By now every man had dismounted, and the valley was ringing with the
merriment of the jovial crew. The negroes led the horses down the stream,
lightened them of saddle and bridle, and left them tethered to saplings
beneath which the grass grew long and green. The rangers gathered fallen
wood, and kindled two mighty fires, while the gentlemen of the party threw
themselves down beside the stream, upon a little grassy rise shadowed by a
huge sugar-tree. A mound of turf, flanked by two spreading roots, was the
Governor's chair of state, and Alce and Molly he must needs seat beside
him. Not one of his gay company but seemed an adept in the high-flown
compliment of the age; out of very idleness and the mirth born of that
summer hour they followed his Excellency's lead, and plied the two simple
women with all the wordy ammunition that a tolerable acquaintance with the
mythology of the ancients and the polite literature of the present could
furnish. The mother and daughter did not understand the fine speeches, but
liked them passing well. In their lonely lives, a little thing made
conversation for many and many a day. As for these golden hours,--the
jingle and clank and mellow laughter, the ruffles and gold buttons and
fine cloth, these gentlemen, young and handsome, friendly-eyed,
silver-tongued, the taste of wine, the taste of flattery, the sunshine
that surely was never yet so bright,--ten years from now they would still
be talking of these things, still wishing that such a day could come
again.
The negroes were now busy around the fires, and soon the cheerful odor of
broiling meat rose and blended with the fragrance of the forest. The
pioneer, hospitably minded, beckoned to the four Meherrins, and hastening
with them to the patch of waving corn, returned with a goodly lading of
plump, green ears. A second foraging party, under guidance of the boy,
brought into the larder of the gentry half a dozen noble melons, golden
within and without. The woman whispered to the child, and the latter ran
to the cabin, filled her upgathered skirts with the loaves of her mother's
baking, and came back to the group upon the knoll beneath the sugar-tree.
The Governor himself took the bread from the little maid, then drew her
toward him.
"Thanks, my pretty one," he said, with a smile that for the moment quite
dispelled the expression of haughtiness which marred an otherwise comely
countenance. "Come, give me a kiss, sweeting, and tell me thy name."
The child looked at him gravely. "My name is Audrey," she answered, "and
if you eat all of our bread we'll have none for supper."