I was half way on the road to the block house, to see if I could muster up a guard, with which to go down and meet the Captain, when I spied him coming along at a quick pace.

“Well-a-day,” he cried, when he had caught sight of me. “This is quite a change, since I last saw you. Come, man, your hand.

“Why,” he exclaimed, when I had gripped his palm, “you have some of your strength back again, I see--and feel.”

“A little,” I replied, as I grasped his other hand, in heartiness to have him back once more.

There were tears in my eyes. I did not try to hide them, for Carteret had been more than a brother to me; his good wife a very mother to Lucille. I think he felt my gratitude, for he did not speak, only returning my hand pressure.

“Well,” he said again, after a little pause, while we walked on together toward his house, “this is better than being cooped up in the block, with those devils howling on the outside. Though,” he added, with a laugh, “we soon made them change their tune.”

He asked me how long I had suffered from the attack of Simon, and what had become of the sailor. I told him what I had heard.

“I did not like to leave you,” he said, “but the call for me was urgent. I thought I left you in safe hands, when Mistress Lucille took charge of the nursing.”

“You did, indeed,” I replied.

“How is she; and how progresses your courtship?”

“Very well, to both questions. Since your kindness in turning this command over to me I have been assured of a livelihood; quiet, perhaps, compared to what I hoped for, but a sure one. ’Tis a place befitting a man who is about to take unto himself a wife.”

“Then you are soon to wed?”

“Within a fortnight. Lucille is busy now, preparing what she is pleased to term her linen. As for me I have little to get. I trust that from my wage here I can fit up some small house that will do for a time. I had hopes of taking her to a place befitting her station, to a fine home. But poverty is a hard taskmaster.”

“Yet he drives light when love holds the reins.”

“True,” I assented. “We shall not fare so badly, I hope.”

“Then Mistress Lucille is prepared to face poverty with you?”

“She is,” I said, “and seems happy in the prospect.”

The Captain was laughing now. I looked at him to find the cause, but was at a loss.

“You know I have been to London?” he inquired, after his merriment had spent itself.

“Aye, so I heard.”

“And to Colchester also.”

“Nay; were you?” I asked, suddenly. That had been the home of the Danes for centuries.

“To Colchester?”

“Aye. And while there I heard somewhat of you.”

“’Twas likely,” I answered, “seeing that my father, Sir Edward Dane, owned quite an estate there.”

“It is of that same estate I would speak,” went on Carteret. “I found out more of your story than you had time to tell me hurriedly ere I sailed. Your offense against the crown had been nearly forgotten at court. Learning which, while I was in London, I set certain influences to work. I am not without friends in the King’s circles, and, between us we began planning to get back what of your father’s wealth we could, that you might enjoy it.

“First, and it was a matter of no little difficulty, we had you granted a full and free pardon for all acts of treason of whatever nature. To bring this about after the way had been paved, I sought an audience with His Majesty. I have a little gift of eloquence, so I described to the King how you blew the heathen into the air. He listened to me more kindly after that. Being fond of fighting he made me tell him the whole circumstance, which I flatter myself I did with some credit to you. When I had finished the King clapped his hand down on his thigh, bursting out with:

“‘By my sword, Carteret, but I could hardly have planned or executed it better myself,’ which you may take as a fine compliment, for His Majesty thinks himself a great soldier.”

“’Twas as much your credit as mine,” I said to the Captain.

“Well, never mind that. The King inquired all about you, also of Sir George Keith, whose acts I in no way glossed over, though he was my friend. His Majesty cut me short with: ‘Enough, enough, Carteret.’ Calling for a quill and ink horn, he had signed a pardon ere I knew what he was about. There it is,” exclaimed Carteret, thrusting a legal looking paper, covered with red seals, into my hand. I took it, hardly able to speak a word.

“Once that was done I breathed easier,” continued the Captain. “But His Majesty did not stop there. He called his secretary, who told the King, in answer to a question, that your father’s lands had been confiscated to the crown.

“‘It is needful that we recompense your bold soldier somewhat,’ said His Majesty to me, when he had whispered for a time with his officers. ‘I have signed an order on my treasurer for ten thousand pounds, which you will convey to Sir Francis Dane, with my best wishes.’

“I must have shown some surprise when His Majesty gave you the ‘sir,’ for he said:

“‘I have restored his title to him, Carteret. As for his estates, it is not likely that he would come back to claim them now, so I have given you, for him, what they are considered by my treasurer to be worth--ten thousand pounds. If, when you reach America, you find that he desires more----’

“‘Oh, ’tis enough, Your Majesty,’ I said quickly, lest he might change his mind.

“Then I bowed myself out, after thanking him most warmly in my name and your own.

