"Oh, I'm much better. If it will come off nice an' warm——"
"We'll have a storm first. And is there any more news?"
She had been taking some work out of a bag after she had nodded to gran'mere and shaken hands with great-grandfather. Now she settled herself and began to sew. She was never idle. Sandy Carrick had the smartest wife anywhere about and few women would have minded his queer quips so little.
Then the door opened and Marc Bradin entered, thrusting out a newspaper.
"I've been waiting my turn and have promised to have it back in half an hour, but I'll not count the coming and going," laughing. "And it's news worth waiting for. It's all true and more, too. And if we want a King or an Emperor, General Washington's the man. Now I'll read, since that's the cheapest way, as you can all hear at once."
He dropped into a chair and threw his old cap on the floor. Bradin was an excellent reader. Yes, it was glorious news. A big battle averted and soldiers disabled by honor rather than wounds. A vivid description of what had led up to the surrender and the conditions, the enthusiasm and the predictions that at last victory was achieved for the Colonies. And although numerous points were still held by the English, it would be difficult to rouse enthusiasm after this crushing blow.
"Time's up," said the reader. "But you have all the real gist of the matter. Norah, how's Sandy?"
Norah gave a laugh and a shrug of the shoulders.
"Oh, he'll come round. I can't see, with all the Scotch an' Irish in him, why he must be shoutin' for King George just because he happened to fight on that side years ago. An' it was under Washington, too, an' people do say if Braddock hadn't been so high an' mighty, and taken some of the young man's counsel, there wouldna have been such an awful defeat."
"I'll come right back, jinky! It begins to rain."