“And were rejoiced at it, I dare say?”
“Can’t pretend to answer for the men folks, not al’es knowing exactly where to find ’em, but for my part, men’s too scarce in this region for us women folks to want ’em hung.”
“But I dare say your precious patriots, as they call themselves, would hang me high as Haman if they had the chance, which I don’t intend to give ’em, though I was fool enough to come here.”
“Why, they haven’t any right to touch you, captain. York State laws ain’t good for nothing here, are they?”
“None, that I would not answer back with a shower of bullets,” answered Butler, fiercely; “so, once for all, keep quiet about my being here, or anything I have said; it will prove the worse for you if you don’t.”
“Why, how you talk—there ain’t no mischief a-brewing agin the valley, is there, captain? Edward Clark would not be persuaded to leave the fort, if it was to get married, if he thought so.”
Butler paid no attention to her question, but made a rapid succession of inquiries about the family on Monockonok Island, and craftily gathered from the old maid a pretty accurate account of the military force now in the valley. At last a noise from without, which Aunt Polly evidently did not hear, made him start and listen. He took out his watch, and hastily replacing it, muttered something in an undertone, and left the house, regardless of the supper which he had been so impatient for a few minutes before.
“I wish to gracious Sim White was here; I rather guess my hay will suffer if the captain feeds his own hoss,” said the old maid, as the door closed; “the feller thinks no more of a peck of oats than if it was cut-straw. I wish he’d make haste tho’, the victuals is purty near done, and I begin to feel kinder hungry myself. Oh, I’d a’most forgot—these Tory fellers al’es want tea—just to spite us, I reckon; but a tavern is a tavern, and while my sign swings on that are elm-tree, travellers shall have just what they ask for when I’ve got it.”
With these words Aunt Polly opened a rude closet, took out a small tin canister containing the unpopular herb, and filling the little round top, smoothed it off with her finger, and “put the tea to drawing.” Then spreading a snowy tablecloth in the best room, she placed thereon the nicely cooked fowl, the smoking potatoes, a plate of bread and a ball of golden butter, and gave the finishing touch to her table by saucers of preserved crab-apples and wild plums placed on each corner. After all was ready, she seated herself by a little waiter, scarcely larger than a good-sized snuffer-tray, and as she placed and replaced the milk-cup and sugar-bowl, muttered her impatience for the return of her guest.
“I wonder what on ’arth keeps him so—I could ’a’ foddered my whole stock afore this. Walter Butler didn’t use to be so long tending his horse afore he eat, himself. Dear me, the gravy is gitting thick about the chickens—the fried cabbage is stun cold, and the tea’ll be drawn to death! I do wish—oh, here he comes!”