Books: Janice Meredith

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"What? The chain?" she asked.

"No! The miniature," responded her interlocutor, in a
tone expressing the most unbounded admiration and delight.
"Such an elegant creature, Jan, and such--"

Her speech ended there, as a crashing in the bushes alarmed
her, and she darted past Janice, who, infected by the guilt of
her companion, likewise broke into a run, which neither ceased
till they had covered a goodly distance. Then Tabitha, for
want of breath, came to a stop, and allowed her friend to overtake
her.

She held up the chain and miniature in her hand. "What
shall I do?" she panted.

"Tibbie, how could you?" ejaculated her horrified friend.

"His coming frighted me so that--oh, I didn't drop it!"

"You must take it back!"

"I'd never dare!"

"Black shame on--!"

"A nice creature, thou, Jan!" interrupted Miss Drinker,
with a sudden carrying of the war into the enemy's camp.
"To tell me to go back when he's sure to be dressing! No
wonder thee makes indelicate speeches."

Miss Meredith, without deigning to reply to this shameful
implication, walked away toward the house.

That Tibbie intended to shirk the consequences of her misdemeanour
was only too clearly proved to Janice, when later
she went to her room to prink for supper, for lying on her
dressing stand was the miniature. Shocked as Miss Meredith
was at the sight, she lifted and examined the trinket.

Bred in colonial simplicity, it seemed to the maid that she
had never seen anything quite so exquisite. A gold case,
richly set with brilliants, encompassed the portrait of a girl of
very positive beauty. After a rapt dwelling on the portrait for
some minutes, further examination revealed the letters W. H.
J. B. interlaced on the back.

Taking the miniature when her toilet had been perfected,
Janice descended to the parlour. As she entered, Tabitha,
already there, jumped up from a chair, in which, a moment
previous she had been carrying on a brown study that apparently
was not enjoyable, and tripped nonchalantly across the
room to the spinet. Seating herself, she struck the keys, and
broke out into a song entitled, "Taste Life's Glad Moments as
They Glide."

Not in the least deflected from her intention, Miss Meredith
marched up to the culprit, the bondsman's property in her
hand, and demanded, "Dost intend to turn thief?"

"Prithee, who 's curious now?" evaded Tibbie. "I knew
thee 'd look at it, for all thy airs."

"Very well, miss," threatened Janice, with much dignity.
"Then I shall take it to him, and narrate to him all the
circumstances."

"Tattle-tale, tattle-tale!" retorted Tabitha, scornfully.

With even greater scorn her friend turned her back, and
leaving the house, walked toward the stable. This took her
through the old-fashioned, hedge-begirt kitchen garden, in
which flowers were grown as if they were vegetables, and
vegetables were grown as if they were flowers. The moment
Janice had passed within the tall row of box, her expression of
mingled haughtiness and determination ended; she came to a
sudden halt, said "Oh!" and then pretended to be greatly
interested in a butterfly. The bravest army can be stampeded
by a surprise, and after having screwed up her spirit to the
point of facing Fownes in his fortress, the stable, Miss Meredith's
courage deserted her on almost stumbling over him a
hundred yards nearer than she expected. So taken aback was
she that all the glib explanation she had planned was forgotten,
and she held out the miniature to him without a single word.

Charles had been walking to the house, and only paused
at meeting Miss Meredith. He glanced at the outstretched
hand, and then let his eyes come back to the girl's face, without
making the slightest motion to take his property.

Tongue-tied and doubly embarrassed by his calm scrutiny,
the young lady stood with flushed cheeks, and with long
black lashes dropped to hide a pair of very shamed eyes,
the personification, in appearance, of guilt.

Whether the girl would have found her tongue, or would
have ended the incident as she was longing to do by taking to her
heels, it is impossible to say. Ere she had time to do either,
the angry voice of the squire broke in upon them.

"Ho, there ye are! Twice have I looked for ye this afternoon,
and I warn ye I'm not the man to take such conduct
from any one, least of all from one of my own servants," he
said as he came toward the pair, the emphasis of his walking
stick and his heels both telling the story of his anger. "What
mean ye, fellow," he continued, "by neglecting the work I
set ye?"

Absolutely unmoved by the reproof, Charles stood as heedless
of it as he had been of the outstretched hand of the
daughter, a hand which had promptly disappeared in the folds
of Miss Meredith's skirt at the first sound of her father's voice.

"A taste of my walking stick ye should have if ye had your
deserts!" went on the squire, now face to face with the
servant.

Without taking his eyes from the girl, Charles laughed.
"Is it fear of me," he challenged, "or fear of the law that prevents
you?"

