The militia colonel, who had been offended by the first part of the talk, and very much puzzled by the last, had taken a modest draught from the great china bowl of apple-toddy which stood to welcome the guests in this as in all Virginian houses, and was further cooling himself by pacing the balcony in a very stately manner.
Again almost reconciled with the elder, the appeased mother stood giving a hand to each of her sons. George put his disengaged hand on Harry's shoulder. “I say one thing, George,” says he with a flushing face.
“Say twenty things, Don Enrico,” cries the other.
“If you are not fond of sporting and that, and don't care for killing game and hunting, being cleverer than me, why shouldst thou not stop at home and be quiet, and let me go out with Colonel George and Mr. Braddock?—that's what I say,” says Harry, delivering himself of his speech.
The widow looked eagerly from the dark-haired to the fair-haired boy. She knew not from which she would like to part.
“One of our family must go because honneur oblige, and my name being number one, number one must go first,” says George.
“Told you so,” said poor Harry.
“One must stay, or who is to look after mother at home? We cannot afford to be both scalped by Indians or fricasseed by French.”
“Fricasseed by French!” cries Harry; “the best troops of the world! Englishmen! I should like to see them fricasseed by the French!—What a mortal thrashing you will give them!” and the brave lad sighed to think he should not be present at the battue.
George sate down to the harpsichord and played and sang “Malbrouk s'en va-t-en guerre, Mironton, mironton, mirontaine,” at the sound of which music the gentleman from the balcony entered. “I am playing 'God save the King,' Colonel, in compliment to the new expedition.”