They found Betty’s father in the spacious sitting-room. He was a fine-looking old gentleman, gray-haired and erect. Near him sat Mrs. Weeks; she was much younger than her husband, being his second wife and the mother of Betty, whose half-brothers and sisters were all married and living in homes of their own. Betty stood behind her father’s chair. She was arranging his cue, for he still clung to the fashions of half a century before, and to either Betty or Lettice fell the daily duty of tying the cue he wore.
“Mr. Baldwin has just come from the city,” Lettice announced.
“And brings news, no doubt. Welcome, Mr. Baldwin.” The old man sprang to his feet, and with his left hand gripped the strong right one of the young officer. “Well, sir, we’re sitting here pining for news. What is the latest?”
“The best is, that Jackson has ended the war with the Creeks.”
“Good! Jackson’s a great man; would there were more like him in this fight against England! What next?”
“We’ve had some reverses in Canada, sir, but—”
“But we don’t give up, eh? No, sir, we do not. We may see the country running red with blood, but we’ll hold on, at least we Southerners will; we’ve inherited enough of the bulldog from England to do that. I suppose Massachusetts is still fussing and fuming and threatening to secede.”
“I regret to say it is so, and I regret it the more that I am from Boston, myself. I think, sir, that it would be a wise thing if you would all get nearer the city, for I hear that an order has been issued by the British commander, Cockburn, to lay waste all districts along the coast, and to spare only the lives of the unarmed inhabitants; this, I believe, in revenge for a small raid made by a party of Americans who crossed Lake Erie and destroyed some buildings at Long Point.”
“Humph! what of the outrages committed along our coast?”
“We don’t forget them, sir. We will also retaliate when we get a chance.”