They were still sitting upon the block of stone. They had interlocked their arms, for mutual support, and then had fallen fast asleep, worn out with the long day and made weak by a longer fast.
“Good old beef-eaters,” said Adam, affectionately, and gently shaking them by the shoulders, he aroused them, got them on their feet and guided them out of the alley. By great good fortune, he came to a land-mark he remembered from his short sojourn in Boston, years before. With this as a bearing, he made good time to the Captain’s house. They met William Phipps at the gate, going forth to hunt them up.
“We have sauntered along,” said Adam, carelessly, “for such air as this is a tonic to the appetite.”
CHAPTER IV.
THE OPENING OF A VISTA.
For a man who had taken so much tonic, Adam had but indifferent relish for the savory and altogether comforting little dinner which Goodwife Phipps had kept all warm and waiting for the coming of her guests. His head was filled with love and with altercations between hope that Garde had meant this and fears that she might have meant that, and with conjuring up all her speeches and glances, till he could hardly have told whether he was afoot or horseback.
But if their leader neglected his opportunities, the beef-eaters made good the reputation for three, as swordsmen with knife and fork. Fortunately Goodwife Phipps had provided amply. But a fowl became a glistening skeleton; a hot meat-pie was represented at last by a dish that yawned like an empty chasm; a pyramid of Indian maize became a scattered wreckage of cobs, and potatoes, bread and pudding vanished into mere memories of what they once had been.
Adam, although he said nothing, talked like an auctioneer, during the meal, to divert what he could of the attention which his retinue perforce attracted to their appetites. This innocent ruse was not lost on the charming little wife of William Phipps. She was a sweet little woman, plump, black-haired, brown-eyed and gifted by Nature with much vivacity, in her wit and in her engaging manners. She was older than her husband, having been the widow of one merchant Hull, when she and the Captain wedded. They were a happy couple, being indeed un-Puritanly joyous in their partnership. She had taken a great liking to Adam, when Phipps first brought him home. Now that he was a man, she liked him none the less, yet she saw that he would always be a big, straightforward boy. She watched him now with pleasure, listening to his quips and sallies of nonsense, and nodding motherly at his evident concern for his two forlorn beef-eaters, so obviously attached to him by ties of affection.
The dinner being at length come to an end, with great satisfaction to all concerned, Adam counseled the expanded beef-eaters to fare to the Crow and Arrow, lest in their absence anything befall to prevent their occupancy of the selected apartments. As nothing was to be had to drink where they were, the worthy two were glad to act upon his suggestion. Accordingly Adam and his hosts were left to themselves, whereupon they fell upon a banquet of narrative and reminiscence forthwith.
“Now, Adam, tell us all about where you have been, and what you have done, and all about everything,” said Mrs. Phipps, putting her plump elbows on the table, which she had swiftly cleared of the dinner wreckage. “Just begin at the day you left, with William, and tell us all there is. But tell us first, have you fallen in love? Of course you must have, but I do hope you will like one of our own girls best.”