“I lost little time in hastening to the treasury in the palace where the King’s order was honored. I soon transacted what business I had in London, set sail again, and, after a pleasant voyage, here I am. As for the money, it is safe in my strong box at home. I stopped there ere I went in search of you. Mistress Lucille told me where you had started for.

“Now, is not that good news?”

I was beyond speaking, though I tried to thank him. I could only hold out my hand.

“I’ll not grasp it until you promise to remember that it is a hand and not a sword hilt,” said the Captain, so earnestly, that I laughed ere I assured him that I would not grip him as hard as I did at first.

Joy lent me such speed as we walked to the house, where I knew I would find Lucille, that Carteret called on me several times to halt, and to walk more slowly.

“When you get as old as I am,” he said, “you will be glad to travel less speedily.”

“Not with such good news as I carry,” was my answer.

“I found him,” cried the Captain, as we entered the room where Lucille and Madame Carteret were seated.

He went out for a minute. When he returned he had in each hand a stout sack. It was the money, some of it in gold, that clinked right merrily. Carteret came over, holding out the bags to me.

I took one, laid it at Lucille’s feet, saying, as I smiled at her:

“With all my worldlyworldly goods I thee endow.”

The other sack I held out to Carteret.

“It is yours,” I said, “according to all the laws of arms. Take it.”

“Law or no law, I’ll have none of it,” he answered gruffly, I believe, to hide his feelings. “Begone with it. Place it with the other beside Mistress Lucille. Why,” he went on, “I have enough now to do the good wife and myself as long as we live, and there’s not a soul I care to leave any wealth to. Put it with the other. You will find a use for all of it--when you are wed.”

I was forced to obey him, though I felt that he should have had a half share of what he got for me, but all my argument was in vain.

Lucille and I were left alone in the room. She looked down on the sacks of gold, then up at me.

“So you are Sir Francis, after all?” she asked.

“It seems so,” was my reply. “How do you like the name?”

“It has a wholesome sound,” she answered, repeating it over and over again. “But Edward was not so poor a one. It did much for me.”

“So will Sir Francis, sweetheart,” I said.

“However, since the King has given it back to you, I suppose you will keep it?”

“I will, indeed. It is a proud name, and many brave men and fair women have been known by it.”

It was getting late when we ceased talking, though we had said scarce half of what was in our minds.

A week passed. There were but seven days more ere we would be wed. The block house had been fixed on as the place where the brief ceremony might fittingly be held. We had decided to make it a merry gathering, where all who would, might come and be happy.

The weather was now that of a mild early spring. The tender green of the trees and shrubs, made the land a mass of verdure. Gardens were being made, farms plowed, sheep let out to pasture, and the colonists all around were busy. The town was prospering under the hand of Providence. All that remained to bring to mind the late Indian uprising were the ruins of a burned dwelling here and there. Back on the hillside was a sadder recollection; a few rough stones to mark the graves of those who had fallen in the great battle. To me there remained the scars on my arm and side, where Simon’s knife had entered, and the furrow of a bullet across one cheek.

I would that some other pen could set down what is to follow. For, though I can tell poorly enough, perhaps, concerning battles, sieges and fighting, with which I am somewhat familiar, it is hard to tell of scenes of baking, stewing, cooking and sewing, which now seemed to centre about me. Verily it appeared, that last week, as if I might as well bid my sword farewell, to take up a bodkin or a ladle in its place, so little use did I seem to have for the weapon.

Every time I went to Captain Carteret’s house, to have a few minutes with Lucille, I found her busy with either a stew-pan or a needle. From a maid, that had been wont to pay some small heed to what I said, she had come, almost, to hold me in as little importance as any man in the Colony. She would leave me in a moment, no matter what we were talking of, if Madame Carteret, or one of the women, called her.

What I did say she either heard not, or forgot as speedily as I had spoken.

Such bustling about as there was in the kitchen. I made bold to poke myself in, once, but quickly drew out again. For in that short space I nearly received a blow, accidental though it was, with a wooden pestle on one side of my head, while another woman was within an ace of dousing me with a jar of molasses she carried.

It seemed that Lucille’s wedding (I dared not call it mine) was the first one in the Colony in a number of years, and the women folk were so distracted by the thoughts of it, that they were at their wits’ end. They made plans by the dozens, as they did cakes, only to unmake them ere night. Indeed, next to myself, whom nobody consulted, Lucille had as little to say as if she was but to be an onlooker. I was hard put, at times, when I was ordered around like a school boy by the women. But Lucille, who had more of it than I did, took it with good grace, just as if she had been used to it all her life.

While the women were thus making ready the kitchen and gown part of the affair, the men, who were pleased to call me Captain, had taken such command of the block house, that I was hardly welcome there. The main room I was by no means allowed to enter. It was the largest in the place, and the door was kept carefully barred to me. There was much coming and going, bringing in of evergreen boughs, foliage, and small branches of trees, covered with bright red berries.

