"Thou 'rt more than welcome, Priscilla."
"But why so grave upon 't, lad?"
"'The heart knoweth its own bitterness,' and mine hath no lack of bitter food, Priscilla."
"Nay, perhaps thou turn 'st sweet into bitter. A kind word to the brother of my gossip Jeanne"—
"Ah, that's not all, nor the worst. But there, I'll fetch thee some water from the spring." And seizing the bucket, the young man went hastily out, leaving Priscilla staring at the folded letter upon the table, while she half murmured,—
"Handsome Jacques with his quick wit and gentle breeding, and our brave Captain, the pink of knightly chivalry, and—John!"—
CHAPTER XVII.
AN INTERNATIONAL TREATY.
Priscilla's prophecy proved a true one, for hardly were the one-and-twenty men of the colony assembled around the table in the Common house to hold a final Council upon their new orders, than young Cooke came rapping at the door to announce that a large body of Indians had appeared on Watson's Hill, and seemed advancing on the village. The Council once more was hastily broken up, Carver only pausing to say with a glance around the circle,—