One o' these dandies had her ball of wool, and was a-winding of it as he sat cross-legged on the turf, a silly, happy look on his beardless face.
Another was busy writing on a large sheet of paper,—verses, no doubt!—for he seemed vastly pleased with his progress, and I saw her look at him shyly under her dark lashes, and could have slain him for the smirk he rendered. Also, it did not please me that her petticoat was short and revealed her ankles and slim feet in silver-buckled shoon.
I was near; I could hear their voices, their light laughter; and, rarely, her voice in reply to some pointed gallantry or jest.
None had perceived me advancing among the trees, nor now noticed me where I was halted there in the checkered sunshine.
But, as I stirred and moved forward, the girl turned her head, caught a glimpse of me and my painted Indian, stared in silence, then slid from her perch and stood up on the grass, her needles motionless.
All the young popinjays got to their feet, and all stared as I offered them the salute of rank; but all rendered it politely.
"Lieutenant of Rangers Drogue to report to Major Westfall," said I bluntly, in reply to a Continental Captain's inquiry.
"Yonder, sir, on the porch with Lady Johnson," said he.
I bared my head, then, and walked to Penelope. She curtsied: I bent to her hand.
"Are you well, my lord?" she asked in a colourless voice, which chilled me again for its seeming lack of warmth.