“Elisha! Indeed!” exclaimed Martha, letting drop the cake she was rolling in her hands. “Oh! how glad I am. Haven’t seen the dear boy for an age.” Then away she flew to make ready for her lover, or rather for one of her lovers. And now, while the girl is putting on another gown, let us speak a few words about the horseman who is approaching.
Elisha Williams was a young man of five-and-twenty, with sandy hair and blue eyes, and whose father owned a farm half a mile east of the inn. He and Martha had been friends from childhood, and when at length the time came for him to think of matrimony there was no lass whom he desired more for his wife than Martha.
She was a girl after his own heart: not demure and timid and silent as a tombstone, but brave and full of fun; he had even known her to pursue and kill a rattlesnake; and she was as fond of a horse as he was himself.
When news came of the fight at Lexington Elisha openly took the patriot side, bought Dolly Dumplings of Martha’s father (a mare so given to kicking and jumping fences that, although of unstained pedigree, Uncle Pete was fain to part with her), and now he is one of the most daring troopers in the Continental army, and is known far and wide as The Flying Scout.
But Elisha was not the only one who courted Martha. He had a rival named Harry Valentine, son of Doctor Valentine, the most notorious Tory in East Chester; and this caused Elisha not a little anxiety. For, although Martha always received him very cordially when he paid her one of his flying visits, and seemed pleased to hear of his exploits, she never would listen when he said anything harsh of the Tories.
Elisha’s heart was beating quite as fast as her own when presently he reined in his foaming steed before the tavern door. Martha was standing on the threshold, looking, in his eyes, never so bewitching. Between her fingers she held a lump of sugar for Dolly Dumplings—she seemed to care only for Dolly; her long, luxuriant brown hair, which flowed loose down her shoulders, had a spray of wild honeysuckle twined through it—you might have fancied she had been wandering through the woods, and that the flowers had got tangled there by accident. Her cheeks were slightly tinged by the sun; but what of it? They were plump, healthy cheeks, adorned by two pretty dimples; and Elisha, who loved cherries, felt his mouth water when he looked on Martha’s lips.
“How is my Martha?” he exclaimed, sliding nimbly off the saddle.
“Your Martha, indeed!” answered the girl, tossing her head; then with a smile, as he caught both her hands: “Well, I’m alive and well, and—”
“Not at all pleased to see me, eh?” interrupted Elisha.
“Delighted to see you,” she added, a sweet pink blush spreading itself with the quickness of light over her face.