Janice Meredith: A Story of the American RevolutionFord, Paul Leicester
History
Janice Meredith: A Story of the American Revolution
Ford, Paul Leicester
United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
Absolutely unmoved by the reproof, Charles stood as heedless
of it as he had been of the outstretched hand of the
daughter, a hand which had promptly disappeared in the folds
of Miss Meredith's skirt at the first sound of her father's voice.
"A taste of my walking stick ye should have if ye had your
deserts!" went on the squire, now face to face with the
servant.
Without taking his eyes from the girl, Charles laughed.
"Is it fear of me," he challenged, "or fear of the law that prevents
you?"
"What know ye of the law, sirrah?" demanded Mr. Meredith.
"Nothing, when I was fool enough to indenture myself,"
snapped the servant; "but Bagby tells me that 't is forbidden,
under penalty of fine, for a master to strike a servant."
"Joe Bagby!" roared the squire, more angry than ever.
"And how come ye to have anything to do with that scampy
lawyer! Hast been up to some mischief already?"
Again the man laughed. "That is for His Majesty's
Justices of the Peace to discover. Till they do, I shall maintain
that I consulted him concerning the laws governing bond-servants."
"A pretty state the country 's come to!" raged the squire.
"No wonder there is no governing the land, when even servants
think to have the law against their masters. But, harkee, my
fine fellow. If I may not punish ye myself, the Justices may
order ye whipped, and unless ye change your manners I will
have ye up before their next sitting. Meantime, saddle
Joggles as soon as supper is done, and take this paper over
to Brunswick, and post it on the proclamation board of the
Town Hall. And no tarrying, and consulting of tricky lawyers,
understand. If ye are not back by nine, ye shall hear from me."
Striking a sunflower with his cane as a slight vent to his
anger, the master strode away to the house.
His back turned. Janice once again held out the miniature.
"Won't you please take it?" she begged.
"Art tired of it already?" jeered the man.
"I did not take it, Charles," she stammered, "but I knew
of its taking and so brought it back to you."
The man shrugged his shoulders. "'T is not mine, nor
is it aught to me," he said, and passing the girl, walked to the
house.
V
THE VALUE OF HAIR
At the evening meal the farm hands and negro house-servants
remarked in Fownes not merely his customary
unsocial silence, but an abstraction more
obvious than usual. A gird or two from the rougher
of his fellow-labourers was wholly unnoted by him, and though
he ate heartily, it was with such entire unconsciousness of what
he was eating as to make the cook, Sukey, who was inclined to
favour him, question if after all he deserved special consideration
at her hands.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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