CHAPTER I
On the 1st of May, 1774, the anchor-ice, which for so many months hadsilver-plated the river's bed with frosted crusts, was ripped off anddashed into a million gushing flakes by the amber outrush of thespringtide flood.
On that day I had laid my plans for fishing the warm shallows wherethe small fry, swarming in early spring, attract the great lean fishwhich have lain benumbed all winter under their crystal roof of ice.
So certain was I of a holiday undisturbed by school-room tasks that Iwhistled up boldly as I sat on my cot bed, sorting hooks according totheir sizes, and smoothing out my feather-flies to make sure the mothshad not loosened wing or body. It was, therefore, with misgiving thatI heard Peter and Esk go into the school-room, stamping their feet tomake what noise they were able, and dragging their horn-books alongthe balustrade.
Now we had no tasks set us for three weeks, for our schoolmaster, Mr.Yost, journeying with the post to visit his mother in Pennsylvania,had been shot and scalped at Eastertide near Fort Pitt--probably bysome drunken Delaware.
My guardian, Sir William Johnson, who, as all know, was Commissionerof Indian Affairs for the Crown, had but recently returned from theupper castle with his secretary, Captain Walter Butler; and,preoccupied with the lamentable murder of Mr. Yost, had found no timeto concern himself with us or our affairs.
However, having despatched a messenger with strings and belts toremonstrate with the sachems of the Lenni-Lenape--they being, as Ihave said, suspected of the murder--we discovered that Sir William hadalso written to Albany for another schoolmaster to replace Mr. Yost;and it gave me, for one, no pleasure to learn it, though it did pleaseSilver Heels, who wearied me with her devotion to her books.
So, hearing Esk and fat Peter on their way to the school-room, I tookalarm, believing that our new schoolmaster had arrived; so seized myfish-rod and started to slip out of the house before any one mightsummon me. However, I was seen in the hallway by Captain Butler, SirWilliam's secretary, and ordered to find my books and report to him atthe school-room.
I, of course, paid no heed to Mr. Butler, but walked defiantlydown-stairs, although he called me twice in his cold, menacing voice.And I should have continued triumphantly out of the door and acrossthe fields to the river had not I met Silver Heels dancing through thelower hallway, her slate and pencil under her arm, and loudly suckinga cone of maple sugar.
"Oh, Michael," she cried, "you don't know! Captain Butler hasconsented to instruct us until the new schoolmaster comes fromAlbany."
"Oh, has he?" I sneered. "What do I care for Mr. Butler? I'm goingout! Let go my coat!"
"No, you're not! No, you're not!" retorted Silver Heels, in thatteasing sing-song which she loved to make me mad withal. "Sir Williamsays you are to take your ragged old book of gods and nymphs and bediligent lest he catch you tripping! So there, clumsy foot!"--for Ihad tried to trip her.
"Who told you that?" I answered, sulkily, snatching at her sugar.
"Aunt Molly; she set me to seek you. So now who's going fishing, mylord?"
The indescribable malice of her smile, her sing-song mockery as shestood there swaying from her hips and licking her sugar-cone, rousedall the sullen obstinacy in me.
"If I go," said I, "I won't study my books anyway. I'm too old tostudy with you and Peter, and I won't! You will see!"
Sir William's favourite ferret, Vix, with muzzle on, came sneakingalong the wall, and I grasped the lithe animal and thrust it at SilverHeels, whereupon she kicked my legs with her moccasins, which did nothurt, and ran up-stairs like a wild-cat.
There was nothing for me but to go to the school-room. I laid my rodin the corner, pocketed the ferret, dragged my books from under thelibrary table, and went slowly up the stairs.
At sixteen I was as wilful a dunce as ever dangled feet in aschool-room, knowing barely sufficient Latin to follow Caesar throughGaul, loathing mathematics, scorning the poets, and even obstinatelymarring my pen-writing with a heavy backward stroke in defiance of SirWilliam and poor Mr. Yost.
