ntility are beyond my wits.

I had taken to going to the church in James Town, first at Mr. Lambie's
desire, and then because I liked the sermons. There on a Sunday you
would see the fashion of the neighbourhood, for the planters' ladies
rode in on pillions, and the planters themselves, in gold-embroidered
waistcoats and plush breeches and new-powdered wigs, leaned on the
tombstones, and exchanged snuffmulls and gossip. In the old ramshackle
graveyard you would see such a parade of satin bodices and tabby
petticoats and lace headgear as made it blossom like the rose. I went
to church one Sunday in my second summer, and, being late, went up the
aisle looking for a place. The men at the seat-ends would not stir to
accommodate me, and I had to find rest in the cock-loft. I thought
nothing of it, but the close of the service was to enlighten me. As I
went down the churchyard not a man or woman gave me greeting, and when
I spoke to any I was not answered. These were men with whom I had been
on the friendliest terms; women, too, who only a week before had
chaffered with me at the store. It was clear that the little society
had marooned me to an isle by myself. I was a leper, unfit for
gentlefolks' company, because, forsooth, I had sold goods, which every
one of them did also, and had tried to sell them fair.

The thing made me very bitter. I sat in my house during the hot noons
when no one stirred, and black anger filled my heart. I grew as peevish
as a slighted girl, and would no doubt have fretted myself into some
signal folly, had not an event occurred which braced my soul again.
This was the arrival of the English convoy.

When I heard that the ships were sighted, I made certain of trouble. I
had meantime added to my staff two other young men, who, like Faulkner,
lived with me at the store. Also I had got four stalwart negro slaves
who slept in a hut in my garden. 'Twas a strong enough force to repel a
drunken posse from the plantations, and I had a fancy that it would be
needed in the coming weeks.

Two days later, going down the street of James Town, I met one of the
English skippers, a redfaced, bottle-nosed old ruffian called
Bullivant. He was full of apple-jack, and strutted across the way to
accost me.

"What's this I hear, Sawney?" he cried. "You're setting up as a
pedlar, and trying to cut in on our trade. Od twist me, but we'll put
an end to that, my bully-boy. D'you think the King, God bless him, made
the