CHAPTER XLVII

VISITORS

It was not often that Mr. Thomas Swain honoured Gordon’s Pride with his presence.  He vowed that the sober Whig company his father brought there gave him the vapours.  He snapped his fingers at the articles of the Patriots’ Association, and still had his cocked hats and his Brussels lace and his spyglass, and his top boots when he rode abroad, like any other Tory buck.  His intimates were all of the King’s side,—­of the worst of the King’s side, I should say, for I would not be thought to cast any slur on the great number of conscientious men of that party.  But, being the son of one of the main props of the Whigs, Mr. Tom went unpunished for his father’s sake.  He was not uncondemned.

Up to 1774, the times that Mr. Swain mentioned his son to me might be counted on the fingers of one hand.  It took not a great deal of shrewdness to guess that he had paid out many a pretty sum to keep Tom’s honour bright:  as bright, at least, as such doubtful metal would polish.  Tho’ the barrister sought my ear in many matters, I never heard a whimper out of him on this score.

Master Tom had no ambition beyond that of being a macaroni; his easy-going nature led him to avoid alike trouble and responsibility.  Hence he did not bother his head concerning my position.  He appeared well content that I should make money out of the plantation for him to spend.  His visits to Gordon’s Pride were generally in the late autumn, and he brought his own company with him.  I recall vividly his third or fourth appearance, in October of ’73.  Well I may!  The family was preparing to go to town, and this year I was to follow them, and take from Mr. Swain’s shoulders some of his private business, for he had been ailing a little of late from overwork.

The day of which I have spoken a storm had set in, the rain falling in sheets.  I had been in the saddle since breakfast, seeing to an hundred repairs that had to be made before the cold weather.  ’Twas near the middle of the afternoon when I pulled up before the weaving house.  The looms were still, and Patty met me at the door with a grave look, which I knew portended something.  But her first words were of my comfort.

“Richard, will you ever learn sense?  You have been wet all day long, and have missed your dinner.  Go at once and change your clothes, sir!” she commanded severely.

“I have first to look at the warehouse, where the roof is leaking,” I expostulated.

“You shall do no such thing,” replied she, “but dry yourself, and march into the dining room.  We have had the ducks you shot yesterday, and some of your experimental hominy; but they are all gone.”

I knew well she had laid aside for me some dainty, as was her habit.  I dismounted.  She gave me a quick, troubled glance, and said in a low voice: 

“Tom is come.  And oh, I dare not tell you whom he has with him now!”