"He wanted my scalp, I think, for when I named myself and said I lived at Fonda's Bush, he fetched me a knock with his frozen mittens,--Lord, Jack, I saw a star or two, I warrant you; and a gay stream squirted from my nose upon the snow and presently the whole wintry world looked red to me, so I let fly a fist or two at the old man, and he let fly a few more at me. "'Dammy!' says he, 'I'll learn ye to foller my darters, you poor dum Boston critter! I'll drum your hide from Fundy's Bush to Canady!' "But after I had rolled him in the snow till his scratch-wig fell off, he became more civil--quite polite for a Tory with his mouth full o' snow. "So I went with him to his sledge and made a polite bow to the ladies--who looked excited but seemed inclined to smile when I promised to pass by Pigeon-Wood some day." "A rough wooing," said I, laughing. "Rough on old man Browse. But he's gone with Guy Johnson." "What! To Canada? The beast!" "Aye. So I thought to stop some day at Pigeon-Wood to see if the cote were entirely empty or no. Lord, what a fight we had, old Browse and I, there in the snow of the Mayfield road! And he burly as an October bear--a man all knotted over with muscles, and two fists that slapped you like the front kick of a moose! Oh, Lordy! Lordy! What a battle was there.... What bright eyes hath that little jade Betsy, of Pigeon-Wood!" Now, as he spoke, I had a mind to see this same Tory girl of Pigeon-Wood; and presently admitted to him my curiosity. And then, just as we had mounted and were gathering bridles and searching for our stirrups with moccasined toes, comes a galloper in scarlet jacket and breeks, with a sealed letter waved high to halt me. Sitting my horse in the street, I broke the seal and read what was written to me. The declining sun sent its rosy shafts through the still village now, painting every house and setting glazed windows a-glitter. I looked around me, soberly, at the old and familiar town; I glanced at Nick; I gazed coldly upon the galloper,--a cornet of Border Horse, and as solemn as he was young. "Sir," said I, "pray present to Lady Johnson my duties and my compliments, and say that I am honoured by her ladyship's commands, and shall be--happy--to present myself at Johnson Hall within the hour." Young galloper salutes; I outdo him in exact and scrupulous courtesy, mole-skin cap in hand; and 'round he wheels and away he tears like the celebrated Tory in the song, Jock Gallopaway. "Here's a kettle o' fish," remarked Nick in disgust. "Were it not Lady Johnson," muttered I, but checked myself. After all, it seemed ungenerous that I should decline to see even Sir John, who now was virtually a prisoner of my own party, penned here within that magnificent domain of which his great father had been creator and absolute lord. "I must go, Nick," I said in a low voice. He said with a slight sneer, "Noblesse oblige----" and then, sorry, laid a quick hand on my arm.