Historical fiction; King Philip's War, 1675-1676 -- Fiction; War stories
"We must open wide the doors of Wish-Ton-Wish. Here is one charged with
authority to look into the secrets of all the dwellings of the colony."
Then, turning with dignity to the agent of the Crown, he added, "Thou
hadst better commence thy duty in season, for we are many and occupy
much space."
The face of the stranger flushed a little, it might have been with shame
for the vocation in which he had come so far, or it might have been in
resentment at so direct a hint that the sooner his disagreeable office
should be ended, the better it would please his host. Still, he betrayed
no intention of shrinking from its performance. On the contrary,
discarding somewhat of that subdued manner which he had probably thought
it politic to assume, while sounding the opinions of one so rigid, he
broke out rather suddenly in the exhibition of a humor somewhat better
suited to the tastes of him he served.
"Come then," he cried, winking at his companions, "since doors are opened,
it would speak ill of our breeding should we refuse to enter. Captain
Heathcote has been a soldier, and he knows how to excuse a traveller's
freedom. Surely one who has tasted of the pleasures of the camp, must
weary at times of this sylvan life!"
"The stedfast in faith weary not, though the road be long and the
wayfaring grievous."
"Hum--'tis pity that the journeying between merry England and these
Colonies is not more brisk. I do not presume to instruct a gentleman who
is my senior, and peradventure my better; but opportunity is everything,
in a man's fortunes. It were charity to let you know, worthy sir, that
opinions have changed at home: it is full a twelvemonth since I have heard
a line of the Psalms, or a verse of St. Paul quoted, in discourse; at
least by men who are at all esteemed for their discretion."
"This change in the fashion of speech may better suit thy earthly than thy
heavenly master," said Mark Heathcote, sternly.
"Well, well, that peace may exist between us, we will not bandy words
about a text more or less, if we may escape the sermon," rejoined the
stranger, no longer affecting restraint, but laughing with sufficient
freedom at his own conceit; a species of enjoyment in which his companions
mingled with great good-will, and without much deference to the humor of
those under whose roof they found themselves.
A small glowing spot appeared on the pale cheek of the Puritan, and
disappeared again, like some transient deception produced by the play of
light. Even the meek eye of Content kindled at the insult; but, like his
father, the practice of self-denial, and a never-slumbering consciousness
of his own imperfections, smothered the momentary exhibition of
displeasure.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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