One man got up, overturning the draught board, paid his reckoning, and went out muttering and gesticulating. "A married man," quoth Nick, "and wedded to that old hag, Tyranny. It irks him to hear of fresh young jades, knowing only too well what old sour-face awaits him at home with the bald end of a broom." The dark looks cast at us signalled storms; but none came, so poor the spirit of the company. "Gentlemen, you seem melancholy and distrait," said I. "Are you so pensive because my Lord Dunmore has burned our pleasant city of Norfolk? Is it that which weighs upon your minds? Or is the sad plight of Tommy Gage distressing you? Or the several pickles in which Sir Guy Carleton, General Burgoyne, and General Howe find themselves?" "Possibly," quoth Nick, "a short poem on these three British warriors may enliven you: "_Carleton, Burgoyne, Howe,_ "_Bow-wow-wow_!" But there was nothing to be hoped of these sullen Tories, for they took our laughter scowling, but budged not an inch. A pity, for it was come to a pretty pass in Johnstown when two honest farmers must go home for lack of a rogue or two of sufficient spirit to liven a dull day withal. * * * * * We stopped at the White Doe Tavern, and Nick gave the company another poem, which he said was writ by my Lord North: "O Boston wives and maids draw near and see Our delicate Souchong and Hyson tea; Buy it, my charming girls, fair, black, or brown; If not, we'll cut your throats and burn your town!" Whereat all the company laughed and applauded; and there was no hope of any sport to be had there, either. "Well," said Nick, sighing, "the war seems to be done ere it begun. What's in those whelps at the Johnson Arms, that they stomach such jests as we cook for them? Time was when I knew where I could depend upon a broken head in Johnstown--mine own or another's." We had it in mind to dine at the Doe, planning, as we sat on the stoop, bridles in hand, to ride back to the Bush by new moonlight. "If a pretty wench were as rare as a broken head in Johnstown," he muttered, "I'd be undone, indeed. Come, Jack; shall we ride that way homeward?" "Which way?" "By Pigeon-Wood." "By Mayfield?" "Aye." "You have a sweetheart there, you say?" "And so, perhaps, might you, for the pain of passing by." "No," said I, "I want no sweetheart. To clip a lip en passant, if the lip be warm and willing,--that is one thing. A blush and a laugh and 'tis over. But to journey in quest of gallantries with malice aforethought--no." "I saw her in a sledge," sighed Nick, sucking his empty pipe. "And followed. Lord, but she is handsome,--Betsy Browse!--and looked at me kindly, I thought.... We had a fight." "What?" "Her father and I. For an hour the old man nigh twisted his head off turning around to see what sledge was following his. Then he shouts, 'Whoa!' and out he bounces into the snow; and I out o' my sledge to see what it was he wanted.