The children, only too delighted to escape, rushed forth with whoops and hoots, demanding to be shown their hero, General Gates. Sir Lupus looked after them sardonically.
"We're a race o' glory--mongers these days," he said. "Gad, I never thought to see offspring o' mine chasing the drums! Look at 'em now! Ruyven hunting about Tryon County for a Hessian to knock him in the head; Cecile sitting in rapture with every cornet or ensign who'll notice her; the children yelling for Lafayette and Washington; Dorothy, here, playing at Donna Quixota, and you starting for Stillwater to teach that fool, Gates, how to catch Burgoyne. Set an ass to catch an ass--eh, George?--"
He stopped, his small eyes twinkling with a softer light.
"I suppose you want me to go," he said.
We did not reply.
"Oh, I'm going," he added, fretfully; "I'm no company for a pair o' heroes, a colonel, and--"
"Touching the colonelcy," I said, "I want to make it plain that I shall refuse the promotion. I did nothing; the confederacy was split by Magdalen Brant, not by me; I did nothing at Oriskany; I cannot understand how General Schuyler should think me deserving of such promotion. And I am ashamed to take it when such men as Arnold are passed over, and such men as Schuyler are slighted--"
"Folderol! What the devil's this?" bawled Sir Lupus. "Do you think you know more than your superior officers--hey? You're a colonel, George. Let well enough alone, for if you make a donkey of yourself, they'll make you a major-general!"
With a spasmodic effort he got on his feet, seized glass and pipe, and waddled out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
In the ringing silence a charred log broke and fell in a shower of sparks, tincturing the air with the perfume of sweet birch smoke.