There was an approving murmur over this sentiment, but Kate did not join in it. There was no mistaking its implied suggestion of a point in which New England had the advantage over her native state. She might possibly have let it pass if Tom had not had the indiscretion at that moment to press her foot under the table. Up to this point her part in the conversation had been mostly questions, but now she advanced an opinion boldly.
“Well, I must say I never wanted to live in an old country on that account,” she said. “I remember when mother used to read Child’s History of England to us, I was always glad that our country began later, and that we didn’t have those cruel times, when people were beheaded for nothing, and princes’ eyes put out by their wicked uncles, in our history at all. Those things you’ve been hearing about this afternoon—there wasn’t anything very beautiful about some of them. That poor old thing they drowned—I don’t suppose she was any more a witch than I am. And that rock where Whitefield preached—it was a mean bigoted thing to keep him out of the churches, and I should think good people would be ashamed every time they looked at the rock.”
There was silence for a minute when she ended. Then Mr. Hadley said, with a smile, “In other words, if you have historic associations at all, you want those of the very best sort.” To which he added, lifting his eyebrows a trifle, “I presume you wouldn’t object to Bunker Hill and Lexington!”
Kate took a swallow of water before speaking. Then she said with dignity: “I have never regarded Bunker Hill and Lexington as local affairs. I think they belong to the whole country!”
Mr. Hadley made her a bow across the table. “Capital!” he said. “I surrender.”
“If you knew how my cousin Kate stands up for everything connected with her own part of the country, you’d surrender in advance any attempt to impress her with the beauties of ours,” said Stella, laughing. “Talk of loyalty to one’s home!”
“Well, you certainly have a remarkably fine section of country out your way,” said Mr. Hadley, graciously. “My father was there buying grain one summer, and I remember he came back perfectly enthusiastic over everything except the ague, which he brought home with him, and had hard work to get rid of. I suppose you’ll admit that you do have some chills and fever lying round in your low lands.”
“Oh, people have to have something,” said Kate, carelessly, “but ague isn’t the worst thing that ever was. People very seldom die of it, and it’s really the most interesting disease in the world. I could give you a list as long as my arm of the ingenious ways country people have of curing it; and some of them are perfectly fascinating, they’re so queer. You ought to hear my father talk about ague.”
There was an explosion of laughter at this. “Kate,” cried Stella, “you’re as bad as the old woman who was challenged to find a good quality in his Satanic majesty, and immediately said there was nothing like his perseverance. But really, if one must discuss chills and fever, don’t you think they’re a little, just a little plebeian?”
“Oh,” said Kate, “anything’s plebeian—if you’ve a mind to call it so—that keeps people moping and ailing. But there are lots of things more ‘ornary’ than chills. It was when they were all coming down with them, don’t you know, that Mark Tapley found the first chance he ever had to be ‘jolly’ when ’twas really a credit to him!”