Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Priscilla sat up in the room of Miss Recompense with a few of the guests who wanted to see the young people gather.

There were four colored musicians, and they began to tune their instruments out on the rustic settee at the side of the front garden, where the beautiful drooping honey locusts hid them from sight and made even the tuning seem enchanting. Girls in white gowns trooped up the path, young men in the height of fashion carried fans and nosegays for them; there was laughing and chattering and floating back and forth to the dressing rooms.

Madam Royall came with Miss Alice and Helen, who was allowed to go out occasionally under her wing. Eudora had been permitted just to look on a while and to return with grandmamma.

The large parlor was cleared of the small and dainty tables and articles likely to be in the way of the dancers. The first was to be a new march to a patriotic air, and the guests stood on the stairs to watch them come out of the lower door of the long room, march through the hall, and enter the parlor at the other door. Oh, what a pretty crowd they were!

The old Continental styles had not all gone out, but were toned down a little. There were pretty embroidered satin petticoats and sheer gowns falling away at the sides, with a train one had to tuck up under the belt when one really danced. Hair of all shades done high on the head with a comb of silver or brilliants, or tortoise shell so clear that you could see the limpid variations. Pompadour rolls, short curls, dainty puffs, many of the dark heads powdered, laces and frills and ribbons, and dainty feet in satin slippers and silken hose.

After that they formed quadrilles in the parlor. There was space for three and one in the hall. Eudora and Doris patted their feet on the stairs in unison, and clasping each other's hands smiled and moved their heads in perfect time.

Aunt Priscilla admitted that it was a beautiful sight, but she had her doubts about it. Betty was sorry there was such a sad cause for her not being among them. Even Cary had expressed regrets about it.

Then the Leveretts and Madam Royall went home. A few of the elders had a game of loo, and Mr. Adams played chess with Morris Winslow, whose pretty wife still enjoyed dancing, though he was growing stout and begged to be excused on a warm night.

They played forfeits afterward and had a merry time. Then there was supper, and they drank toasts and made bright speeches, and there was a great deal of jesting and gay laughter, and much wishing of success, a judgeship in the future, a mission abroad perhaps, a pretty and loving wife, a happy and honorable old age.

They drank the health of Mr. Winthrop as well, and congratulated him on his promising son. He was very proud and happy that night, and planned within his heart what he would do for his boy.

Doris kept begging to stay up a little longer. The music was so fascinating, for the band was playing soft strains out on the front porch while the guests were at supper. She sat on the stairs quite enchanted with the gay scene.

The guests wandered about the hall and parlor and chatted joyously. Then there was a movement toward breaking up.

Miss Alice espied her.

"Oh, you midget, are you up here at midnight?" she cried. "Have we done Cary ample honor on his arrival at man's estate?"

"You were all so beautiful!" said Doris breathlessly. "And the dancing and the music: It was splendid!"

Helen kissed her good-night with girlish effusion. Some of the other ladies spoke to her, and Mrs. Winslow said: "No doubt you will have a party in this old house. But you will have a girl's advantage. You need not wait until you are twenty-one."

When the last good-nights were said, and the lights put out, Cary Adams wondered whether he would have the determination to avow his plans.

CHAPTER XIX

THE HIGH RESOLVE OF YOUTH

War was declared. The President, James Madison, proclaimed it June 18, 1812. Hostilities opened promptly. True, England's navy was largely engaged with France in the tremendous effort to keep Napoleon confined within the boundaries that he had at one time assented to by treaty, but at that period she had over a thousand vessels afloat, while America had only seventeen warships in her navy to brave them.

There was a call for men and money. The Indian troubles had been fomented largely by England. There had been fighting on the borders, but the battle of Tippecanoe had broken the power of Tecumseh--for the time, at least. But now the hopes of the Indian chieftain revived, and the country was beset by both land and naval warfare.

The town had been all along opposed to war. It had been said of Boston a few years before that she was like Tyre of old, and that her ships whitened every sea. Still, now that the fiat had gone forth, the latent enthusiasm came to the surface, and men were eager to enlist. A company had been studying naval tactics at Charlestown, and most of them offered their services, filled with the enthusiasm of youth and brimming with indignation at the treatment our sailors were continually receiving.

Still, the little navy had proudly distinguished itself in the Mediterranean, and the _Constitution_ had gained for herself the sobriquet of "Old Ironsides"--a Boston-built vessel, though the live oak, the red cedar, and the pitch pine had come from South Carolina. But Paul Revere had furnished the copper bolts and spikes, and when the ship was recoppered, later on, that came from the same place. Ephraim Thayer, at the South End, had made her gun carriages, and her sails were manufactured in the Old Granary building.

