On a pleasant afternoon Lord Upperton was once more ushered into the Newville mansion. Mrs. Newville being absent, he was graciously received by Ruth.

“I had such a delightful time in your hospitable home, Miss Newville, the other evening, that I could no longer refrain from paying my respects.”

“It is certainly very kind of you, my lord.”

“I cannot tell you how delighted I was when you told me about your recreations. How charming it must be to go riding in a pung, with a lot of ladies and gentlemen. I was wondering if I could not get up a pung-ride.”

“We only do that in winter, when snow is on the ground, my lord,” Ruth replied, hardly able to repress a smile.

“Oh, dear me! how stupid I am! Of course not,” and his lordship laughed heartily at his blunder.

“Do you not have snow in London, my lord?”

“Yes, sometimes; but then we haven’t any pungs. I don’t know what they are. Maybe they are a sort of hackney or chariot?”

“We have no hackney coaches here, as yet, my lord, but Mr. Hancock and the governor and a few of our citizens have coaches. A pung is not at all like a coach. It is, instead, a sort of box on runners.”

“Oh, indeed, how interesting!”

“May I ask, my lord, what recreations you have in London?”

“We have quite a variety, I assure you, Miss Newville. We have card parties, where we play high or low, just as we feel. We have assemblies, where we tittle-tattle and gossip. We gentlemen lay bets on the winning horse at the next Derby. We go to Drury Lane or Covent Garden, and clap our hands at the acting of Davy Garrick or Jimmy Quin. At the opera we go wild when Mademoiselle Truffi soars like a nightingale up to high C. We dance at balls, array ourselves as harlequins and imps at masquerades, and see who can carry off the most bottles of port or sherry at dinner,” said his lordship, again laughing.

“Are you not jesting, my lord?”

“Oh no, Miss Newville; I am telling you sober truth. It is not exaggeration at all. For instance, the masquerade which the Duke and Duchess of Richmond gave on the king’s last birthday was so gay that I can hardly hope to picture it. The duke’s villa is on the banks of the Thames. The willows, elms, and oaks in the park were hung with lanterns, the house was all ablaze—lights in every room. Dukes, duchesses, earls, barons, lords, and ladies—more than six hundred—assembled in masquerade dress. The Duchess of Hamilton and Argyle was hostess. She appeared as Night, with a black trailing robe illuminated with silver stars, while her father was dressed as a footman, with the portrait of his other daughter dangling from a ribbon tied to a button of his jacket.”

“Was it not rather out of character for a man old enough to be grave and dignified to take such a part?” Miss Newville asked.

“Perhaps so, but then we are expected to do absurd things in masquerade. Her grace the Duchess of Richmond, for instance, appeared as the Sultana of Persia, in a costume purchased in the bazaar of Bagdad. The Duchess of Grafton displayed her charms as Cleopatra. Now when we remember that Egypt and the Orient have a climate in which a person can get along without any great amount of clothing, it really does seem somewhat absurd for a lady, in a country with a climate like that of England, to attempt to imitate in dress, or undress, that celebrated queen of the East.”

Lord Upperton laughed again. “Miss Fitzroy,” he continued, “undertook to represent the Sultana of Turkey. If I remember rightly, she appeared in baggy silk trousers, high-heeled pink slippers, crimson jacket, embroidered with gold, and a white turban. Her bewitching eyes peeped through two holes in a muslin yashmak spangled with silver stars. Among the gentlemen I recall Lord Augustus Hervey, who disguised himself so completely as a jester that no one could make out who he was. He said saucy things as a court fool. He even guyed his own wife, and she never mistrusted she was flirting with her own husband, but then, as she was ready to flirt with anybody, it made no difference.”

Miss Newville hardly knew what reply to make as his lordship laughed again, and so remained silent.

“May I ask what character Lord Upperton assumed,” she asked.

“Oh, certainly. I appeared as a young devil, with hoofs, horns, and a forked tail. His satanic majesty, you know, is supposed to whisper things in people’s ears, and you may be sure I acted out the character I assumed. I did it so well that Lady Lucy Hastings said I was a perfect imp of darkness.”

“Have you any other recreations?” Miss Newville inquired.

