"I'm not afraid," said Ruyven, reddening and glancing at me.
"Then I'll wrestle you."
Stung by the malice in her smile, Ruyven seized her.
"No, no! Not in these clothes!" she said, twisting to free herself. "Wait till I put on my buckskins. Don't use me so roughly, you tear my laced apron. Oh! you great booby!" And with a quick cry of resentment she bent, caught her brother, and swung him off his feet clean over her left shoulder slap on the grass.
"Silly!" she said, cheeks aflame. "I have no patience to be mauled." Then she laughed uncertainly to see him lying there, too astonished to get up.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
"Who taught you that hold?" he demanded, indignantly, scrambling to his feet. "I thought I alone knew that."
"Why, Captain Campbell taught you last week and ... I was at the window ... sewing," she said, demurely.
Ruyven looked at me, disgusted, muttering, "If I could learn things the way she does, I'd not waste time at King's College, I can tell you."
"You're not going to King's College, anyhow," said his sister. "York is full o' loyal rebels and Tory patriots, and father says he'll be damned if you can learn logic where all lack it."