As for mythology, my tow-head was over-crammed with kennel-lore andthe multitude of small details bearing upon fishing and the chase, toaccommodate the classics.
Destined, against my will, for Dartmouth College by my guardian, whovery well understood that I desired to be a soldier, I had resolutelyset myself against every school-room accomplishment, with the resultthat, at sixteen, I presented an ignorance which should have shamed alad of ten, but did not mortify me in the least.
And now, to my dismay and rage, Sir William had set me once more inthe school-room--and under Mr. Butler, too!
"Master Cardigan," said Mr. Butler when I entered the room, "SirWilliam desires you to prepare a recitation upon the story ofProserpine."
I muttered rebelliously, but jerked my mythology from the pile ofbooks and began to thumb the leaves noisily. Presently tiring of dingyprint, I moved up to the bench where sat the children, Peter and Esk,a-conning their horn-books.
Silver Heels pulled a face at me behind her French grammar book, and Ipinched her arm smartly for her impudence. Then, casting about forsomething to do, I remembered the ferret in my pocket, and dragged itout. Removing the silver bit I permitted the ferret to bite Peter'stight breeches, not meaning to hurt him; but Peter screeched and Mr.Butler birched him well, knowing all the while it was no fault ofPeter's; yet such was the nature of the man that, when angry, theinnocent must suffer when the guilty were beyond his wrath.
I had remuzzled the ferret, and Peter was smearing the tears from hischeeks, when Sir William came in, very angry, saying that MistressMolly could hear us in the nursery, and that the infant had fallena-roaring with his new teeth.
"I did it, sir," said I, "and Mr. Butler punished Peter--"
"Silence!" said Sir William, sharply. "Put that ferret out thewindow!"
"The ferret is your best one--Vix," I answered. "She will run to thewarren and we shall have to dig her out--"
"Pocket her, then," said Sir William, hastily. "Who gave you leave topouch my ferrets? Eh? What has a ferret to do in school? Eh? Idleagain? Captain Butler, is he idle?"
"He is a dunce," said Mr. Butler, with a shrug.
"Dunce!" echoed Sir William, quickly. "Why should he be a dunce when Ihave taught him? Granted his Latin would shame a French priest, andhis mathematics sicken a Mohawk, have I not read the poets with him?"
Mr. Butler, a gentleman and an officer of rank and fortune, whosedegraded whims led him now to instruct youth as a pastime, sharpened aquill in silence.
"Gad," muttered Sir William, "have I not read mythology with him tillI dreamed of nymphs and satyrs and capered in my dreams till MistressMolly--but that's neither here nor there. Micky!"
"Sir," I replied, sulkily.
Then he began to question me concerning certain gods and demi-gods,and I gaped and floundered as though I were no better than the inkyrabble ruled over by Mr. Butler.
Sir William lounged by the window in his spurred boots and scarlethunting-coat, and smelling foul of the kennels, which, God knows, I donot find unpleasant; and at every slap of the whip over his boots, heshot me through and through with a question which I had neitherinformation nor inclination to answer before the grinning small fry.
Now to be hectored and questioned by Sir William like a sniffling ladwith one eye on the birch and the other on Mr. Butler, did not pleaseme. Moreover, the others were looking on--Esk with ink on his nose,Peter in tears, a-licking his lump of spruce, and that wild-cat thing,Silver Heels--
With every question of Sir William I felt I was losing caste amongthem. Besides, there was Mr. Butler with his silent, deathly laugh--alaugh that never reached his eyes--yellow, changeless eyes, round as abird's.
Slap came the whip on the polished boot-tops, and Sir William was atit again with his gods and goddesses:
"Who carried off Proserpine? Eh?"
I looked sullenly at Esk, then at Peter, who put out his tongue at me.I had little knowledge of mythology beyond what conce
rned thatlong-legged goddess who loved hunting--as I did.
"Who carried off Proserpine?" repeated Sir William. "Come now, youshould know that; come now--a likely lass, Proserpine, out in the bushpulling cowslips, bless her little fingers--when--ho!--uppops--eh?--who, lad, who in Heaven's name?"
