The Battle Ground | Page 7

half bottle of port, the other half will soon follow. No, no, I
say--put a bold foot on the matter. Don't give up a good thing for the
sake of a bad one, sir. I remember my grandfather in England telling
me that at his first twinge of gout he took a glass of sherry, and at the
second he took two. 'What! would you have my toe become my
master?' he roared to the doctor. 'I wouldn't give in if it were my whole
confounded foot, sir!' Oh, those were ripe days, Governor!"
"A little overripe for the toe, I fear, Major."
"Well, well, we're sober enough now, sir, sober enough and to spare.
Even the races are dull things. I've just been in to have a look at that
new mare Tom Bickels is putting on the track, and bless my soul, she
can't hold a candle to the Brown Bess I ran twenty years ago--you don't
remember Brown Bess, eh, Governor?"
"Why, to be sure," said the Governor. "I can see her as if it were
yesterday,--and a beauty she was, too,--but come in to supper with us,
my dear Major; we were just sitting down. No, I shan't take an
excuse--come in, sir, come in."
"No, no, thank you," returned the Major. "Molly's waiting, and Molly
doesn't like to wait, you know. I got dinner at Merry Oaks tavern by the

way, and a mighty bad one, too, but the worst thing about it was that
they actually had the impudence to put me at the table with an
abolitionist. Why, I'd as soon eat with a darkey, sir, and so I told him,
so I told him!"
The Governor laughed, his fine, brown eyes twinkling in the gloom.
"You were always a man of your word," he said; "so I must tell Julia to
mend her views before she asks you to dine. She has just had me draw
up my will and free the servants. There's no withstanding Julia, you
know, Major."
"You have an angel," declared the other, "and she gets lovelier every
day; my regards to her,--and to her aunts, sir. Ah, good night, good
night," and with a last cordial gesture he started rapidly upon his
homeward way.
Betty caught the Governor's hand and went with him into the house. As
they entered the hall, Uncle Shadrach, the head butler, looked out to
reprimand her. "Ef'n anybody 'cep'n Marse Peyton had cotch you, you'd
er des been lammed," he grumbled. "An' papa was real mad!" called
Virginia from the table.
"That's jest a story!" cried Betty. Still clinging to her father's hand, she
entered the dining room; "that's jest a story, papa," she repeated.
"No, I'm not angry," laughed the Governor. "There, my dear, for
heaven's sake don't strangle me. Your mother's the one for you to hang
on. Can't you see what a rage she's in?"
"My dear Mr. Ambler," remonstrated his wife, looking over the high
old silver service. She was very frail and gentle, and her voice was
hardly more than a clear whisper. "No, no, Betty, you must go up and
wash your face first," she added decisively.
The Governor sat down and unfolded his napkin, beaming hospitality
upon his food and his family. He surveyed his wife, her two maiden
aunts and his own elder brother with the ineffable good humour he
bestowed upon the majestic home-cured ham fresh from a bath of

Madeira.
"I am glad to see you looking so well, my dear," he remarked to his
wife, with a courtliness in which there was less polish than personality.
"Ah, Miss Lydia, I know whom to thank for this," he added, taking up a
pale tea rosebud from his plate, and bowing to one of the two old ladies
seated beside his wife. "Have you noticed, Julia, that even the roses
have become more plentiful since your aunts did us the honour to come
to us?"
"I am sure the garden ought to be grateful to Aunt Lydia," said his wife,
with a pleased smile, "and the quinces to Aunt Pussy," she added
quickly, "for they were never preserved so well before."
The two old ladies blushed and cast down their eyes, as they did every
evening at the same kindly by-play. "You know I am very glad to be of
use, my dear Julia," returned Miss Pussy, with conscious virtue. Miss
Lydia, who was tall and delicate and bent with the weight of potential
sanctity, shook her silvery head and folded her exquisite old hands
beneath the ruffles of her muslin under-sleeves. She wore her hair in
shining folds beneath her thread-lace cap, and her soft brown eyes still
threw a youthful lustre over the faded pallor of her face.
"Pussy has always had a