“You have added to your house since I was here, Captain,” remarked Bradford, pausing at the top of the bluff to regard the scene before him.
“Yes. We had to make room for the young couple, and while we were about it, I pleased myself with shaping a sort of fortalice that’s long been in my mind, and the rather that I forebode trouble with the Indians before many years. Hobomok is uneasy, and if the Dutch hanker too greedily for our roasted chestnuts they’ll like enough thrust in a red man’s paw to scratch them out.”
“Why, what hath Hobomok learned? We should know as soon as you, Captain.”
“Oh, there’s no cut-and-dried story to tell, or I would surely have carried it to you, and as it is, I shall offer some good advice to you at Plymouth; but one thing at a time, Will, and to-night we’re at a wedding and not at a council. Think you not ’t is a pretty notion of a fortified cottage?”
“Why, yes”—began the governor, but the soldier eagerly interrupted him, pointing out, with the professional pride of an engineer, how the two parallelograms of the building, so placed as to form two sides of an irregular triangle, inclosed a court or corral closed on the third side by a high stockade. Into this the livestock could be driven, and the farm utensils and other outdoor property secured, at very brief notice, while portholes, cunningly masked, commanded not only the approach to this corral, but to the only outside door of the house, placed at the junction of the two parallelograms, one of which slightly overlapped the other. Three substantial chimneys, two in the southern and one in the northern wing of the house, promised domestic comfort amid all this warlike defense, and beneath the white-curtained casements cottage flowers bravely bloomed, and tossed their heads in saucy security.
“We keep the southern front for ourselves,” remarked Myles with his grim smile. “Old folks need the sun to warm their sluggish blood, but these youngsters can make their own summer, for a while at least.”
“Nay, you’ve lent them some sunshine at the east end of their wing, and well do I hope they’ll lend you some of the summer of their joy, Myles.” So spoke the governor, looking shrewdly into the face of his old friend; but he, avoiding the glance, slightly shrugged his shoulders, muttering,—
“He who lives will see,” and led the way into the house.
The brief and bald civil service soon was said, the hearty salutes bestowed, and the sturdy handshaking over; then Governor Bradford, with an air at once paternal and courtly, led the bride to the head of the principal table, and the feast, upon which the skill of a select committee of our old friends had expended itself, began. But too many feasts have been described, and I dare not tell of the glories of this, save only of the great wedding-cake, with its choice frostwork of flowers and foliage, shaped by Betty Pabodie’s nimble fingers,—a cake to be carved with much ceremony, and amid much mirth and jubilation, by the bride’s own hand, with the gold ring hidden somewhere amid its sweets for the next bride, and the toy half of a scissors for the man doomed to be an old bachelor.
But at last all was over; the hunter’s moon, whose culmination had fixed the date of the wedding, hung glorious in heaven, shedding almost the light of day; the neighbors’ horses were saddled and pillioned, and the boats of those who came from farther afield were manned and ready; Alice Bradford, muffling herself in cloak and hood for the voyage, was changing a last word with Priscilla and Barbara, while sweet Alice Richards, her daughter-in-law, was deep in baby lore with Betty Pabodie, and the governor and the captain outside the door were by chance left for a moment quite alone. Turning by a common impulse—one of those impulses we all have felt compelling us to undreamed-of action,—they faced each other and grasped hands.