“Oh, yes, a great many. One diversion I am sure would charm you,—the club at Almack’s, in which the ladies nominate gentlemen to membership and gentlemen the ladies. Only a few days before leaving London I attended a grand masquerade ball at Almack’s, where my Lady Archer appeared as a boy wearing a postman’s blue coat. Lord Edgecombe assumed the character of an old washerwoman. Sir Watkins Wynne rode into the hall on a goat, assuming the character of holy Saint David. The goat, more accustomed to browse in the pastures than take part in such high jinks, frightened by the blare of trumpets, the scraping of fiddles, and the whisking of the ladies’ skirts as they went round in the dance, capered like mad, butted my Lady Winchester so that she fell flat upon the floor, upset holy Saint David, and kept the room in an uproar until a waiter seized the animal by the horns and another by the tail and led him from the hall.”

Lord Upperton roared with laughter, and Miss Newville could but join him in the merriment.

“It was a picturesque scene, I assure you, with peddlers, haymakers, shepherdesses, gypsies, chimney-sweeps, and nymphs,” his lordship said.

“May I ask, my lord, what a masquerade is supposed to represent?” Miss Newville inquired.

“Well, really now, I never thought of it. I suppose it means something, but just what, upon my soul, I cannot tell you, except to have a jolly good time and appear to be what we are not.”

“Are such masquerade balls usually attended by noble lords and ladies?”

“Oh, yes. They are almost the exclusive patrons. I attended one a little while ago at Carlisle House. It was intended the king and queen should be patrons. Tickets were sent to his most gracious majesty, and, of course, there was a great crush. The king and queen returned the tickets, but everybody else was there. I remember that the Duke of Cleveland appeared as Henry VIII.; the Duke of Gloucester as a fine old English gentleman; the Duchess of Buccleugh as the Witch of Endor; Lady Edgecombe as a nun; the Duchess of Bolton as the goddess Diana; Lady Stanhope as Melopomene; the Countess of Waldegrave as Jane Shore; Lord Galway’s daughter, Mrs. Monckton, as an Indian princess, in a golden robe, embroidered with diamonds, opals, and pearls worth thirty thousand pounds. One of the gentlemen came as a Swiss ballad-singer with a hurdy-gurdy, leading a tame bear with a muzzle on his nose. He had been stopped by the gate-keeper, because he had only a ticket and a half—the half ticket for the bear; but it being a she-bear and ladies being admitted at half price, the hurdy-gurdy man won the day. Everybody laughed and said it was the best joke of the season.”

Lord Upperton saw a troubled look upon Miss Newville’s face, as if she had heard quite enough about masquerades.

“The recreations of court life, I would not have you think, Miss Newville, are masquerades and balls, and nothing else. We have suppers which are quite different affairs, where we do not try to be what we are not. After the theatres are out we go to the banquet halls, where wine and wit flow together. We gossip, sing songs, and flirt with the Macaroni ladies. The opera girls sing to us if they are not too tipsy, and we have gay larks till the wagons begin to rumble around Covent Garden Market, and the greengrocers are displaying their onions and cabbages for the early morning sale.”

“Who are the Macaroni ladies?” Miss Newville asked.

Lord Upperton laughed.

“I don’t wonder that you inquire. We call them Macaronies, ladies and gentlemen alike, who have traveled on the Continent, flirted at Versailles, in Paris, or in the Palace Barberini in Rome; who have eaten macaroni in Naples, and who have come home with all the follies, to say nothing of some of the vices of the nobility of other countries, in addition to what they had before they started on their travels. The gentlemen wear their hair in long curls; the ladies patch and paint their faces. If they haven’t a pimple or a wart they make one. They wear gorgeous dresses. The gentlemen twiddle canes ornamented with dogs’ heads or eagles’ beaks, with gold tassels; carry attar of rose bottles in their gloved hands, and squirt rosewater on their handkerchiefs. They ogle the ladies through their quizzing glasses, wear high-heeled slippers, and diddle along on their toes like a French dancing-master teaching his pupils the minuet. The ladies simper and giggle and wink at the gentlemen from behind their fans, and leave you to imagine something they don’t say.”

Again Lord Upperton saw a troubled look upon Miss Newville’s face.

“We have convivial parties,” he continued. “If you like cards, you can try your hand at winning or losing. We play for fifty-pound rouleaux. There is always a great crowd, and not infrequently you may see ten thousand pounds on the table. Some play small; others plunge in regardless of consequences. My young friend, Lord Stravendale, before he was of age, one night lost eleven thousand pounds, but nothing daunted he played again, and as luck would have it got it all back at one hazard. He lamented he had not made the stakes larger, and said if he had been playing deep he might have made a million. It was really very clever in Stravendale.”