Several friendly Indians were seen about the town, bearing bundles, that I could note, by an occasional glimpse, contained goods of their workmanship. Stag horns polished until they glistened in the sun, soft tanned skins of the deer, furry hides of the bear and wild-cat, all these were carried into the block, and hidden in the room that was closed to me.

So busy was every one but myself that I wandered about the settlement, like a man without friends. I had a few matters to look after, though.

With my wealth, so strangely restored to me, I purchased a roomy and comfortable house, the best in the town, save Carteret’s, which one of the settlers was anxious to sell. There was a cunning cabinet maker and carpenter in the village, and I had them alter the dwelling to suit my ideas. I sent privately to New York for some furnishings, hired a man and maid servant, and the place began to look like a home, only lacking a mistress. I laid out a good-sized garden, had the farm plowed and sowed, and supplied with horses and cows, so that there was a promise of plenty to eat and drink. On the day before the one set for the ceremony, I sat down, tired but happy, to spend the last few hours of my life as a lone man. I was glad that the time was so short.

CHAPTER XXX.

LOVE, HONOR AND OBEY.

It was the 26th day of April. The air smelled of balmy spring, a warm sun was overhead, a gentle breeze stirred the leaves amid which the birds sang, and the whole earth seemed a happy place. I jumped out of bed to look over the new suit, which I had, after much time and thought, managed to get together. It was of dark plum-colored stuff, soft to the touch, and became me as well as any coat and breeches I ever had. I laid out a new pair of boots, the pliable leather black and shiny, spread out my cloak on the bed, and was ready to dress for the wedding. I strapped my sword on, feeling that I was now in proper trim for the occasion. The weapon was the same good one which had stood me in such stead all along. It had received many a hard knock, the scabbard was not as free from dents as when I had it from the maker, it was rather rusty, too, I thought, the blade being stained here and there.

I sent to the innkeeper for some rags and rotten stone, that I might polish the steel up. Master Aleworthy appeared himself with the stuff. When he saw my fine looks (for I do myself that credit) he would not let me burnish up the weapon, but insisted on doing it for me. A very proper attempt he made of it, too, for, when he had finished it shone like a new shilling.

“Now for breakfast,” he said.

“Not for me,” I replied, “there will be plenty of fodder when this affair is over.”

“But, Sir Francis, ’twill be a long time to then.”

“Short enough,” was my answer.

I strode out across the fields to the Captain’s house, hoping I might get a glimpse of Lucille. But if she had been hard to see a week ago, she was ten times more so now. At every door I tried I was bidden to take myself off, and call again. Finally, being somewhat vexed, I called to one saucy hussy:

“Know, madame, that I am to wed to-day. That I am the groom.”

“Aye, I know it,” she responded, as cool as you please. “You will be sent for when you are wanted.”

With that I had to be content, kicking my heels up and down the garden path. Noon was the time. It wanted two hours yet.

It seemed a month that I was in the garden. At last some one beckoned to me, and I was admitted in to see Lucille.

I would have gone up, before them all, to kiss her heartily, but she held me off with her little hands, while a chorus of protests from all the women told me I must respect the manner in which she was adorned. Indeed, she made a handsome appearance. The dress was of soft, gray-white, shimmering silk, with pieces of lace as long as my gun barrel all about it, hung on after the manner of the clinging vine that twines about a tree. The sleeves had it in, I think, also, the neck, while there was a plenty trailing down the front and lower edge. She wore a crown of glossy green leaves, a single white flower in her dark hair.

The plan was for the party to go to the block house in carts, half a score of which, festooned with evergreens, were in waiting. Instead of letting Lucille and me go on together, which seemed to me to be the most sensible way, she rode with James Blithly, a great booby of a chap, while I had to sit in the cart with Mistress Alice Turner, a sweet enough maid. She was talkative, and I was not so, on the way, I had to keep answering “yes” and “no” to her questions.

It looked as though all the Colony and the folk from ten miles around had come to the wedding. There were nearly three hundred people in view when we neared the place where Dominie Worthington was awaiting us. There were a number of Indians and their squaws, friendly, all of them, who had gathered to see how the pale faces took their brides. They laughed, smiled and greeted me with “How, Cap’n,” while some held out their pipes, which, as was their custom, I puffed a few whiffs from, to show that we were at peace, though indeed, the ceremony lacked much of the solemnity usually associated with it.

The block house at last. The drum beat as Carteret, in my honor, drew the men up in double file. Lucille and I, with those who were to attend us, dismounted from the carts, marching between the lines of soldier-colonists into the main room. Then I was allowed to move up beside Lucille, while both of us looked about in wonder.

