“Is it for this they call them wigwams?” cries naughty Miss Chew.
“Fie! fie!” says her mamma, while my aunt laughed merrily.
“A mere Potomac planter,” said Etherington, “‘pon my soul—and with such airs, as if they were gentlemen of the line.”
“Perhaps,” said my aunt, “they had not had your opportunities of knowing all grades of the service.”
The major flushed. “I have served the king as well as I know how, and I trust, madam, I shall have the pleasure to aid in the punishment of some of these insolent rebels.”
“May you be there to see, Hugh,” said my aunt, laughing.
Willing to make a diversion, Mrs. Chew said, “Let us defeat these Tories at the card-table, Gainor.”
“With all my heart,” said my aunt, glad of this turn in the talk.
“Come and give me luck, Hugh,” said Mrs. Ferguson. “What a big fellow you are! Your aunt must find you ruffles soon, and a steenkirk.”
With this I sat down beside her, and wondered to see how eager and interested they all became, and how the guineas and gold half-joes passed from one to another, while the gay Mrs. Ferguson, who was at the table with Mrs. Penn, Captain Wallace, and my aunt, gave me my first lesson in this form of industry.