"Plato!" I muttered at hazard.
"What!" bawled Sir William.
I felt for my underlip and got it between my teeth, and for a spacenot another word would I speak, although that hollow roar began tosound in Sir William's voice which always meant a scene. His whip,too, went slap-slap! on his boots, like the tail of a big dog rappingits ribs.
He was perhaps a violent man, Sir William, yet none outside of his ownfamily ever suspected it or do now believe it, he having so perfect acontrol over himself when he chose. And I often think that hisoutbursts towards us were all pretence, and to test his own capacityfor temper lest he had lost it in a long lifetime of self-control. Atall events, none of us ever were the worse for his roaring, althoughit frightened us when very young; but we soon came to understand thatit was as harmless as summer thunder.
"Come, sir! Come, Mr. Cardigan!" said Sir William, grimly. "Out withthe gentleman's name--d'ye hear?"
It was the first time in my life that Sir William had spoken to me asMr. Cardigan. It might have pleased me had I not seen Mr. Butlersneer.
I glared at Mr. Butler, whose face became shadowy and loose, withoutexpression, without life, save for the fixed stare of those roundeyes.
Slap! went Sir William's whip on his boots.
"Damme!" he shouted, in a passion, "who carried off that slutProserpine?"
"The Six Nations, for aught I know!" I muttered, disrespectfully.
Sir William's face went redder than his coat; but, as it was ever hishabit when affronted, he stood up very straight and still; and thattribute of involuntary silence which was always paid to him at suchmoments, we paid, sitting awed and quiet as mice.
"Turn the children free, Captain Butler," said Sir William, in a lowvoice.
Mr. Butler flung back the door. The children followed him, Eskbestowing a wink upon me, Peter grinning and toeing in like a Devonduck, and that wild-cat thing, Silver Heels--
"You need not wait, Captain Butler," said Sir William, politely.
Mr. Butler retired, leaving the door swinging. Out in the dark hallwayI fancied I could still see his shallow eyes shining. I may have beenmistaken. But all men know now that Walter Butler hath eyes that seeas well by dark as by the light of the sun; and none know it so wellas the people of New York Province and of Tryon County.
"Michael," said Sir William, "go to the slate."
I walked across the dusty school-room.
"Chalk!" shouted Sir William, irritated by my lagging steps.
I picked up a lump of chalk, balancing it in my palm as boys do apebble in a sling.
Something in my eyes may have infuriated Sir William.
The next moment he had me by the arm, then by the collar, whipwhistling like the chimney wind--and whistling quite as idly, for theblow never fell.
I freed myself; he made no effort to hold me.
"Keep your lash for your hounds!" I stammered.
He did not seem to hear me, but I planted myself in a corner and criedout that he dare not lay his whip on me, which was a shameful thing totaunt him with, for he had promised me never to lay rod to me; and Iknew, as all the world knows, that Sir William Johnson had neverbroken his word to man or savage.
But still I faced him, now hurling safe defiance, now mutteringrevenge, until the scornful rebuke in his eyes began to shame me intosilence. Tingling already with self-contempt, I dropped my head alittle, not so low but what I could see Sir William's bulk motionlessbefore me.
Presently he said, as though to himself: "If the boy's a coward, noman can lay the sin to me."
"I am not a coward!" I burst out, all a-quiver again, "and I ask yourpardon, sir, for daring you to lay whip on me,--knowing your promise!"
Sir William scowled at me.
"To prove it," I went on, desperately, still trembling at the word"coward," "I will give you leave to drive a fish-hook through my handand cut it out with your knife; and I'll laugh at the pain--as didthat Mohawk lad when you cut the pike-hook out of his hand!"
"What the devil have I to do with your fish-hook and your Mohawks!"shouted Sir William, with a hearty oath.
Mortified, I shrank back while he fumed and cracked his whip and sworeI was doomed to folly and a most vicious future.
