knife into
him. T'other says, 'You're a rebel!' Bang!--and blows his head off!
Honor? Bah!"

He removed his wig to wipe his damp and shiny pate, then set the wig on
askew and glared at me out of his small, ruddy eyes.

"I'm for peace," he said, "and I care not who knows it. Then, whether
Tory or rebel win the day, here am I, holding to my own with both hands
and caring nothing which rag flies overhead, so that it brings peace and
plenty to honest folk. And, mark me, then we shall live to see these
plumed and gold-laced glory-mongers slinking round to beg their bread at
our back doors. Dammy, let 'em bellow now! Let 'em shout for war! I'll
keep my mills busy and my agent walking the old rent-beat. If they can
fill their bellies with a mess of glory I'll not grudge them what they
can snatch; but I'll fill mine with food less spiced, and we'll see
which of us thrives best--these sons of Mars or the old patroon who
stays at home and dips his nose into nothing worse than old Madeira!"

He gave me a cunning look, pushed his wig partly straight, and lay back,
puffing quietly at his pipe.

I hesitated, choosing my words ere I spoke; and at first he listened
contentedly, nodding approval, and pushing fresh tobacco into his clay
with a fat forefinger.

I pointed out that it was my desire to save my lands from ravage, ruin,
and ultimate confiscation by the victors; that for this reason he had
summoned me, and I had come to confer with him and with other branches
of our family, seeking how best this might be done.

I reminded him that, from his letters to me, I had acquired a fair
knowledge of the estates endangered; that I understood that Sir John
Johnson owned enormous tracts in Tryon County which his great father,
Sir William, had left him when he died; that Colonel Claus, Guy Johnson,
the Butlers, father and son, and the Varicks, all held estates of
greatest value; and that these estates were menaced, now by Tory, now by
rebel, and the lords of these broad manors were alternately solicited
and threatened by the warring factions now so bloodily embroiled.

"We Ormonds can comprehend your dismay, your distress, your doubts," I
said. "Our indigo grows almost within gunshot of the British outpost at
New Smyrna; our oranges, our lemons, our cane, our cotton, must wither
at a blast from the cannon of Saint Augustine. The rebels in Georgia
threaten us, the Tories at Pensacola warn us, the Seminoles are
gathering, the Minorcan