Although the squire had just recovered the whip dropped
by Janice, he did not keep to his intention of laying it across
the shoulders of the would-be abductor, but instead grasped
the hand offered.

"Well met, indeed," he assented cordially. "'T is a glad
sight to us to see our good king's colours and troops."

"Sir William," called the baron, "thou must know Mr.
Lambert Meredith, first, because he's the one friend our king
has in this town, and next, because, as thy commissary, I forbid
thee to dine at the tavern on the vile fried pork or bubble
and squeak, and the stinking whiskey or rum thou'lt be served
with, and, in Mr. Meredith's name, invite thee and his Lordship
to eat a dinner at Greenwood, where thou'lt have the
best of victuals, washed down with Madeira fit for Bacchus."

"Ay," cried Mr. Meredith, "the rebels have done their
best to bring famine to Greenwood, but it shall spread its best
to any of his Majesty's servants."

"Here 's loyalty indeed," said Sir William, heartily, as he
leaned in his saddle to shake the squire's hand. "Damn
your rebel submissions and oaths, not worth the paper they 're
writ on; but good Madeira,--that smacks loyal and true on a
parched tongue and cannot swear false. Lead the way, Mr.
Meredith, and we'll do as much justice to your wine as later
we'll do to Mr. Washington, if we can ever come up with him.
Eh, Charles?"