A LOVE PHILTRE.
The last pniese had made his uncouth obeisance and departed, and busy hands were removing all signs of the late commotion in haste that the setting sun should find the village ready for its Sunday rest and peace, when Myles Standish suddenly presented himself before Priscilla Molines as she came up from the spring with a pile of wooden trenchers in her hands.
"Mistress Molines a word with you," began he with an unconscious imperiousness that at once aroused the girl's rebellious spirit.
"Nay, Captain, I am not of your train band, and your business must await my pleasure and convenience. Now, I am over busy."
"Nay, then, if I spoke amiss I crave your pardon, mistress, and had we more time I would beat my brains for some of the flowery phrases I used to hear among the court gallants who came to learn war in Flanders. But I also have business almost as weighty as thine and as little able to brook delay. So I pray you of your courtesy to set down your platters on this clean sod, and listen patiently to me for a matter of five minutes."
"I am listening, sir."
"Nay, put down the platters or let me put them down."
"Of what, mistress?"
"That I'm not often under thy orders, sir."