"You assume the airs of a man," he roared--"you with your sixteenunbirched years--you with your gross ignorance and grosser impudence!A vicious lad, a bad, undutiful, sullen lad, ever at odds with theothers, never diligent save with the fishing-rod--a lazy, quarrelsomerustic, a swaggering, forest-running fellow, without the polish or thepresence of a gentleman's son! Shame on you!"
I set my teeth and shut both eyes, opening one, however, when I heardhim move.
"I'll polish you yet!" he said, with an oath; "I'll polish you, andI'll temper you like the edge on a Mohawk hatchet."
"One red belt," I added, impudently, meaning that I defied him.
"Which you will cover with a white belt before the fires in thishearth are dead," he answered, gulping down the disrespect.
He laid his heavy hand on the door, then, turning, he bade me writewith the chalk on the slate the history of Proserpine in verse, andawait his further pleasure.
Sir William had shut the school-room door upon me. I listened. Had helocked it I should have kicked the panelling out into the hallway.
Standing there alone in the school-room beside the great slate, I readin dull anger the names of those who, tasks ended, were now free ofthe hateful place; here Esk had left his name above his sum, allsmears; here fat Peter had written seven times, "David did die and somust I."
With a bit of buckskin I dusted these scrawls from the slate, slowly,for I was not yet of a mind to begin my task.
I opened the window behind me. A sweet spring wind was blowing.Putting up my nose to scent it, I saw the sky bluer than a heron'segg, and a little white cloud a-sailing up there all alone.
That year the snow had gone out in April, and the same day theblue-birds flew into the sheep-fold. Now, on this second day of May,robins were already running over the ground below the school-roomwindow, a-tilting for worms like jack-snipes along the creek.
Folding my arms to lean on the sill, I could see a corner of thenorthern block-house, with a soldier standing guard below in thesunshine, and I peppered him well with spit-balls, he being a friendof mine.
His mystified anger brought but temporary pleasure to me. Behind melay that villanous slate, and my task to deal with the ravishment ofthat silly creature, Proserpine--and that, too, in verse! Had it beenmy long-legged Diana with her view-halloo and her hounds and shootingher arrows like a Huron squaw from the lakes! But no!--my business laywith a puny, cowslip-pulling maid who had strayed from the stockadeand got her deserts, too, for aught I know.
Leaning there in the breezy casement I tried to forget the jade,attentively observing the birds and the young fruit-trees, SirWilliam's pride. Now that the snow had melted I could see where mice,working under the crust in midwinter, had fatally girdled two youngapple-trees; and I was sorry, loving apples as I do.
For a while my mind was occupied in devising a remedy againstgirdling; then the distant sparkle of the river caught my eye, andstraightway my thoughts slipped into their natural channel, smoothlyas the river flowed there in the sunshine; and I laid my plans for thetaking of that bull-trout who had so grossly deceived and flouted methe past year--ay, not only me, but also that master of the craft, SirWilliam himself.
Thinking of Sir William, my lagging thoughts drifted back again to mydesk. It madded me to pine here, making rhymes, while outside thesweet wind whispered: "Come out, Michael--come out into the greendelight!"
Now Sir William had bidden me, not only to write my verses, but alsoto bide here awaiti
ng his good pleasure. That meant he would returnby-and-by. I had no stomach for further quarrels. Besides, I wasashamed of my disrespect and temper, and indeed, selfish, idle beastthat I was, I did truly love Sir William because I knew he was thegreatest man of our times--and because he loved me.
