“Did I hear you say you expected to bring my Roland back with you?” inquired Miss Sibby.
“Yes, madam,” replied the squire.
“Well, now, you do it, Abel Force! You better had, squire! If you don’t I’ll walk myself right up to the President! I won’t go to any of your secretaries, nor commissioners, nor any other understrappers! I’ll walk myself right up to the President of these United States, and I’ll demand of him why a brave and honorable young man who is the adopted nephew of a descendant of the great duke of England is kept in prison! If you go to any one, sez I, go to headquarters, sez I!”
“What does she mean by the ‘duke of England’?” inquired the general, in a low voice.
“Oh, she means a duke of England—that is, Thomas, fourth Duke of Norfolk, one of whose younger sons came over to Maryland with Leonard Calvert in 1633, and from whom Miss Bayard’s mother was really descended—a fact which she never forgets or allows any one else to forget. A long decline, you will say, but, my dear general, there are people descended from your English aristocracy who are working on our roads, or pining in our prisons, as there are also people descended from your English peasantry who are filling the highest places in our social and national life. The waves of rank rise and fall like those of the ocean!”
“‘Here we go up—up—up!
And here we go down—down—downy!’”
murmured Wynnette, who, standing nearest the speakers, had overheard with her sharp ears the low-toned words of this conversation.
The carriage was now announced, and the three gentlemen left the room to go upon their visit to Roland, in the Old Capitol prison, putting the ladies under the care of Sam Grandiere.
Young Sam, too gallant to leave them, yet with his “ruling passion strong,” under all circumstances, proposed to take them to the Agricultural College, and also to the agricultural grounds and conservatories.