"What know ye of the law, sirrah?" demanded Mr. Meredith.

"Nothing, when I was fool enough to indenture myself,"
snapped the servant; "but Bagby tells me that 't is forbidden,
under penalty of fine, for a master to strike a servant."

"Joe Bagby!" roared the squire, more angry than ever.
"And how come ye to have anything to do with that scampy
lawyer! Hast been up to some mischief already?"

Again the man laughed. "That is for His Majesty's
Justices of the Peace to discover. Till they do, I shall maintain
that I consulted him concerning the laws governing bond-servants."

"A pretty state the country 's come to!" raged the squire.
"No wonder there is no governing the land, when even servants
think to have the law against their masters. But, harkee, my
fine fellow. If I may not punish ye myself, the Justices may
order ye whipped, and unless ye change your manners I will
have ye up before their next sitting. Meantime, saddle
Joggles as soon as supper is done, and take this paper over
to Brunswick, and post it on the proclamation board of the
Town Hall. And no tarrying, and consulting of tricky lawyers,
understand. If ye are not back by nine, ye shall hear from me."

Striking a sunflower with his cane as a slight vent to his
anger, the master strode away to the house.

His back turned. Janice once again held out the miniature.
"Won't you please take it?" she begged.

"Art tired of it already?" jeered the man.

"I did not take it, Charles," she stammered, "but I knew
of its taking and so brought it back to you."

The man shrugged his shoulders. "'T is not mine, nor
is it aught to me," he said, and passing the girl, walked to the
house.

V
THE VALUE OF HAIR

At the evening meal the farm hands and negro house-servants
remarked in Fownes not merely his customary
unsocial silence, but an abstraction more
obvious than usual. A gird or two from the rougher
of his fellow-labourers was wholly unnoted by him, and though
he ate heartily, it was with such entire unconsciousness of what
he was eating as to make the cook, Sukey, who was inclined to
favour him, question if after all he deserved special consideration
at her hands.

The meal despatched, Charles took his way to the stable,
but some motive caused him to stop at the horse trough, lean
over it, and examine the reflection of his face. Evidently what
he saw was not gratifying, for he vainly tried to smooth down
his short hair, and then passed his hand over the scrub of his
beard. "'T is said clothes make the gentleman," he muttered,
"but methinks 't is really the barber. How many of the belles
of the Pump Room and the Crescent would take me for other
than a clodhopper? 'T was not Charles Lor--Charles what?
--to whom they curtesied and ogled and smirked, 't was to
a becoming wig and a smooth chin." Snapping his fingers
contemptuously, he went in and began to saddle the horse.

A half-hour later, the man rode up the village street of
Brunswick. Hitching Joggles to a post in front of the King
George tavern, he walked to the board on the side of the Town
Hall and Court House. Here, over a three months' old proclamation,
he posted the anonymous note recently received by
the squire, which had been wafered to a sheet of pro patria
paper, and below which the squire had written--

This is to give notice that I despise too much the cowardly
villain who wrote and nailed this on my door to pay any
attention to him. A Reward of two pounds will be given
for any information leading to the discovery of said cowardly
villain.
Lambert Meredith.

For a moment the servant stood with a slight smile on his
face at the contradiction; then, with a shrug of his shoulders,
he entered the public room of the tavern. Within the air was
so thick with pipes in full blast, and the light of the two dips
was so feeble, that he halted in order to distinguish the dozen
figures of the occupants, all of whom gave him instant attention.

"Ar want landlord," he said, after a pause.

"Here I be," responded a man sitting at a small table in the
corner, with two half-emptied glasses and a bowl of arrack
punch before him. Opposite to mine host was a thick-set man
of about forty, attired in a brown suit and heavy top-boots, both
of which bore the signs of recent travel.

The servant skirted the group at the large table in the centre
of the room, and taking from his pocket a guinea, laid it on the
table. "Canst 'e give change for thiccy?" he asked.

"I vum!" cried the landlord, as he picked up the coin and
rang it on the table. "'T ain't often we git sight o' goold here.
How much do yer want fer it?"

"Why, twenty-one shillings," replied the servant, with some
surprise in his voice.

"I'll givit you dirty-two," spoke up a Jewish-looking man at
the big table, hurriedly pulling out his pouch and counting
down a batch of very soiled money from it, which he held out
to the servant just as the landlord, too, tendered him some
equally ragged bills.

"Trust Opper to give a shilling less than its worth," jeered
one of the drinkers.

"Bai thiccy money, Bagby?" questioned Charles, looking
suspiciously at both tenders.

