"Any more than my errand here to-night," retorted Standish, the spark kindling in his brown eyes.

"Softly, brother, softly," replied Winslow in his measured tones, and laying a finger upon the other's arm. "It would ill befit us two to quarrel here between thy wife's grave and mine. We are brethren, and if I said aught that mispleased thee I am right sorry"--

"Nay, then, 't is I was hasty," interrupted Standish. "Surely thy marriage is thine own affair, not mine, and I wish you G.o.dspeed with all my heart."

"And yet, brother, I am not all content lacking thine approval, for there is neither head nor heart in the colony more honorable than thine."

"'He who praises thee to the face is a false friend; the true one reproveth thee,'" quoted Standish with his peculiar grim smile.

"And am not I reproving thee for thy selfish disregard of the common weal?" persisted Winslow, his own smile a little forced. "Nay, then, must I bewray confidence and tell thee that one who knows a.s.sures me that Priscilla Molines would not say thee nay wert thou to ask her?"

"Pst! What folly art thou at now, Master Winslow? This is no more than woman's gossip. Some of thy new love's havers, I'll be bound."

"Did not William Molines send to seek speech with thee the night he died?" asked Winslow fixing his keen eyes upon the soldier's perturbed face.

"Ay, but it was he and I alone."

"Well, then, he had taken counsel first with a G.o.dly matron, in whose judgment he trusted."

"Mistress White?"

"Ay."

"I would I had known it that day." And with no farther good-by the Captain turned and strode down the hill ill pleased.

The next day rose warm and misty. The veiled sun seemed smiling behind the soft vapors, and the earth throbbing with the sweet hopes of spring smiled back at him. The leaves of willow, and alder, and birch, and maple, and elm, uncurled their delicate fronds and shyly held out hands of welcome to the south wind; the birds sang clear and sweet in the woods, and the delicate springs of sweet water answered back with rippling laughter and joyous dance.

"A goodly scene, a veritable garden of the Lord," said William Bradford standing outside the elder's door, and gazing down upon the valley of Town Brook, and across at the wood-covered hillside beyond. Standish, whom he addressed, was just coming out of the house, after his breakfast, and without reply laid his hand upon the younger man's arm and led him up the hill.

"Whither bound this fair morning my Captain?" asked Bradford, in whose blood the brave morning air worked like wine.

"First to fetch my snaphance, and then I will have thee into the wood for a stroll to enjoy thy fine day, and to hold counsel with thy friend."

"And that is ever to mine own advantage," replied Bradford with affectionate honesty. Standish glanced at him with the rare sweetness sometimes lighting the rigor of his soldierly face, and as they had reached the door of the cabin nestled beneath the Fort, where John Alden and his friend abode, Standish entered, leaving the future governor to feast his eyes upon the wider view outspread at his feet. Climbing still further to the platform of the Fort, he stood lost in reverie, his eyes fixed upon the lonely Mayflower, sole occupant of the harbor, as she clumsily rode at anchor tossing upon the flood tide.

"We shall miss the crazy craft when she is gone," said Standish rejoining him.

"Ay. She is the last bit of Old England," replied Bradford, musingly.

For a few moments the two men stood intently gazing upon the vessel, each heart busy with its own thoughts, then, as by a common impulse turned, descending the side of the hill toward the lower spring, and pa.s.sed into the forest.

"What is thy matter for counsel, friend?" asked Bradford finding that Standish strode on in what seemed gloomy silence.

"Yon ship."

"The Mayflower?"

"What other? She brought a hundred souls to these sh.o.r.es some six months agone."

"Ay, and now we are fifty."

"Fifty alive, and fifty under the sea, or on yon headland where to-day we level the mounds over their poor bodies and plant wheat to cheat the salvages."

"'T is too true, good friend, and well I wot that the delight of thine eyes lies buried there"--

"And thine beneath the waters of our first harbor," interrupted Standish harshly, for the proud, tender heart could not bear even so light a touch.

"Yes," replied Bradford briefly, and over his face pa.s.sed a cloud blotting out all the boyish enjoyment of scene and hour that had enlivened its ordinarily thoughtful features. Was Dorothy May indeed the delight of his eyes and heart?

