“What do I mean? Here came yesterday Sarah Fisher, pretty gay for a Quaker, and that solemn Master Savory, with his sweet, low voice like a nice girl’s tongue, and his gentle ways. And they are friends of thy people, who are distressed at thy goings on; and Nicholas Waln has seen thee with two sons of Belial in red coats, come out of the coffeehouse last month at evening, singing songs such as are not to be described, and no better able to take care of yourself than you should be. They did think it well and kind--hang ‘em, Hugh!--to consider the matter with me. We considered it--we did, indeed. There be five people whose consciences I am to make you respect. And not one of them do I care for, but Mother Blue-eyes. But I must! I must! It was all true, sir, what Friend Wain said; for you had reason enough left to come hither, and did I not put you to bed and send for Dr. Chovet, who grinned famously, and said, ‘_Je comprends_’ and went to call on your father on a hint from me, to declare you were _enrhume’_, and threatened with I know not what; in fact, he lied like a gentleman. You made a noble recovery, and are a credit to the doctor. I hope you will pay the bill, and are ashamed.” I was, and I said so. “But that is not all. These dear Quakers were the worst. They were really sorry, and I had to put on my best manners and listen; and now everybody knows, and you are the talk of the town. Those drab geese must out with the whole naughtiness, despite the company which came in on us, and here were Mr. Montresor and that ape Etherington grinning, and, worst of all, a charming young woman just come to live here with her aunt, and she too must have her say when the Quakers and the men were gone.” “And what did she say?” I did not care much. “And what is her name?” “Oh, she said the Quakers were rather outspoken people, and it was a pity, and she was sorry, because she knew you once, and you had taken her part at school.” “At school?” “Yes. She is Darthea Peniston, and some kin of that Miss de Lancey, whom Sir William Draper will marry if he can.” “Darthea Peniston?” I said, and my thoughts went back to the tender little maid who wept when I was punished, and for whom I had revenged myself on Master Dove. “Quite a Spanish beauty,” said my Aunt Wynne; “a pretty mite of a girl, and not more money than will clothe her, they say; but the men mad about her. Come and see her to-morrow if you are sober.” “O Aunt Gainor!” “Yes, sir. I hear Mr. Montresor has leave from Anthony Morris to invite you to ‘The Colony in Schuylkill’ to-morrow. It is well your father has gone to visit Mr. Yeates at Lancaster.” “I shall behave myself, Aunt Gainer.” “I hope so. The Fish House punch is strong.”