"Not much," answered Bagby from the group about the
large table, not one of whom had missed a word of the foregoing
conversation. "'T is shaved beef,"--a joke which called
forth not a little laughter from his companions.

"Will it buy a razor?" asked Fownes, quickly, turning to the
lawyer with a smile.

"Keep it a week and 't will shave you itself," retorted the
joker, and this allusion to the steady depreciation of the colony
paper money called forth another laugh.

"Then 't is not blunt?" responded Charles, but no one save
the traveller at the small table caught the play on words, the
Cockney cant term for money being unfamiliar to American
ears. He smiled, and then studied the bond-servant with more
interest than he had hitherto shown.

Meanwhile, at the first mention of razor, the Jew had left the
room, and he now returned, carrying a great pack, which he
placed upon the table.

"Sir," he said, in an accent which proved his appearance did
not belie his race, while beginning to unstrap the bundle, "I
haf von be-utiful razor, uf der besd--" but here his speech
was interrupted by a roar of laughter.

"You've a sharper to deal with now," laughed the joker,
and another called, "Now ye'll need no razor ter be shaved."

"Chentlemen, chentlemen," protested the peddler, "haf n't
I always dealt fair mit you?" He fumbled in his half-opened
pack, and shoving three razors out of sight, he produced a
fourth, which he held out to the servant. "Dot iss only dree
shillings, und it iss der besd of steel."

"You can trust Opper to know pretty much everything 'bout
steals," sneered Bagby, who was clearly the local wit. "It 's
been his business for twenty years."

"I want a sharp razor, not a razor sharp," said Charles, good-naturedly,
while taking the instrument and trying its edge with
his finger.

"What business hez a bond-servant tew spend money fer a
razor?" demanded the tavern-keeper, for nothing then so
marked the distinction between the well-bred and the unbred
as the smooth faces of the one and the hairy faces of the
other.

"Hasn't he a throat to cut?" demanded one of the group,
"an' hasn't a covenant man reason to cut it?"

"More likes he's goin' a sparkin'," suggested one of the idlers.
"The gal up ter the squire's holds herself pooty high an'
mighty, but like as not she's as plaguey fond of bundling with
a good-looking man on the sly as most wenches."

"If she 's set on that, I'm her man," remarked Bagby.

"Bundling?" questioned the covenant servant. "What 's
that?"

The question only produced a roar of laughter at his ignorance,
during which the traveller turned to the publican and
asked:--

"Who is this hind?"

"'T is a new bond-servant o' Squire Meredith's, who I hearn
is no smouch on horses. Folks think he's a bloody-back who 's
took French leave."

"A deserter, heigh?" said the traveller, once more looking
at the man, who was now exchanging with the peddler the
three-shilling note for the razor. He waited till the trade had
been consummated, and then suddenly said aloud, in a sharp,
decisive way, "Attention! To the left--dress!

Fownes' body suddenly stiffened itself, his hands dropped to.
his sides, and his head turned quickly to the left. For a second
he held this position, then as suddenly relaxing himself,
he turned and eyed the giver of the order.

"So ho I my man. It seems ye have carried Brown Bess,"
said the traveller, giving the slang term for the musket.

Flushed in face, Fownes wheeled on the man hotly, while
the whole room waited his reply in silence. "Thou liest!" he
asserted.

"Thou varlet!" cried the man so insulted, flushing in turn,
as he sprang to his feet and caught up from the table a heavy
riding-whip.

As he did so, the bond-servant's right hand went to his hip,
as if instinctively seeking something there. The traveller's eyes
followed the impulsive gesture, even while he, too, made a
motion more instinctive than conscious, by stepping backward,
as if to avoid something. This motion he checked, and
said--

"No. Bond-servants don't wear bayonets."

Again the colour sprang to Fownes' face, and his lips parted
as if an angry retort were ready. But instead of uttering it, he
turned and started to leave the room.

"Ay," cried the traveller, "run, while there 's time, deserter."

Fownes faced about in the doorway, with a smile on his face
not pleasant to see, it was at once so contemptuous and so
lowering. Yet when he spoke there was an amused, almost
merry note in his voice, as if he were enjoying something.

"Ar bain't no more deserter than thou baist spy," he retorted,
as he left the tavern and went to where his horse was
tethered. Unfastening him, he stood for a moment stroking
the animal's nose.