"Yes, we two men came hither husbands, and to-day we stand as widowers, and 't is in that matter I seek counsel," exclaimed Standish suddenly as he turned to face his friend. "Last night, Master Winslow standing between the graves of his wife and mine, read me a lecture upon the duty unwived men owe to the community. He says it is naught but selfishness to let our private griefs rule our lives, that we are bound to seek new mates and raise up children to carry on the work we have begun. Nor can we doubt his own patriotism, or the honesty of his counsels, for already he has spoken to the widow of William White, and his own wife but six weeks under ground."

"Yes, I know--they will be wed shortly," replied Bradford a little embarra.s.sed. Standish eyed him keenly.

"And thou art of his mind, and mayhap thine own new mate is already bespoken?" demanded he in angry surprise.

"Nay, Standish, thou 'rt not reasonable to quarrel with another man's conscience so that it thwarts not thine," replied Bradford patiently, although the color rose to his cheek as he felt the scorn of his comrade's voice. "Neither Winslow nor I would do aught that we could not answer for to G.o.d, and have not we come to this wilderness that we might be free to serve Him only, in matters of conscience?"

"I meant not to forget courtesy, nay, nor friendship neither, Bradford; but my speech is ever hasty and none too smooth. So thou wilt marry, anon?"

"I'll tell thee friend, and thou 'rt the first I've told. There is a lady in the old country"--

"Which old country? The Netherlands or England?"

"She is in England now, or was when we set forth. Thou must have seen her, Standish,--Alice Carpenter, who wedded Edward Southworth in Amsterdam."

"Oh, ay. A goodly crop of daughters had Father Carpenter, and not one hung on hand so soon as she was marriageable. Truly, I remember Mistress Southworth well, a fair and discreet dame. And she was left a widow not many days before we left England, if I mistake not."

"Ay. One little week."

"And didst thou woo her as in the play I saw when last I was in London, King Richard wooed the widow of him he had slain, following her husband's corse to the grave? Nay then, nay then, man, I meant it not awry. But to ask a woman within one week of her widowhood, and thou still wived"--

"Nay, nay, nay, Myles, thou 'rt all aglee and I doubt me if I had not better kept mine own counsel. I have not looked upon Alice Carpenter's face nor heard her voice since she was Southworth's wife."

"Oh, ay--I see, I see--'t is an old flame and thou 'rt of mind to try to kindle it once more. You were sweethearts of old, eh, lad?"

"Something so,--though I meant not to say so much, and now must leave the secret in thine honor, Captain."

"Dost doubt the ward, Bradford?"

"Nay. I trust thee as myself, and thou knowest it. Why must thou ever be so hot, Myles? Yes, when Master Carpenter and his fair troop of daughters came to Leyden it was not long until I saw that Alice was both fairest and sweetest of them all; but thou knowest the fight we had for bread, winning it by strange and unaccustomed labors: I, who knew naught but my books, and something of husbandry, becoming a weaver of baize; Brewster a ribbon weaver, Tilley a silk worker, Cushman a wool comber, Eaton a carpenter, and so on; well, goodman Carpenter was loth to trust his maid to such scant living as I could offer, nor would he let us even call ourselves troth-plight; and Alice, the gentle, timid maid that she was, yielded all to her father's will, and I, in the naughty pride of a young man's heart, was angered that she would not promise to hold herself against all importunities, and we quarreled, or forsooth I should say I quarreled, and flung away, and I knew Dorothy May and her kin, and she, poor soul, was ready to wed as her father willed"--

"Enough Will, enough; it is not good to put all that is in one's heart into words. I see the whole story. And now thou 'lt write to Mistress Southworth and ask her to come out with the residue of our company, and become thy wife?"

"Ay, dear friend, that is my plan," said Bradford, wringing the hand Standish extended, and turning his flushed face aside.

"And why not?" asked Myles heartily. "'T is no new affair, no hasty furnishing forth of a marriage feast with the cold vivers of the funeral tables, as yon fellow said in the play. 'T is marvelous like one of those old romaunts my kinswoman Barbara used to tell over to me and the dear la.s.s that's gone. There now--and thou hadst not this matter in hand, I'd wive thee to Barbara Standish--'t is the best wench alive, I do believe, and full of quip, and crank as a jest book."

"Thy cousin?" asked Bradford rather absently.