“’Deed, you are far from being that, Alexander Semple.  Doesna King George quarter his men in it?  And havena you to feed and shelter them, and to thole their ill tempers and their ill ways, morning, noon, and night?  You master in your ain house!  You’re just a naebody in it!”

“Dinna get on your high horse, madam.  Things are coming to the upshot:  there’s nae doot o’ it.”

“They’ve been lang aboot it—­too lang.”

“Do you really mean that you are going to set yoursel’ among the rebels?”

“Going?  Na, na; I have aye been amang them.  And ten years syne, when the Stamp Act was the question, you were heart and soul wi’ the people.  The quarrel to-day is the same quarrel wi’ a new name.  Tak’ the side o’ honour and manhood and justice, and dinna mak’ me ashamed o’ you, Alexander.  The Semples have aye been for freedom,—­Kirk and State,—­and I never heard tell o’ them losing a chance to gie them proud English a set-down before.  What for should you gie the lie to a’ your forbears said and did?  King George hasna put his hand in his pocket for you; he has done naething but tax your incomings and your outgoings.  Ask Van Heemskirk:  he’s a prudent man, and you’ll never go far wrong if you walk wi’ him.”

“Ask Van Heemskirk, indeed!  Not I. The rebellious spirit o’ the ten tribes is through all the land; but I’ll stand by King George, if I’m the only man to do it.”

“George may be king o’ the Semples.  I’m a Gordon.  He’s no king o’ mine.  The Gordons were a’ for the Stuarts.”

“Jacobite and traitor, baith!  Janet, Janet, how can you turn against me on every hand?”

“I’ll no turn against you, Elder; and I’ll gie you no cause for complaint, if you dinna set King George on my hearthstone, and bring him to my table, and fling him at me early and late.”  She was going to light the candle again; and, with it in her hand, she continued:  “That’s enough anent George rex at night-time, for he isna a pleasant thought for a sleeping one.  How is Van Heemskirk going?  And Bram?”

“Bram was wi’ them that unloaded the schooner and closed the custom-house—­the born idiots!”

“I expected that o’ Bram.”

“As for his father, he’s the blackest rebel you could find or hear tell o’ in the twelve Provinces.”

“He’s a good man; Joris is a good man, true and sure.  The cause he lifts, he’ll never leave.  Joris and Bram—­excellent!  They two are a multitude.”

“Humff!” It was all he could say.  There was something in his wife’s face that made it look unfamiliar to him.  He felt himself to be like the prophet of Pethor—­a man whose eyes are opened.  But Elder Semple was not one of the foolish ones who waste words.  “A wilfu’ woman will hae her way,” he thought; “and if Janet has turned rebel to the king, it’s mair than likely she’ll throw off my ain lawfu’ authority likewise.  But we’ll see, we’ll see,” he muttered, glancing with angry determination at the little woman, who, for her part, seemed to have put quite away all thoughts of king and Congress.