Janice leaned forward and kissed the “great villain” on his soft nose, and then turned to find the general standing in the doorway watching her.
“I have not time to attend to your complaints, gentlemen,” he announced to the two esquires and the group of farmers, all of whom started forward at his appearance. “File your statements and claims with the commissary-general, and in due time they’ll receive attention.” Then he came toward his horse, and as he recognised the not easily forgotten face he uncovered. “I trust Miss Janice remembers me!” he said, a smile succeeding the careworn look of the previous moment, and added: “Had ye been kind, ye’d have kept that caress for the master.”
Janice coloured, but replied with a mixture of assurance and shyness: “Blueskin could not ask for it, but your Excellency—” Then she paused and coloured still more.
Washington laughed, and, stooping, kissed her hand. “Being a married man, must limit the amount of his yielding to temptation,” he said, finishing the sentence for the girl. “I would I were to have the honour of your company at dinner once more, but your friends, the British, will not give us the time. So I must mount and say farewell.”
Janice turned an eager face up to the general, as he swung himself into the saddle. “Oh, your Excellency,” she exclaimed below her breath, “dadda would think it very wicked of me, but I hope you’ll beat them!”
Washington’s face lighted up, and, leaning over, he once more kissed her hand. “Thank you for the wish, my child,” he said, and, giving Blueskin the spur, rode toward the river.
“If Philemon was only like his Excellency!” thought the girl.
XXVII
A CHECK TO THE ENEMY
There followed a weary hour of waiting, while first the carts, then the artillery, and finally the few hundred ill-clad, weary men filed off on the post-road. Before the rear-guard had begun its march, British regiments could be discerned across the river, and presently a battery came trotting down to the opposite shore, and a moment later the guns were in position to protect a crossing. This accomplished, a squadron of light dragoons rode into the water and struck boldly across, a number of boats setting out at the same moment, each laden with redcoats. While they were yet in mid-stream the Continental bugles sounded the retreat, and the last American regiment marched across the green and disappeared from view.
Owing to the fact that the coach had not been parked with the waggons, but had been brought to the tavern door, the baggage-train had moved off without it,—a circumstance, needless to say, which did not sadden the squire. It so happened that the vehicle had stopped immediately under the composite portrait sign-board of the inn; and no sooner was the last American regiment lost to view than the publican appeared, equipped with a paint-pot and brush, and, muttering an apology to the owner of the coach, now seated beside his wife and daughter on the box, he climbed upon the roof and, by a few crude strokes, altered the lettering from “Gen. George the Good into “King George the Good.” But he did not attempt to change the firm chin and the strong forehead the bondsman had added to the face.