"A bunch of pine boards with a bit of striped bunting" had been the enemy's disdainful description of our youthful navy. And now they were to try their prowess with the Mistress of the Seas, who had defeated the combined navies of Europe. No wonder the country stood astounded over its own daring.

Everything afloat was hurriedly equipped as a war vessel. The solid, far-sighted men of New York and New England shook their heads over the great mistake Congress and the President had made.

Warren Leverett began to talk about enlisting. Business had been running behind. True, he could appeal to his brother-in-law King. He had sounded Hollis, who declared he had all he could do to keep afloat himself.

Mrs. Leverett besought him to take no hasty step. What could they do without him? They might break up the home. Electa would be glad to have Betty--there were some things she could do, but Aunt Priscilla--whose health was really poor----

Aunt Priscilla understood the drift presently, and the perplexity.

Warren admitted that if he had some money to tide him over he would fight through. The war couldn't last forever.

"And you never thought of me!" declared Aunt Priscilla, pretending to be quite indignant. "See here, Warren Leverett, when I made my will I looked out for you and Betty. Mary Manning shan't hoard up any of my money, and 'Lecty King, thank the Lord, doesn't want it. So if you're to have it in the end you may as well take some of it now, fursisee. I shall have enough to last my time out. And I'm settled and comfortable here and don't want to be routed out and set down elsewhere."

Warren and his mother were surprised and overcome by the offer. He would take it only on condition that he should pay Aunt Priscilla the interest.

But his business stirred up wonderfully. Still, they all felt it was very generous in Aunt Priscilla, whose money had really been her idol.

Doris had gone over from her music lesson one afternoon. They were always so glad to see her. Aunt Priscilla thought a piano in such times as these was almost defying Providence. But even the promise of that did not spoil Doris, and they were always glad to see her drop in and hear her dainty bits of news.

They wanted very much to keep her to supper.

"Why, they"--which meant the family at home--"will be sure you have stayed here or at the Royalls'. Mr. Winslow has given ever so much money toward the fitting out of a vessel. They are all very patriotic. And Cary's uncle, Mr. March, has gone in heart and hand. I don't know which is right," said Betty with a sigh, "but now that we are in it I hope we will win."

But Doris was afraid Miss Recompense would feel anxious, and she promised to come in a few days and stay to supper.

It was very odd that just as she reached the corner Cousin Cary should cross the street and join her.

"I have been down having a talk with Warren," he said as if in explanation. "I wish I had a good, plodding business head like that, and Warren isn't lacking in the higher qualities, either. If there was money enough to keep the house going, he would enlist. He had almost resolved to when this stir in business came."

"Oh, I don't know what his mother would have done! If Uncle Leverett was alive----"

"He would have consented in a minute. Someone's sons must go," Cary said decisively. "No, don't go straight home--come over to the Common. Doris, you are only a little girl, but I want to talk to you. There is no one else----"

Doris glanced at him in amazement. He was quite generally grave, though he sometimes teased her, and occasionally read with her and explained any difficult point. But she always felt so like a very little girl with him.

They went on in silence, however, until they crossed Common Street and passed on under the magnificent elms. Clumps of shrubbery were blooming.

Vines ran riotously over supports, and roses and honeysuckle made the air sweet.

"Doris,"--his voice had a little huskiness in it,--"you are very fond of father, and he loves you quite as if you were his own child. Oh, I wish you were! I wish he had half a dozen sons and daughters. If mother had lived----"

"Yes," Doris said at length, in the long silence broken only by the song and whistle of myriad birds.

"I don't know how to tell you. I can't soften things, incidents, or explanations. I am so apt to go straight to the point, and though it may be honorable, it is not always wisest or best. But I can't help it now.

I have enlisted in the navy. We start for Annapolis this evening."

"Oh, Cary! And Uncle Win----"

"That is it. That gives me a heartache, I must confess. For, you see, I can't go and tell him in a manly way, as I would like. We have had some talks over it. I asked him before I was of age, and he refused in the most decisive manner to consider it. He said if I went I would have to choose between the country and him, which meant--a separation for years, maybe. It is strange, too, for he is noble and just and patriotic on certain lines. I do think he would spend any money on me, give me everything I could possibly want, but he feels in some way that I am his and it is my duty to do with my life what he desires, not what I like. I am talking over your head, you are such a little girl, and so simple-hearted. And I have really come to love you a great deal, Doris."

She looked up with a soft smile, but there were tears in her eyes.