“I was the limner,” replied Charles.
“What clanker have we here?” exclaimed the squire.
“’T is no lie, Mr. Meredith,” answered the servant. “In England I’ve drawn many a face, and ’t was even said in jest that I might be a poor devil of an artist if ever I quitted the ser—quitted service.”
“And where got ye the colours?”
“When I went to Princeton with the shoats I found Mr. Peale painting Dr. Witherspoon, and he gave me the paints and the ivory.”
“Ye’ll say I suppose too that ye wrote this,” demanded the squire, indicating the letter.
“I’ll not deny it.”
“Though ye could not sign the covenant?”
Fownes once more shrugged his shoulders. “’T is a fool would sign a bond,” he asserted.
“Better a fool than a knave,” retorted Mr. Meredith, angered by Charles’ manner. “Janice, give the rogue back the letter and picture. No daughter of Lambert Meredith accepts gifts from her father’s bond-servants.”