Resolved at last to accomplish some verses as proof of a contrite anddiligent spirit, I set to work; and this is what I made:
"Proserpine did roam the hills, Intent on culling daffydills; Alas, in gleeful girlish sport, She wandered too far from the fort, Forgetting that no belt of peace, Bound the people of Pluto from war to cease; Alas, old Pluto lay in wait, To ambush all who stayed out late; And with a dreadful war-whoop he Ran after the doomed Proserpine--"
Absorbed in my task, and, moreover, considerably affected by thepiteous plight of the maid, I stepped back from the slate and for amoment conceived a generous idea of introducing somebody to rescueProserpine and leave Pluto damaged--perhaps scalped. Reflection,however, dissuaded me from such a liberty, not that I found theanachronism at all discordant, for, living all my life in a familywhere Indians were oftener seen than white men, my hazy notionsconcerning classic myths were inextricably mixed with the reality ofmy own life, and were also gayly coloured by the legends I learnedfrom my red neighbours. So, lazy dunce that I was, with but a fractionof my attention fixed on my tasks, mythology to me was but aGraeco-Mohawk medley of jumbled fables, interesting only when theyconcerned war or the chase.
Still I did not feel at liberty to rescue Proserpine in my verses orplump a war-arrow into Pluto. Besides I knew it would enrage SirWilliam.
As I stood there, breathing hard, resolved to finish the wretchedmaiden quickly and let the metre go a-limping, behind me I heard thedoor stealthily open, and I knew that long-legged wild-cat thing,Silver Heels, had crept in, her moccasins making no noise.
I pretended not to notice her, knowing she had come to taunt me; and,for a space, she stood behind me, very still. Clearly, she was readingmy verses, and I became angry. Not to show it, I made out to whistleand to draw a picture of a fish on the slate. Then she knew I had seenher and laughed hatefully.
"Oh," said I, "if there is somebody come a-prying, it must be SilverHeels!" And I turned around, pretending amazement at the justness ofmy hazard.
"You saw me," she answered, disdainfully.
"It is your hour for the stocks," I hinted.
"I won't go," she retorted.
To secure that grace of carriage and elegance of presence necessaryfor a young lady of quality, and to straighten her back, which trulywas as straight as a pine, Sir William and Mistress Molly wereaccustomed to strap her to a pine plank and lock her in the stocks foran hour at noon, forbidding Peter, Esk, and me to tickle the soles ofher feet.
It was noon now; I could hear the guard changing at the northblock-house, tramp! tramp! tramp! across the stony way.
"If you don't go to the stocks now," I said, "you'll be sorry when youdo go."
"If you tickle my feet, you great booby, I'll tell Sir William," sheretorted, balancing defiantly from one heel to the other.
"Will you go, Silver Heels?" I insisted.
"My name isn't Silver Heels," she observed, still coolly tilting backand forth on heels and toes. "Call me by my right name and perhapsI'll go--and perhaps I won't. So there, Mr. Micky Dunce!"
"If I call you Felicity Warren, will you go?" I inquired cautiously.
"There! you have called me Felicity Warren!" she cried in triumph.
"I didn't," said I, in a temper; "I only said that there was such aperson. But you are not that person! Anyway, you toe in like a Mohawk.Anyway, you're half wild-cat, half Mohawk."
"It's a lie!" she flashed; "I'm all white to the bones of my body!"
It was true. Indeed, she was kin to Sir William and niece to Sir PeterWarren, but, to torment her, we feigned to believe her one of MistressMolly's brood, half Mohawk; and it madded her. Besides, had not theMohawks dubbed her Silver Heels, a year ago, when, with naked flyingfeet, she had beaten us all in the foot-race before Sir William andhalf the people of the Six Nations?
The prize had been a Barlow jack-knife, which, before the race, I hadlooked upon as mine. Besides, I had rashly given my old knife to Esk,and that left me without a blade to notch whistles.
"You are a Mohawk," I said, resentfully; "also you are a cat-childbeneath notice. When you are hungry you cry, 'Miau! _Esocautfore!_'--like Peter."
"I don't!" she said, stamping her moccasin.
"Anyway," said I, disdaining to torment her further, "the guard ischanged these ten minutes, and Sir William will come to find you herea-prying. _Esogee cadagcariax_," I added, incautiously.
"Who is Mohawk, now!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Bah, MisterMicky, it is spoon-meat _you_ require to make you run the faster afterjack-knives!"
