“Why, dame, ’tis a coil, for you to unravel if thou canst. Betty told you, mayhap, of the prisoner the Indians brought in.”
“Yes?”
“Well, the governor and the captain and Hobomok are off to the woods after deer, and not yet home, and Dame Bradford and her sister are in the woods looking for wintergreen and sassafras for the spring beer the dame makes so famously after thy recipe”—
“Nay, she makes it better than I,” interrupted Priscilla, replying to her husband’s proud smile. “Well?”
“So Christian Penn would not let me leave the savages and the captive there, for the Indians couldn’t, and the white man wouldn’t, speak a word of English, and so”—
“You brought them home, goodman?”
“Why yes; how did you know that, Priscilla?”
“By art magic. Where are they now?”
“I left them in the cowshed until I knew thy mind about it, wife.”