“And yet I don’t like it,” said a lady of the Tory side. “And I do,” said Mistress Wynne. “It is as good news as I have heard this many a day.” “It is nonsense!” said the officer; “sheer nonsense! You have strange notions, madam, as to what is good news. It is only another rebel lie.” “I think not,” said I, venturing to add that men who could kill squirrels would rarely miss a man, and that many of the older farmers had fought Indians and French, and had, I suspected, picked off the officers. “How horrid!” said Darthea. Had a stray bullet found my cousin I should not have grieved profoundly. “You see where all your neutrality and loyalty have brought you,” said Mistress Wynne. “I wish King George were with Mr. Gage; he might learn wisdom. ‘T is but the beginning of a good end.” “May I remind you,” said Woodville, very red in the face, “that I am his Majesty’s officer?” “No, you may not remind me. A fig for his Majesty!” cried my aunt, now in one of her tantrums. “Shame!” cried Mrs. Ferguson, rising, as did the rest, some in tears and some saying Mrs. Ferguson was right, or the Lord knows what--not at all a pleasant scene; the men very silent, or vexed, or troubled. My Aunt Gainor, as they filed out, made them each her finest curtsey. Darthea stood still, looking grave enough. Mr. Woodville, the lieutenant, lingered, made his adieus very decently, and went out, I showing him the way. On the step he said: “I do not quarrel with women; but I have heard that in Mistress Wynne’s house, to which, as an officer of his Majesty, I cannot submit.” “Well?” I said; and my abominable propensity to grin got the better of me. “You seem amused, sir,” he said. I was by no means amused. “I suppose you are responsible,” he added. “Miss Wynne might have better manners, and her nephew more courage. However, I have said what ought to be enough with English gentlemen. Good-evening.” “I have half a mind to give thee a good honest thrashing,” said I. “I dare say. You are big enough, Master Quaker; but I presume that about the weapons common among men of honour you know as much as I know of making horseshoes.” I was now cool enough and angry enough to have killed him. “Thy friend can find me here,” said I. “I trust I shall be able to satisfy thee.” With this he went away, and I stood looking after his stumpy figure. I was again in a broil, not of my making; just a bit of ill luck, for here was a nice business. I went in, and was caught on my way upstairs by my Aunt Gainor, who called me into the sitting-room. Still too furious to be prudent, she broke out before Darthea. “Insolent idiots! I hope I made Mr. Galloway understand, and the rest of them too! I trust Bessy Ferguson will never darken my doors again!” She walked up and down, and at last upset a big mandarin, who came head down on the hearth. “I wish he were Mr. Gage!” said my aunt, contemplating the fragments.