Again his lordship laughed, but Miss Newville could not see anything in the narrative to cause her to smile.

“There is Charley Fox,” Lord Upperton continued, “who goes in rather strong. He makes grand speeches in the Commons; but almost always gets fleeced at Almack’s. The Jews, who are usually on hand in one of the outside rooms with their shekels, waiting to lend money, charge exorbitant interest. Charley calls it the Jerusalem Chamber. Sometimes he gets completely cleaned out, and has to borrow a guinea to pay the waiter who brings him his brandy. One night at the beginning he won eight thousand pounds, but before morning lost the last sixpence.”

“Do ladies play?” Miss Newville asked.

“Certainly; they love gaming as well as the men. Her royal highness the Duchess of Cumberland not long ago set up card playing and gaming in her drawing-rooms. Her sister, Lady Elizabeth Lutterell, is one of the best gamesters in London. It is whispered, though, that she cheats on the sly. Lady Essex gives grand card parties, where there is high gaming. One lady, whom I know, lost three thousand guineas at loo. It is whispered that two ladies, not long since, had high words at one of Lady Essex’s parties; that they rode out to St. Pancras and fought a duel with pistols, and that one was wounded; which shows that our noble women have real grit.”

“Is what you are saying a fair picture of life among the nobility?” Ruth asked.

“I would not have you think, Miss Newville, that everybody of noble birth or high position is a gambler, but every one who plays, of course, wants a stake of some kind.”

“Pardon me, my lord, but I do not see any fun in losing money in the way you speak of.”

“Well, perhaps there isn’t any fun in losing, but it is real jolly when you win. It is like drinking wine; it warms you up.”

“Do you have any other recreations equally attractive and delightful?” Miss Newville inquired.

“We have gay times at the Derby during the races. Of course you have felt the excitement of a horse-race, Miss Newville?”

“No, for we do not have horse-racing here; but I believe they do in Virginia.”

“No racing! I am astonished. Are not your people rather slow?”

“We have few diversions, my lord; we do not win money by racing.”

“You can have no conception of what a grand sight it is. Everybody goes to the Derby—dukes, lords, bishops, rectors, ladies, and gentlemen. Before the race begins, we have our lunch parties. All are eating, talking, laughing, or laying bets. The horses come out from their stalls with the jockey boys in red, green, blue, and yellow, in their saddles. They draw lots to see which shall have the inside, then go down the track a little distance. The horses understand what they are to do just as well as we who stake our money. They sniff the air, step lightly, then break into a run, and everybody is on tiptoe. In a moment they are down to the first turn, and come in full view. There are four, perhaps, neck and neck. You have staked, say, on yellow. He loses half a length, and your heart goes down: but he gains a little, is up even once more—half a length ahead, and you yell and double your stakes. They are round the second turn, going like a whirlwind; yellow and blue are ahead of the others, neck and neck.

“‘Two to one on yellow!’ you shout.

“‘I’ll take it!’ roars Lord Pilkington.

“‘Two to one on blue!’ he shouts back.

“‘Put me down for it!’ you answer.

“They are on the home run. There is a great hubbub, like the roaring of a tornado, as they sweep under the line, yellow ahead. You swing your hat, and yell as loud as you can. You are ten thousand in. Oh, it is just the jolliest excitement a man can have!”

“If you win, my lord, does not somebody else lose?”

“Of course, Miss Newville.”

“Do they feel equally jolly?”

“Possibly not. Sometimes we are out of pocket, and do not feel quite so hilarious, but we swallow a stiff nipper of brandy and draw our checks like men. I won five thousand from Lord Pilkington, three thousand from Lady Merryfield, and quite a number of one hundred pounders from the ladies of my set, who bet on the blue, while I planked mine on the yellow. You see, Miss Newville, that ladies are sometimes influenced by fancy. Lady Somers, for instance, allowed fancy to get the better of judgment. She likes blue as a color, above yellow. She is quite horsey, and thinks she can drive a tandem. I had examined blue, felt of his muscles, and made up my mind that by and by he would have ringbone on his left fore leg. I believed that yellow had the best wind and bottom; but the ladies followed the lead of Lady Somers, and so I raked in their shekels. They all ponied up promptly, though, and paid their outs, like true-born English ladies.”

“I do not think,” said Miss Newville, “that I should like to lose or win money in that way.”

