With the purpose of disclaiming any credit to herself, the young lady, with all the sincerity of a child, laughed with animation, as she tried to explain her wisdom:
“No, Mr. Barclugh, you must not think so. For the past five years we have heard nothing discussed at our tables, at our firesides, and on every occasion, nothing but the ‘Rights of Man,’ ‘Common Sense,’ ‘Age of Reason,’ ‘The Declaration of Independence,’ ‘The Tyranny of Kings,’ and ‘The Corruption of Aristocracy,’ until their doctrines have become household words. I have imbibed them, absorbed them, and discussed them, so I feel that every word I utter is the truth.”
Dr. and Mrs. Greydon let the younger people occupy each other’s attention and listened with smiles of satisfaction at the readiness with which their only daughter was able to expound the sentiments of the household.
However, Dr. Greydon turned to his guest, saying:
“Mr. Barclugh, I must let you know that Mollie is my boy.”
“Well, Miss Greydon, there is no mistaking two things; that you are right and that you are sincere. After this, you may be sure that you have my respect and my esteem,” were the admissions of Roderick Barclugh, and a deep emotion came over his whole frame, as the crimson blush of blood rose out of his body, and enveloped his neck and ears and face.
Here was an unaffected and honest Colonial girl of nineteen, who had brought this diplomat to bay.
While thinking of his journey and mission the thought flashed through his mind:
“Magna est veritas et prevalibit.”
Nothing but monosyllables could Barclugh utter after this upheaval in his breast, produced by the wisdom and truth stated by the innocent young soul who sat opposite him at table. Small-talk about the farm and city relieved his predicament until breakfast was over.