"We had fared but ill here in the colony had yon sachem surprised thee as effectually, Myles," laughed the governor as the little party climbed The Street, a long procession of jocund men, women, and children streaming after them, the joy of reunion and the flood of loving greetings sweeping away the conventional barriers wherein the Separatists attempted to imprison Nature.
"Ah! There are the elder's girls!" said Bradford, as they halted before his gate and looked back upon the busy street.
"Yes, Fear and Patience, sweet maids both of them," replied Alice.
"And those five merry Warren girls have found their father," said Barbara. "But he looks not over strong."
"No," replied the governor sadly. "He hath not grudged both to spend and to be spent for the common weal, and glad am I that his wife hath come to restrain his zeal. But come in, come in, dear friends, and Mistress Eaton, who cares for me and my house until I can purvey me another housekeeper, will make you welcome."
"I would not say nay to some breakfast, nor I think would you, maid Barbara, eh?" laughed Alice, and the governor's face clouded.
"I fear me there is but sorry cheer to set before you, dear friends," said he. "Mistress Eaton warned me last night that a few clams were all she had, or could compass, in her larder."
"Something was told aboard of a famine in the place," said Barbara quietly, "and I fancied it could do no harm to put some provant left over of my stores into a bag and carry it ashore. If none wanted it I could leave it hid, and—but here it is—the bag, Myles?"
"What, this sack I have tugged up the hill? All this, provision?"
"Ay, for the cook gave me a good bit of boiled beef, and a hen to boot."