"Joggles," he confided, "I fear, despite the praise the fair
ones gave of my impersonation of 'The Fashionable Lover,'
that I am not so good an actor as either Garrick or Barry. I
forget, and I lose my temper. So, a bond-servant should cut
his throat," he continued, as he swung lightly into the saddle.
"I fear 't is the only way I can go undiscovered. Fool that I
was to do it in a moment of passion. Five years of slavery!"
Then he laughed. "But then I'd never have seen her! Egad,
if she could be painted as she looked to-day by Reynolds or
Gainsborough, 'twould set more than my blood glowing!
There's a prize, Joggles! Beauty, wealth, and freedom, all in
one. She'd be worth a tilt, too, if for nothing but the sport of
it. We'll shave, make a dandy of ourselves, old man--"
Then the servant paused--"and, like a fool, be recognised by
some fellow like Clowes--what does he here?--but for my
beard, and that he'd scarce expect to meet Charles--" Fownes
checked himself, scowling. "Charles Nothing, a poor son of
a gun of a bond-servant. Have done with such idiot schemes,
man," he admonished. "For what did you run, if 't was not
to bury yourself? And now you 'd risk all for a petticoat."
Taking from his pocket the razor, he threw it into the bushes
that lined the road, saying as he did so, "Good-by, gentility."

VI
MEN ARE DECEIVERS EVER

The departure of the bond-servant, leaving the sting
of innuendo behind him, had turned all eyes toward
the traveller, and Bagby but voiced the curiosity of
the roomful when he inquired, "What did Fownes
call you spy for?"

"Nay, man, he called me not that," denied the stranger,
"unless he meant to call himself a deserter as well. Landlord,
a bowl of swizzle for the company! Gentlemen, I am
Lincolnshire born and bred. My name is John Evatt, and I
am travelling through the country to find a likely settling place
for six solid farmers, of whom I am one. Whom did you say
was yon rogue's master?"

"Squire Meredith," informed mine host, now occupied in
combining the rum, spruce beer, and sugar at the large table.

"And what sort of man is he?" asked Evatt, bringing his
glass from the small table and taking his seat among the rest.

"He 's as hot-tempered an' high an' mighty as King George
hisself," cried one of the drinkers. "But I guess his stinkin'
pride will come down a little afore the committee of Brunswick 's
through with him."

"Let thy teeth keep better guard over thy red rag, Zerubbabel,"
rebuked Joe Bagby, warningly. "We want no rattlepates
to tell us--or others--what 's needed or doing."

"This Meredith 's a man of property, eh?" asked Evatt.

"He 's been so since he married Patty Byllynge," replied the
publican. "Afore then he war n't nothin' but a poor young
lawyer over tew Trenton."

"And who was Patty Byllynge?"

"You don't know much 'bout West Jersey, or I guess you 'd
have heard of her," surmised Bagby. "'T is n't every girl brings
her husband a pot of money and nigh thirty thousand acres of
land. Folks tell that before the squire got her, the men was about
her like--" the speaker used a simile too coarse for repetition.

"So ho!" said the traveller. "Byllynge, heigh? Now I
begin to understand. A daughter--or granddaughter--of one
of the patentees?"

"Just so. In the old man's day they held the lands all along
this side of the Raritan, nigh up to Baskinridge, but they sold a
lot in the forties."

"Then perhaps this is the place to bargain about a bit?
The land looked rich and warm as I rode along this afternoon."

"'T ain't no use tryin' ter buy of the new squire," remarked
one man. "He won't do nothin' but lease. He don't want no
freemen 'bout here."

"Yer might buy o' Squire Hennion. He sells now an' agin,"
suggested the innkeeper."

"Who's he?" demanded Evatt.

"Another of the monopolisers who got a grant in the early
days, before the land was good for anything," explained Bagby.
"His property is further down."

"Ye 'd better bargain quick, if ye want any," spoke up an
oldster. "Looks like squar's son was a-coortin' squar's daughter,
an' mayhaps her money'll make old Squar Hennion less
put tew it fer cash."

"So Squire Meredith is n't popular?"

"He'll find out suthin' next time he offers fer Assembly,"
asserted one of the group.

"He 's a member of Assembly, is he?" questioned Evatt.
"Then he's all right on--he belongs to the popular party?"

"Not he!" cried several.

"He was agin the Association, tried tew prevent our sendin'
deputies tew Congress, an' boasts that tea 's drunk at his table,"
said the landlord.

"'T won't be for long," growled Bagby.

"Then how comes it that ye elect him Assemblyman?"

"'T is his tenants do it," spoke up the lawyer. "They don't
have the pluck to vote against him for fear of their leaseholds.
And so 't is with the rest. The only way we can get our way is
by conventions and committees. But get it we will, let the
gentry try as they please."

"Well, gentlemen," said Evatt, "here 's the swizzle. Glasses
around, and I'll give ye a toast ye can all drink: May your freedom
never be lessened by either Parliament or Congress!"

