“Well,” he said, “what coil is this?” For we were bloody, and hot with fight and wrath, and our garments in very sad disorder.
Friend Forest very quietly related our story, and made much of his own share in the renewal of our battle. To my surprise, my father smiled.
“It seems plain,” he said, “that the lads were not to blame. But how wilt thou answer to the Meeting, Rupert Forest?”
“To it, to thee, to any man,” said the Quaker.
“It is but a month ago that thy case was before Friends because of thy having beaten Friend Wain’s man. It will go ill with thee—ill, I fear.”
“And who is to spread it abroad?”
“Not I,” said my father.
“I knew that,” returned the Friend, simply. “I am but a jack-in-the-box Quaker, John. I am in and out in a moment, and then I go back and repent.”
“Let us hope so. Go to thy mother, Hugh; and as to thee, John Warder, wait until I send with thee a note to thy father. There are liquors on the table, Friend Forest.”
My mother set us in order, and cried a little, and said: