are a good comrade; welcome to Varicks', cousin Ormond!"
Our hands fell apart, and, glancing up, I perceived a group of youthful barbarians on the stairs, intently watching us. As my eyes fell on them they scattered, then closed in together defiantly. A red-haired lad of seventeen came down the steps, offering his hand awkwardly.
"I'm Ruyven Varick," he said. "These girls are fools to bait men of our age–" He broke off to seize Dorothy by the arm. "Give me that watch, you vixen!"
His sister scornfully freed her arm, and Ruyven stood sullenly clutching a handful of torn lace.
"Why don't you present us to our cousin Ormond?" spoke up a maid of sixteen.
"Who wants to make your acquaintance?" retorted Ruyven, edging again towards his sister.
I protested that I did; and Dorothy, with mock empressement, presented me to Cecile Butler, a slender, olive-skinned girl with pretty, dark eyes, who offered me her hand to kiss in such determined manner that I bowed very low to cover my smile, knowing that she had witnessed my salute to my cousin Dorothy and meant to take nothing less for herself.
"And those boys yonder are Harry Varick and Sam Butler, my cousins," observed Dorothy, nonchalantly relapsing into barbarism to point them out separately with her pink-tipped thumb; "and that lad on the stairs is Benny. Come on, we're to throw hunting-knives for pennies. Can you?–but of course you can."
I looked around at my barbarian kin, who had produced hunters' knives from recesses in their clothing, and now gathered impatiently around Dorothy, who appeared to be the leader in their collective deviltries.
"All the same, that watch is mine," broke out Ruyven, defiantly. "I'll leave it to our cousin Ormond–" but Dorothy cut in: "Cousin, it was done in this manner: father lost his timepiece, and the law is that whoever finds things about the house may keep them. So we all ran to the porch where father had fallen off his horse last night, and I think we all saw it at the same time; and I, being the older and stronger–"
"You're not the stronger!" cried Sam and Harry, in the same breath.
"I," repeated Dorothy, serenely, "being not only older than Ruyven by a year, but also stronger than you all together, kept the watch, spite of your silly clamor–and mean to keep it."
"Then we matched shillings for it!" cried Cecile.
"It was only fair; we all discovered it," explained Dorothy. "But Ruyven matched with a Spanish piece where the date was under the reverse, and he says he won. Did he, cousin?"
"Mint-dates always match!" said Ruyven; "gentlemen of our age understand that, Cousin George, don't we?"
"Have I not won fairly?" asked Dorothy, looking at me. "If I have not, tell me."
With that, Sam Butler and Harry set up a clamor that they and Cecile had been unfairly dealt with, and all appealed to me until, bewildered, I sat down on the stairs and looked wistfully at Dorothy.
"In Heaven's name, cousins, give me something to eat and drink before you bring your lawsuits to me for judgment," I said.
"Oh," cried Dorothy, biting her lip, "I forgot. Come with me, cousin!" She seized a bell-rope and rang it furiously, and a loud gong filled the hall with its brazen din; but nobody came.
"Where the devil are those blacks?" said Dorothy, biting off her words with a crisp snap that startled me more than her profanity. "Cato! Where are you, you lazy–"
"Ahm hyah, Miss Dorry," came a patient voice from the kitchen stairs.
"Then bring something to eat–bring it to the gun-room instantly–something for Captain Ormond–and a bottle of Sir Lupus's own claret–and two glasses–"
"Three glasses!" cried Ruyven.
"Four!" "Five!" shouted Harry and Cecile.
"Six!" added Samuel; and little Benny piped out, "Theven!"
"Then bring two bottles, Cato," called out Dorothy.
"I want some small-beer!" protested Benny.
"Oh, go suck your thumbs," retorted Ruyven, with an elder brother's brutality; but Dorothy ordered the small-beer, and bade the negro hasten.
"We all mean to bear you company, Cousin," said Ruyven, cheerfully, patting my arm for my reassurance; and truly I lacked something of assurance among these kinsmen of mine, who appeared to lack none.
"You spoke of me as Captain Ormond," I said, turning with a smile to Dorothy.
"Oh, it's all one," she said, gayly; "if you're not a captain now, you will be soon, I'll wager–but I'm not to talk of that before the children–"
"You may talk of it before me," said Ruyven. "Harry, take Benny and Sam and Cecile out of earshot–"
"Pooh!" cried Harry, "I know all about Sir John's new regiment–"
"Will you hush your head, you little fool!" cut in Dorothy. "Servants and asses have long ears, and I'll clip yours if you bray again!"
The jingling of glasses on a tray put an end to the matter; Cato, the black, followed by two more blacks, entered the hall bearing silver salvers, and at a nod from Dorothy we all trooped after them.
"Guests first!" hissed Dorothy, in a fierce whisper, as Ruyven crowded past me, and he slunk back, mortified, while Dorothy, in a languid voice and with the air of a duchess, drawled, "Your arm, cousin," and slipped her hand into my arm, tossing her head with a heavy-lidded, insolent glance at poor Ruyven.
And thus we entered the gun-room, I with Dorothy Varick on my arm, and behind me, though I was not at first aware of it, Harry, gravely conducting Cecile in a similar manner, followed by Samuel and Benny, arm-in-arm, while Ruyven trudged sulkily by himself.
III
COUSINS
There was a large, discolored table in the armory, or gun-room, as they called it; and on this, without a cloth, our repast was spread by Cato, while the other servants retired, panting and grinning like over-fat hounds after a pack-run.
And, by Heaven! they lacked nothing for solid silver, my cousins the Varicks, nor yet for fine glass, which I observed without appearance of vulgar curiosity while Cato carved a cold joint of butcher's roast and cracked the bottles of wine–a claret that perfumed the room like a garden in September.
"Cousin Dorothy, I have the honor to raise my glass to you," I said.
"I drink your health, Cousin George," she said, gravely–"Benny, let that wine alone! Is there no small-beer there, that you go coughing and staining your bib over wine forbidden? Take his glass away, Ruyven! Take it quick, I say!"
Benny, deprived of his claret, collapsed moodily into a heap, and sat swinging his legs and clipping the table, at every kick of his shoon, until my wine danced in my glass and soiled the table.
"Stop that, you!" cried Cecile.
Benny subsided, scowling.
Though Dorothy was at some pains to assure me that they had dined but an hour before, that did not appear to blunt their appetites. And the manner in which they drank astonished me, a glass of wine being considered