“Why, Miss Newville, once get into it, and you would say it is the most delightful sport in the world. If you think, however, that you would not like to participate in such pleasures, we have the fox hunt, which is the most charming and innocent diversion imaginable. You don’t bet any money in that, but have a rollicking good time riding over the country, ladies and gentlemen—leaping hedges and ditches, following the hounds, running Reynard to cover, and having a lunch at the close of the hunt.”

“Foxes are plentiful in this country, but we do not run them down with horses,” Miss Newville replied.

“Do ladies ride horseback in the Colonies?”

“Oh, yes. Were you to attend meeting in the country on the Sabbath, you would see many ladies riding up to the horse-block, wives on pillions behind their husbands. Do the ladies who hunt foxes attend meeting on the Sabbath, my lord?”

“Ha, ha! I suspect what you call going to meeting, with us is going to church. Oh, we are very devout. On Sunday we all go to church, kneel on our hassocks, and confess we are miserable sinners, recite the creed, pray for the king, queen, Prince of Wales, the army and navy. We do our full duty as Christians, and are loyal to the church, as well as to his majesty. My rector, at Halford, is a very good man. To be sure the living isn’t much, but he reads the prayers well, preaches a nice little sermon of ten minutes or so, for he knows I don’t care to be bored by the hour. He enjoys a fox hunt, says grace at dinner, and makes a point of having a little game of cards with me Saturday evening. He doesn’t know much about cards, so I usually let him win a few shillings, knowing the poor fellow will feel better Sunday morning while reading the service if he knows he has a half-crown in his pocket, instead of being out that much. I know how it is, Miss Newville. I can be more devout and comfortable on Sunday after winning instead of losing five or ten thousand at Almack’s.”

“Perhaps, my lord, you feel you are not quite such a miserable sinner as you might be after all.”

“You have stated it correctly, Miss Newville,” his lordship replied, not discerning the quiet sarcasm. “Of course I am not, for if I lose, I curse my luck, and am ready to punch somebody’s head, and rip out some swear words, but if I win, I am ready to bless the other fellow for playing a king when he should have laid down an ace.”

His lordship apologized for having tarried so long, and took his departure.

“She’s a Puritan, through and through. As lovely and pure as an angel in heaven,” he said to himself as he walked down the street.

While the months were going by, Roger Stanley, student of Harvard College, was learning about life in Rumford, as a surveyor of land, spending his evenings in the house of Joshua Walden, with Robert and Rachel to keep him company, especially Rachel. He found pleasure in telling her the story of Ulysses and Penelope. Most of the young men of Rumford who came to the Walden home could only talk about oxen, which pair of steers could pull the heaviest load, or whose horse could out-trot all others. When the surveying was done, Roger accepted the invitation of the committeemen to keep the winter school. Never before had there been a master who could keep the big boys in order without using the ferule, but somehow the great strapping fellows, who might have put the master on his back in a twinkling, could not find it in their hearts to do anything that would trouble him. Other masters were content if they went through the regular daily stint of reading, writing, spelling, and ciphering, but he told them about men who made the most of themselves, and who had done great things,—CÆsar, Augustus, Charlemagne, Alfred the Great.

It was the schoolmaster who suggested that the people should meet once a week in the schoolhouse to discuss the great questions affecting the welfare of the Colonies, and who wrote out the questions to be considered:—

People from the back roads came to hear what Esquire Walden, Deacon Kent, Shoemaker Noyes, Blacksmith Temple, and Schoolmaster Stanley had to say upon these questions before the parliament of the people, in the schoolhouse, lighted by two tallow candles and the fire blazing on the hearth. King George and Frederick North might have learned some fundamental principles of government, had they been present.

Like sitting in heavenly places were the mornings and evenings to Roger Stanley in the Walden home, where he passed the first and the last two weeks of the term. The food upon the table was appetizing; deft hands had prepared the bannock—Rachel’s hands. The plates, knives, and forks had been laid by her. It was she who glided like a fairy around the room. How could his eyes help following her? And when seated at the table, how radiant her face, beaming with health! In the early morning, long before breakfast-time, he heard her feet tripping down the stairs. While about her work, he could hear her humming a song which he had sung to her. Very pleasant the “good-morning” that came from her lips when he appeared. In the evening it was a pleasure to hold a skein of yarn for her to wind. He was sorry when the last thread dropped from his wrists, and wished she had another for him to hold.

It was the old, old story; the growth of mutual respect, honor, and love, becoming daily more tender and true; the love that needed no pledge, because it was so deep and abiding.