Never had such a bower for the plighting of love been constructed before. The rough hewn walls had been covered with green boughs, red berries gleaming amidst the foliage. On the floor the boards were hidden from view by furs in such quantity that they overlapped. The stag antlers, fastened here and there, served as hooks, whereon were suspended bows, arrows, swords, guns, powder-horns, Indian shields, curious stone hatchets, and many of the red-men’s household implements. Gay colored baskets added to the color of the scene.

A little wooden altar had been made, but it was almost hidden from view by trailing, green vines. The men-at-arms filed in, taking their places on either side of the chamber. Then came the town-folk, and the friendly Indians, squaws, and even settlers from Newark, so that the place was well nigh filled.

Dominie Worthington took his place. Lucille and I stood together, with Alice Turner and James Blithly on either side. Then, ere he began to say the words that would unite us, Master Worthington lifted up his voice in prayer.

Then came the promises, the pledges--“Love, Honor and obey”--“till death do you part”--solemn yet sweet. “Whom God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

We were man and wife.

Then indeed came happy confusion and laughter. We were overwhelmed, Lucille and I. But Carteret charged down on us, in the nick of time, to rescue us from the friendly enemy that swarmed about us. How quick was the journey back to the Captain’s house, and what a feast was there spread out for all who wished to come.

So often was the health of Lucille and myself proposed and drunk, that I lost track of those who did me the honor to touch glasses. There was gay laughter, songs and talk, merrymaking among the young people, and over all good-fellowship and much cheer, with Lucille happiest of the women, and I of the men. It grew night, but hundreds of candles chased the gloom away.

So it had come about, after many days, with force and with arms I had won my bride.

We were to go to the home I had prepared. Lucille kissed Madame Carteret and others of her women friends, while I had my own cart and horses brought up to the door.

There were farewells by the score, laughter and tears from the women, cheers from the men. The driver spoke to his team, they leaped forward. Lucille and I had begun our life’s journey together.

It was not far to the house. The door was opened on a blaze of candles.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” I said, kissing her.

“Oh, Francis,” she exclaimed, looking about. “It is perfect. How good of you to do all this for me.”

“Do you like it?”

“It is more than I dreamed.”

A little wind, coming in the windows, flickered the candles. The breeze seemed to sigh in contentment at our happiness. The servants closed the door. We were alone--my wife and I.

Some readers will wonder what is meant by “More Ex-Tank Tales.” In explanation would say that the stories compiled in the book under the above title appeared in the New York Sun from time to time, and they have achieved well-merited notoriety. They are sketches about men who have indulged in spirituous liquors to such an extent as to cause their comrades to term them “tanks.” Having overcome the desire for intoxicating beverages (reformed in fact), they take great pleasure, and give the same to the reader, in recounting some of their adventures. Following is the Table of Contents:

TALE THE FIRST.--Wherein Ex-Tank No. 18 Marvelously Winneth Out as ye Auctioneer of Antiques.

TALE THE SECOND.--In Which Ex-Tank No. 17 Meeteth Up With ye Renowned Singer and Yodler, “Fritz” Emmet, and the Consequences.

TALE THE THIRD.--Wherein Ex-Tank No. 11 Ascertaineth the Advantages of Being Mistaken for ye Wearer of the Senatorial Toga.

TALE THE FOURTH.--Which Sheweth Ex-Tank No. 28 as the Natural and Successful Enemy of ye Guileful Gold Brick Purveyor.

TALE THE FIFTH--Wherein is Depicted the Woe of Ex-Tank No. 7 Growing Out of His Being Mistaken for ye Doppelgaenger.

TALE THE SIXTH.--Wherein Ex-Tank No. 10 Mournfully Portrayeth the Difficulties he Encountered in Forsaking ye Golden Pacific Sands.

TALE THE SEVENTH--In Which Ex-Tank No. 23 Sheweth the Possibilities Lurking in the Involuntary Handling of ye “Ringer.”

TALE THE EIGHTH--Describeth, Through the Lips of Ex-Tank (Ultlander) No. 37, the Manifold Woes of Him Who First Butteth into ye Burg of New York.

TALE THE NINTH.--Wherein Ex-Tank (Hoodoo) No. 13 Hath a Good Word to Say of ye Slumbersome Burg, Philadelphia-by-Schuylkill.

TALE THE TENTH--In Which Ex-Tank No. 22 Narrowly Escapeth the Dangers of ye Vasty Deep.

TALE THE ELEVENTH.--Wherein Ex-Tank No. 14, by Means of ye Raffling Stunt, Returneth to His Home Like Santa Claus.

TALE THE TWELFTH.--Wherein Ex-Tank No. 12 Starts on a Journey from Denver to Manhattan Beach.

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