We were having a very gay time of it, when there came a heavy step through the hall into the room, and a cheery voice asked: "How is the soldier to-day? In good hands, I see." It was Thomas Johnson.
"That he is, sir," I replied, rising, "and he thoroughly enjoys it too."
"Spoken like a soldier," replied our future Governor, "and like a soldier you must leave at once, for the Council desire you to carry these despatches posthaste to General Washington."
"No; he shall not," cried Mistress Polly, with a stamp of her foot. "He has promised to drive our four-in-hand to the races this afternoon, and I am not going to let that Council of old fogies rob us of the only soldier in town who has seen service for at least one day."
"So that is the way the wind blows," said her father, pinching her cheek and laughing. "I will tell the great Council of Public Safety that they have been overruled by a maid."
"It will not be the first time," she retorted. "Their wives overrule them every day."
"I will ride all night to make it up," I suggested.
"Never mind, my boy," he replied, "you deserve a little holiday; you need not leave Annapolis until nightfall, and Kent the following night, which will give you a chance to see your mother again. There, I hope this little minx will give me some peace now."
The treaty was quickly sealed by a kiss, and Mistress Polly ran off to give the order for the coach-and-four, for the races began at one o'clock and the course was a short distance out of the city.
There soon came a clatter of hoofs, a rattle, a slam and a bang, a whoaing, a yelling, and a confusion of noises.