This outrageous taunt ruffled me, the more for her laughter. Iattempted to hold my head in the air and look down at the presumptuouschild, but it appeared she had grown very fast in the past monthssince the race, and I was disturbed to find her eyes already on astraight line with mine, though she was but fifteen and I sixteen.
"I'm as high as you," she said.
"I can jump and touch the ceiling," said I; and did so.
She strove in vain, then called me dunce, and vowed what brains I hadwere in my feet. For that, and because she pushed me, I seized thechalk and wrote high on the slate:
"Silver Heels is Mohock she toes in like ducks."
She caught up the buckskin to wipe out the taunt, jostling me till theferret in my pocket jumped out and ran round and round the room.
I jostled her; then she gave me a blow and a quick shove, whereupon Istumbled, pulling her to the floor to rub her face with chalk. Shetwisted and turned, kicking and striking while I rubbed chalk into herskin, till of a sudden she coiled up and bit me clean through thehand.
I was on my feet with a bound; she also, all white in the face and hereyes aflame.
The blood began welling up, running into my palm and along the fingersto the floor. At that same instant I heard the door of the nurseryopen, and I knew that Sir William was coming through the hall to theschool-room.
From instinct I thrust my wounded hand into my breeches-pocket.
"Don't tell!" whispered Silver Heels, in a fright; "don't tell--andhere is the jack-knife."
She thrust it into my right hand, then sped across the floor to theopen window, and over the sill, dropping light as a cat on the grassbelow.
My first impulse was to follow her and give her such a spank asMistress Molly administered the day she trounced her for pushing Peterinto the creek. However, it was already too late; Sir William camequickly along the hall, and I had scarce time to step to the slatewhen he marched in.
Sir William had changed his clothing for the buckskin hunting-shirtand breeches which he was accustomed to wear when angling. He carried,too, that light, seasoned rod, fashioned for him by Thayendanegea, andon his bosom he wore a bouquet of gayly coloured feather-flies, madeby Mistress Molly during the winter.
He approached the slate whereon my verses stared white and unfinished;and at first his brows knitted and he said, "Fudge, fudge, fudge!"Then of a sudden he sat down on the bench, clapping his hand to hisbrow.
"Oh Lord!" said he, and fell a-laughing, while I, hot, ashamed, and alittle dizzy, my breeches-pocket being full of blood, gnawed my lipsand glowered askance.
"The Lord's will be done," said he, taking breath. "Who am I toordain, when He who fashioned yon tow-head designed it to hold neitherLatin nor the classics?"
"It pleases you to laugh, sir," I muttered.
"Pleases me! Pleases me, quotha! Lad, it stabs me like a French dirk,nor can I guard the thrust in tierce! I have been wrong. A friar isnot made with a twisted rope nor a man hanged with words. If you arenot born a scholar, 'twas the mint-mark I could not read aright; andno blame to you, lad, no blame to you. Micky boy! Shall we leave Caesarto go marching w
ith his impedimenta and his Tenth Legion? Shall weconsign the hypothenuse of all triangles to those who mend pens fromthe quills of wild-geese which better men have brought down with asingle ball?"
I was regarding him wildly, uncertain of his meaning.
"Shall we," cried Sir William, heartily, "bid the nymphs and dryadsfarewell forever, lad, and save our learning for Roderick Random and abowl of cider and the bitter nights of December?"
His meaning was dawning upon me slowly, for what with the pain of myhand and the dizziness, I was perhaps more stupid than usual.
"No," said Sir William, with a thump of his fist on his knee, "thecollege which my Lord Dartmouth has endowed is a haven for those whoseek it, not a prison for men to be driven to."
He paused.
"I should have sought it," he said, dropping his head. "No wilderness,no wintry terrors, neither French scalping parties nor the savages ofall the Canadas could have kept me from instruction had I, in myyouth, been favoured by the opportunity I offer you."
I gazed at him in silence while the blood, overrunning my leatherpocket, ran down to my knee-buckles.
"I was poor, without means, without counsel, save for the letters SirPeter Warren wrote me. I traded for my daily bread; I read Ovid bylighted pine splinters; I worked--God knows I worked my flesh to thebone."
He sat, fingering the bunch of scarlet feather-flies in his breast.
"Our Lord gives us according to our needs--_when we take it_," hesaid, without irreverence. "I could have gone to England, to Oxford; Ihad saved enough. I did neither; I did not take the instruction Iwished for, and God did not teach me Greek in my dreams," he added,bitterly.
The blood was now stealing down my stocking towards my shoe. I turnedthe leg so he could not observe it.
"Come, lad," he said, brightening up; "learning lies not alwaysbetween thumbed leaves. I only wish that you bear yourself modestlyand nobly through the world; that you keep faith with men, that yourword once given shall never be withdrawn.
"This is the foundation. It includes courage. Further than that, Idesire you, once a purpose formed and a course set, to steerfearlessly to the goal.
"I know you to be brave and honest; I know you to be a very Mohawk inthe forest; I believe you to be merciful and tender underneath thatboy's thoughtless and cruel hide.
"As for learning, I can do no more for you than I have done and haveoffered to do. If it pleases you, you may go to England, and learn thearts, bearing, and deportment you can never acquire here with us. No?Well, then, stay with us. I want you, Micky. We Irish are fond of eachother--and I am an old man now--I am nigh sixty years, Michael--sixtyyears of battle. I would be glad of rest--with those I love."
My heart was very soft now. I looked at Sir William with an affectionI had never before understood.
"There is one last thing I wish to add," he said, gravely, almostsadly. "Perhaps I may again refer to it--but I pray that it may not benecessary."
I sat up and rubbed my eyes to clear them from the sickly faintnesswhich stole upward from my throbbing hand.
"It is this," he continued, in a low voice. "If it ever comes to youto choose between his Majesty our King and--and your nativeland--which God forbid!--go to your closet and kneel down, and staythere on your knees, hours, days!--until you have learned your ownheart. Then--then--God go with you, Michael Cardigan."
He rose, and his face was years older. Slowly the colour came backinto his cheeks; he fumbled with the brass-work on his fish-rod, thensmiled.
"That is all," he said; "let Pluto chase Proserpine to hell, lad; anda devilish good place they say it is for those who like it! Where isthat ferret? What! Running about unmuzzled! Hey! Vix! Vix! Come here,little reptile!"
"I'll catch her, sir," said I, stumbling forward.
But as I laid my hand on Vix the floor rose and struck me, and there Ilay sprawling and senseless, with the blood running over the floor;and Sir William, believing me bitten by the ferret, pouched the poorbeast and lifted me to a bench.
He must have seen my hand, however, for, when a cup of cold water setme spluttering and blinking, I found my hand tied up in Sir William'shandkerchief and Sir William himself eying me strangely.
"How came that wound?" he said, bluntly.
I could not reply--or would not.
He asked me again whether the ferret bit me, and I was tempted to sayyes. Treachery was abhorrent to me; I hated Silver Heels, but couldnot betray her, and it was easy to clap the blame on Vix.
"Sir?" I stammered.
"I asked what bit you," he said, icily.
I tried to say Vix, but the lie, too, stuck in my throat.
"I cannot tell you," I muttered.
"Then," said Sir William, with a strange smile of relief, "I shall notforce you, Michael. May I honourably ask you how you come by thisjack-knife?"
I shook my head. My face was on fire.
"Very well," he said. "Only remember that you are a man, now--a man ofsixteen, and that I have to-day treated you as a man, and shallcontinue. And remember that a man's first duty is to protect theweaker sex, and his second duty is to endure from them all taunts,caprice, and torments without revenge. It is a hard lesson to learn,Micky, and only the true and gallant gentleman can ever learn it."
He smiled, then said:
"Pray find our little Silver Heels and return to her the jack-knife,which was her wampum-belt of faith in the honour of a gentleman."
And so he walked away, smoothing the fur of the red-eyed ferretagainst his breast.