Great Britain -- History -- Restoration, 1660-1688 -- Fiction
And, when she could for laughing, "Oh, dear Mistress Phil!" she
cried, "whatever your plan in this pretty masquerade, none will take
you for a man if you do stand so."
Which did but add anger to my desire of carrying through my plan; so
that, drawing my body most martially erect, and seizing her by the
shoulder with my left hand, I raised the other as if to cuff her, and
threatened as much if she did not hold her peace and immediately lend
me her aid. And this did mightily sober the girl, who, seeing me so
terrible, ran out at my bidding to the stable, returning quickly with
the news that there was not a man about the place, all being gone to
see the drilling. Very bravely I then swaggered across the yard and
in among the horses that were left. And there Prudence followed,
panting with excitement and, as soon appeared, not without admiration
of my assumption of manhood.
"Oh, but indeed I ask your pardon, dear Mistress Phil," she cried,
"for so laughing at the figure you made. If you but carry it thus
none who does not know you for Mistress Philippa Drayton will know
you are not a man. Do but let me set your beautiful hair more in
fashion of the great wigs Mr. Kidd tells me are worn by the
gentlemen, even on horseback and in armor." And with a great coarse
stable comb she pulled and twisted till she had my hair, which for
the first time I was glad grew not so long as thick, to hang evenly
round the shoulders behind, and over them in front in two heavy
curling masses.
"And now for a horse," I said, when this was done. It took no long
time to see that my choice lay between Meg, that I have already told
of, and Roan Charley, a gelding of no great size but great beauty of
proportion. He was grandson of that Barbary sire my father had
purchased so dear to enrich his stock. Roan Charley had to the full
the spirit and much of the fleetness of the Drayton barb, with more
bone and greater power in the hinder part; whence it came, I suppose,
that he was the best leaper I ever sat, while his grandsire would
not, or could not, clear so much as a fallen tree-trunk. He was
generally accounted difficult and contrary in handling, but he and I
were seldom long in coming at an understanding.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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