"What are your names?" he asked, looking at Corny first.
"Cornelia V. Chipperton," said Corny, and he wrote that down. Then he looked at me.
"William Taylor Gordon," said I. When the governor had put that on his paper, he just gave his head a little wag toward Rectus. He didn't look at him.
"My name is Samuel Colbert," said Rectus.
Corny turned short on him, with eyes wide open.
"Samuel!" she said, in a sort of theatre-whisper.
"Now, then," said the governor, "this paper will show that you have full permission to carry out your little plans, provided that you do nothing that may create any disorder. If the woman—your queen, I mean—has been in the habit of earning her own livelihood, don't make a pauper of her." And he gave us a general look as if the time had come to say good-bye. So we got up and thanked him, and he shook hands with us, Rectus and all, and we came away.
We found Priscilla sitting cross-legged on the grass outside, pitching pennies.
"That thar red-coat he want to sen' me off," said she, "but I tole him my missy and bosses was inside, and I boun' to wait fur 'em, or git turned off. So he le' me stay."
Corny, for a wonder, did not reprove Priscilla for giving the sentinel the idea that her employers hired penny-pitchers to follow them around, but she walked on in silence until we were out of the grounds. Then she turned to Rectus and said: