Janice Meredith: A Story of the American Revolution — John Shaqi
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
"It duz hev a squint toward it, theer ain't no denyin'.
But I reckon it wuz baound ter come, vote ay or vote nay.
Fer nigh three months all the young fellers hev been drillin'
pooty reg'lar."
"Oh!" spoke up Janice. "Then that 's what Charles
meant when he said 't was drill took him to the village."
"What?" demanded the squire. "My bond-servant?"
"Ay. 'T is he duz the trainin', so Phil tells me."
Mr. Meredith opened the door into the hall, and bawled,
"Peg!" Without waiting to give the maid time to answer
the summons he roared the name again, and continued to
fairly bellow it until the appearance of the girl, whom he then
ordered to "find Charles and send him here." Slightly relieved,
he stamped back to the fire, muttering to himself in
his ire.
A pause for a moment ensued, and then the elder Hennion
spoke: "Waal, Meredith, hev yer rumpus with yer servant,
but fust off let me say the say ez me and Phil come fer."
"And what 's that?"
"I rayther guess yer know areddy," continued the father,
while the son's face became of the colour of the hickory
embers. "My boy 's in a mighty stew about yer gal, but he
can't git the pluck ter tell her; so seem' he needed some help
an since I'd come ez far ez Brunswick, says I we'll make one
ride of it, an' over we comes ter tell yer fair an' open what
he's hangin' araound fer."
Another red face was hurriedly concealed by its owner
stooping over her tambour-frame, and Janice stitched away as
if nothing else were worth a second thought. It may be
noted, however, that, as a preliminary to further work the next
morning, a number of stitches had to be removed.
"Ho, ho!" laughed the squire, heartily, and slapping Phil
on the shoulder. "A shy bird, but a sly bird, eh? Oh, no!
Mr. Fox thought the old dogs did n 't know that he wanted
little Miss Duck."
Already in an agony of embarrassment, this speech reduced
Phil to still more desperate straits. He could look at his
father only in a kind of dumb appeal, and that individual,
seeing his son 's helplessness, spoke again.
"I'd hev left the youngsters ter snook araound till they wuz
able ter fix things by themselves," Mr. Hennion explained.
"But the times is gittin' so troublous thet I want ter see Phil
sottled, an' not rampin' araound as young fellers will when
they hain't got nuthin' ter keep them hum nights. An' so I
reckon thet if it ever is ter be, the sooner the better. Yer
gal won't be the wus off, hevin' three men ter look aout fer
her, if it duz come on ter blow."
"Well said!" answered the squire. "What say ye,
Matilda?"
"Oh, dadda," came an appeal from the tambour-frame,
"I don't want to marry. I want to stay at home with--"
"Be quiet, child," spoke up her mother, "and keep thine
opinion to thyself till asked. We know best what is for thy
good."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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