Janice Meredith | Page 4

put the two maidens in a mood quite unbefitting the day, for in the moment they tarried outside the church while the coach was being placed in the shed, Miss Drinker's face was frowning, and once again Miss Meredith's nails were dug deep into the little palms of her hands.
"Yes," Janice whispered. "She put it in the fire. Dadda saw her."
"And we'll never know if Amaryllis explained that she had ever loved him," groaned Tabitha.
"If ever I get the chance!" remarked Janice, suggestively.
"Oh, Jan!" cried Tabitha, ecstatically. "Would n't it be delightsome to be loved by a peasant, and to find he was a prince and that he had disguised himself to test thy love?"
"'T would be better fun to know he was a prince and torture him by pretending you did n't care for him," replied Janice. "Men are so teasable."
"There's Philemon Hennion doffing his hat to us, Jan."
"The great big gawk!" exclaimed Janice. "Does he want another dish of tea?" A question which set both girls laughing.
"Janice! Tabitha!" rebuked Mrs. Meredith. "Don't be flippant on the Sabbath."
The two faces assumed demureness, and, filing into the Presbyterian meeting-house, their owners apparently gave strict heed to a sermon of the Rev. Alexander McClave, which was later issued from the press of Isaac Collins, at Burlington, under the title of:--
"The Doleful State of the Damned, Especially such as go to Hell from under the Gospel."
II THE PRINCE FROM OVER THE SEAS
Across the water sounded the bells of Christ Church as the anchor of the brig "Boscawen," ninety days out from Cork Harbour, fell with a splash into the Delaware River in the fifteenth year of the reign of George III., and of grace, 1774. To those on board, the chimes brought the first intimation that it was Sunday, for three months at sea with nothing to mark one day from another deranges the calendar of all but the most heedful. Among the uncouth and ill-garbed crowd that pressed against the waist-boards of the brig, looking with curious eyes toward Philadelphia, several, as the sound of the bells was heard, might have been observed to cross themselves, while one or two of the women began to tell their beads, praying perhaps that the breadth of the just-crossed Atlantic lay between them and the privation and want which had forced emigration upon them, but more likely giving thanks that the dangers and suffering of the voyage were over.
Scarcely had the anchor splashed, and before the circling ripples it started had spread a hundred feet, when a small boat put off from one of the wharfs lining the water front of the city, with the newly arrived ship as an evident destination; and the brig had barely swung to the current when the hoarse voice of the mate was heard ordering the ladder over the side. The preparation to receive the boat drew the attention of the crowd, and they stared at its occupants with an intentness which implied some deeper interest than mere curiosity; low words were exchanged, and some of the poor frightened creatures seemed to take on a greater cringe.
[Illustration: "'T is sunrise at Greenwood."]
Seated in the sternsheets of the approaching boat was a plainly dressed man, whose appearance so bespoke the mercantile class that it hardly needed the doffing of the captain's cap and his obsequious "your servant, Mr. Cauldwell, and good health to you," as the man clambered on board, to announce the owner of the ship. To the emigrants this sudden deference was a revelation concerning the cruel and oath-using tyrant at whose mercy they had been during the weary weeks at sea.
"A long voyage ye've made of it, Captain Caine," said the merchant.
"Ay, sir," answered the captain. "Another ten days would have put us short of water, and--"
"But not of rum? Eh?" interrupted Cauldwell.
"As for that," replied the captain, "there 's a bottle or two that's rolled itself till 't is cruelty not to drink it, and if you'll test a noggin in the cabin while taking a look at the manifests--
"Well answered," cried the merchant, adding, "I see ye set deep."
"Ay," said the captain as they went toward the companion-way; "too deep for speed or safety, but the factors care little for sailors' lives."
"And a deep ship makes a deep purse."
"Or a deep grave."
"Wouldst die ashore, man?"
"God forbid!" ejaculated the mariner, in a frightened voice. "I've had my share of ill-luck without lying in the cold ground. The very thought goes through me like a dash of spray in a winter v'y'ge." He stamped with his foot and roared out, "Forrard there: Two glasses and a dipper from the rundlet," at the same time opening a locker and taking therefrom a squat bottle. "'T is enough to make a man bowse himself kissing black Betty to