To strike to striped bunting.”
“Why don’t you sing?” Lettice asked Mr. Clinton, with fun in her eyes. “Rhoda says you have a right pretty voice. And you, Rhoda, are silent, too. What is the matter? One would suppose the same complaint had seized the two of you and given you husky throats.”
“Well, you see, I know Dacres,” Mr. Clinton began.
“He knows Dacres! Think of it, girls!” said Lettice, bent on teasing. “How proud he must be of the acquaintance.”
“I am proud. He is a gallant, brave fellow,” returned Mr. Clinton, in some heat.
“But that didn’t save him from getting whipped,” Lettice chanted in glee. “Let us make our manners, ladies and gentlemen, to a friend of Lieutenant Dacres, who is a friend of England, consequently no friend of ours.”
“Now, Lettice,” Rhoda interposed, “don’t stir every one up.”
“You called for a song,” cried Robert Clinton, springing to his feet. “We will give you one. Join in, Miss Rhoda.” And he began:—
“Huzza for our liberty, boys,
These are the days of our glory;