child, I also know her a little, and I too am fond of her, but that is another of the things you may not tell abroad.” “And yet you have never been here before, have you, sir?” “No, thank the Lord, I never have, nor shall I willingly come again, I promise you, my Betty; but being here, I fain would change a word or two with Mistress Carpenter, whom I knew in England before ever she or I came hither.” “And that will not be hard, sir, for she often runs in to have a chat with mother, and I will tell her”-- “No, no, no, child, that will never do!” broke in Sir Christopher impatiently. “Did I not tell thee ’twas a secret?” “Yes, sir, but you would speak with Prissie, you said,” replied Betty, her eyes wide with wonder and a growing instinct of wrong-doing. “You had best tell mother about it, sir.”