And I went on watch to walk my post all a-tremble with fury, and fair sick of jealousy and my first boyish passion. * * * * * Now, it is a strange thing how love undid me; but it is still stranger how, of a sudden, my malady passed. And it came about in this way, that toward sunset one day, when I came from walking my post on the veranda roof to find why Nick had not relieved me, I descended the stairs and looked into the kitchen, where was a pleasant smell of cinnamon crullers fresh made and of johnnycake and of meat a-stewing. And there I did see Nick push Penelope into a corner to kiss her, and saw her fetch him a clout with her open hand. Then again, and broad on his surprised and silly face, fell her little hand like the clear crack of a drover's whip. And, "There!" she falters, out o' breath, "there's for you, friend Nicholas!" "My God!" says he, in foolish amaze, "why do you that, Penelope!" "I kiss whom I please and none other!" says she, fast breathing, and her dark eyes wide and bright. "Whom you please," quoth Nick, abashed but putting a bold face on it--"well then, you please me, and therefore ought to kiss me----" "No, I will not! John Drogue hath shown me what is my privilege in this idle game of bussing which men seem so ready to play with me, whether I will or no!... Have I hurt you, Nick?" She came up to him, still flushed and her childish bosom still rising and falling fast. "You love Jack Drogue," said he, sulkily, "and therefore belabour me who dote on you." "I love you both," said she, "but I am enamoured of neither. Also, I desire no kisses of you or of Mr. Drogue, but only kindness and good will." "You entertain a passion for Steve Watts!" he muttered sullenly, "and there's the riddle read for you!" But she laughed in his face and took up her pan of crullers and set them on the shelf. "I am châtelaine of Summer House," said she, "and need render no account of my inclinations to you or to any man. Who would learn for himself what is in my mind must court me civilly and in good order.... Do you desire leave to court me, Nick?" "Not I!--to be beaten by a besom and flouted and mocked to boot! Nenni, my pretty lass! I have had my mouthful of blows." "Oh. And your comrade? Is he, do you think, inclined to court me?" "Jack Drogue?" "The same." "You have bedeviled him," said Nick sulkily, "as you have witched all men who encounter you. He hath a fever and is sick of it." She was slicing hot johnnycake with a knife in the pan; and now looked up at him with eyes full of curiosity. "Bewitched him? I?" "Surely. Who else, then?" "You are jesting, Nick." "No. Like others he has taken the Caughnawaga fever. The very air you breathe is full of it. But, with a man like my comrade, it is no more than a fever. And it passes, pretty maid!--it passes." "Does it so?" "It does. It burns out folly and leaves him the healthier."