“Nay, ‘tis nowt that,” answered the burly yeoman, as he stood awkwardly twirling his Monmouth cap on the end of his finger.
I saw that my jests were less amusing to him than to me; so putting off my jibing tone, I asked him seriously if aught were ailing in his household.
“Ay, ‘tis the friend of my wife.” He grinned with sheepish pleasure over the last word.
“Is that the unwed maid, Elizabeth Devon, of whom Master Pory spake?”
“Yes; her arm was hurt on the ship in the storm, and methinks it must have been ill-treated, for, in place of mending it grows ever worse; yet have we had a hard task to persuade her to see the leech, and even now am I come without her consent. I fear me she is o’er-headstrong; but my Kate will have nowt said to her save wi’ cap in hand, and she gives more attention to her friend than to her husband.”
“Well, well, that is but natural. Grumble not, Cary; but remember that thy courtship must be done after marriage, and be content to bear awhile with coolness.”
I took up my box as I spake, and we went out into the night together. As we walked through the town, I marvelled much that all should be changed of a sudden. ‘Twas no longer a camp, but a village. For good or evil, the first English homes had been planted here in the heart of the wilderness.
We stopped before Cary’s cottage, and I marked its shining neatness. The stepping-stone in front of the door was polished as smooth as marble, and the floor within, for all it was but of logs rudely smoothed with an axe, was clean and neatly set in order.
As I stepped into the kitchen, which served for hall and parlor and dining-room all in one, I was greeted by the mistress of the house with a deep-bobbing courtesy which brought her short skirt down over her bright stockings, and almost hid the high heels and pointed toes of her wedding slippers.