Two hours of drinking and talking followed, and when the
last of the tipplers had staggered through the door, and Evatt,
assisted by the publican, had reeled rather than walked upstairs
to his room, if he was not fully informed as to the locality of
which the tavern was the centre, it was because his brain was
too fuddled by the mixed drink, and not because tongues had
been guarded.

Eighteenth-century heads made light of drinking bouts, and
Evatt ate a hearty breakfast the next morning. Thus fortified,
he called for his horse, and announced his intention of seeing
Squire Meredith "about that damned impertinent varlet."

Arrived at Greenwood, it was to find that the master of the
house was away, having ridden to Bound Brook to see some of
his more distant tenants; but in colonial times visitors were
such infrequent occurrences that he was made welcome by the
hostess, and urged to stay to dinner. "Mr. Meredith will be
back ere nightfall," she assured him, "and will deeply regret
having missed thee if thou rides away."

"Madam," responded Evatt, "American hospitality is only
exceeded by American beauty."

It was impossible not to like the stranger, for he was a capital
talker, having much of the chat of London, tasty beyond all
else to colonial palates, at his tongue's tip. With a succession
of descriptions or anecdotes of the frequenters of the Park and
Mall, of Vauxhall and Ranelagh, he entertained them at table,
the two girls sitting almost open-mouthed in their eagerness
and delight.

The meal concluded, the ladies regretfully withdrew, leaving
Evatt to enjoy what he chose of a decanter of the squire's best
Madeira, which had been served to him, visitors of education
being rare treats indeed. Like all young peoples, Americans
ducked very low to transatlantic travellers, and, truly colonial,
could not help but think an Englishman of necessity a superior
kind of being.

The guest filled his glass, unbuttoned the three lower buttons
of his waistcoat, and slouched back in his chair. Then he put
the wine to his lips, and holding the swallow in his mouth to
prolong the enjoyment, a look of extreme contentment came over
his visage. And if he had put his thoughts into words, he
would have said:--

"By Heavens! What wine and what women! The one
they smuggle, but where get they the other? In a rough new
country who'd think to encounter greater beauty and delicacy
than can be seen skirting the Serpentine? Such eyes, such a
waist, and such a wrist! And those cheeks--how the colour
comes and goes, telling everything that she would hide! And
to think that some bumpkin will enjoy lips fit for a duke. Burn
it! If 't were not for my task, I'd have a try for Miss Innocence
and--" The man glanced out of the window and let his
eyes wander over the landscape, while he drained his glass--
"Thirty thousand acres of land!" he said aloud, with a smack
of pleasure.

His eyes left off studying the fields to fix themselves on
Janice, who passed the window, with the garden as an evident
destination, and they followed her until she disappeared within
the opening of the hedge. "There's a foot and ankle," he exclaimed
with an expression on his face akin to that it had worn
as he tasted the Madeira. "'T would fire enough sparks in
London to set the Thames all aflame!" He reached for the
Madeira once more, but after removing the stopper, he hesitated
a moment, then replacing it, he rose, buttoned his waistcoat,
and taking his hat from the hall, he slipped through the window
and walked toward the garden.

Finding that Janice was not within the hedge-row, Evatt
passed across the garden quickly and discovered the young
lady standing outside the stable, engaged in the extremely
undignified occupation of whistling. Her reason for the action
was quickly revealed by the appearance of Clarion; and still
unconscious that she was watched, after a word with the dog,
they both started toward the river.

A few hasty strides brought the man up with the maiden,
and as she slightly turned to see who had joined her, he said,
"May I walk with you, Miss Meredith? I intended a stroll
about the farm, and it will be all the pleasanter for so fair a
guide."

Shyly but eagerly the girl assented, and richly rewarded was
she in her own estimate by what the visitor had to tell. More
gossip of court, of the lesser world of fashion, and of the
theatre, he retailed: how the king walked and looked, of the
rivalry between Mrs. Barry and Mrs. Baddeley, of Charles Fox's
debts and eloquence, of the vogue of Cecilia Davis, or
"L'Inglesina." To Janice, hungry with the true appetite of
provincialism, it was all the most delicious of comfits. To
talk to a man who could imitate the way the Duke of
Gloucester limped at a levee when suffering from the gout, and
who was able to introduce a story by saying, "As Lady Rochford
once said to me at one of her routs--" was almost like
meeting those distinguished beings themselves. Janice not
merely failed to note that the man paid no heed whatever to the
land they strolled over, but herself ceased to give time or
direction the slightest thought.