Audrey

"When you have written that which I have told you to write, say so,

Audrey," he commanded. "Don't sit there staring at nothing!"

Audrey came back to the present with a start, took up a pen, and drew the

standish nearer. "'Answer of Gideon Darden, Minister of Fair View Parish,

in Virginia, to the several Queries contained in my Lord Bishop of

London's Circular Letter to the Clergy in Virginia,'" she read, and poised

her pen in air.

"Read out the questions," ordered Darden, "and write my answer to each in

the space beneath. No blots, mind you, and spell not after the promptings

of your woman's nature."

Going to a side table, be mixed for himself, in an old battered silver

cap, a generous draught of bombo; then, with the drink in his hand, walked

heavily across the uncarpeted floor to his armchair, which creaked under

his weight as he sank into its leathern lap. He put down the rum and water

with so unsteady a hand that the liquor spilled, and when he refilled his

pipe half the contents of his tobacco box showered down upon his frayed

and ancient and unclean coat and breeches. From the pocket of the latter

he now drew forth a silver coin, which he balanced for a moment upon his

fat forefinger, and finally sent spinning across the table to Audrey.

"'Tis the dregs of thy guinea, child, that Paris and Hugon and I drank at

the crossroads last night. 'Burn me,' says I to them, 'if that long-legged

lass of mine shan't have a drop in the cup!' And say Hugon"-What Hugon said did not appear, or was confided to the depths of the

tankard which the minister raised to his lips. Audrey looked at the

splendid shilling gleaming upon the table beside her, but made no motion

toward taking it into closer possession. A little red had come into the

clear brown of her cheeks. She was a young girl, with her dreams and

fancies, and the golden guinea would have made a dream or two come true.

"'Query the first,'" she read slowly, "'How long since you went to the

plantations as missionary?'"

Darden, leaning back in his chair, with his eyes uplifted through the

smoke clouds to the ceiling, took his pipe from his mouth, for the better

answering of his diocesan. "'My Lord, thirteen years come St. Swithin's

day,'" he dictated. "'Signed, Gideon Darden.' Audrey, do not forget thy

capitals. Thirteen years! Lord, Lord, the years, how they fly! Hast it

down, Audrey?"