Girl in a Buckskin

“Here’s the Cock and Bull,” he said quickly, and they vanished through the door.
    Rebecca glanced around, saw the common deserted and stepped forward. “Eseck,” she said in a low voice.
    He looked up at her. “You shouldn’t be here.”
    “Eseck, I’ve got to see you.”
    “You’re seeing me now.”
    “I mean I’ve got to talk with you.”
    He studied her face, his own expressionless. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him for he said, “All right. I’ll be in the woods behind the log pile at ten.”
    She nodded and moved away. To linger would prolong his punishment and might even mean his spending the night in the stocks, where everyone could taunt him and throw stones at him. Holding her skirt high above the mud she went through the door of the Cock and Bull and walked quickly to the counter, where the magistrate was holding forth with a company of men. Seeing her Mr. King said in a kindly voice, “In the kitchen, Becky—Mrs. King will serve you.”
    Becky went to the kitchen, where Mrs. King was bustling about preparing dinner. A very fine place was the Cock and Bull, shining with pewter and brassware. Thursday Lectures were held here, because Mr. King was town magistrate and no one, not even the Leggetts, owned as much silver as the Kings.
    “Well now, Becky,” said Mrs. King, “I’m that rushed I can scarcely visit but I’ve a treat for you nevertheless. Here’s an eggcake for your pocket.”
    “Oh, truly?” whispered Becky.
    “Have two,” said Mrs. King. “And now what’s it to be for Mr. Leggett? Flip or mulled wine, ale or metheglin?”
    “The mulled wine, if you please.” As she waited for the posset cup to be filled she looked at the kitchen with bright eyes, the two eggcakes in her pocket to be eaten later, when there was time to savor them and turn them slowly on her tongue. Oh, but it was a treat to see all the kettles and over on the shelf the thing that people came to stare at in wonder: a flip cup, made not of wood or leather or stoneware or pewter but of real glass that sparkled in the firelight. Imagine putting glass into a cup instead of a window! It was a thing of wonder indeed.
    “There, now,” said Mrs. King, holding out the posset cup. “Mind you don’t spill, and how is everyone at the Leggetts?”
    “Just fine, ma’am,” Rebecca said, feeling shy in the face of such warmth and kindliness. “And I thank you for the eggcakes,” she added, turning as quickly as the vessel would allow her.
    “You might give one to your brother,” said Mrs. King. “They’ll be letting him out at sunset.”
    “Yes, ma’am. Why—why is he there this time?”
    Mrs. King’s lips tightened. “He did not go to church on the Sabbath. He walked in the woods instead.”
    “Thank you, ma’am,” Rebecca said, and fled.
    So he hadn’t gone to church. It was a monstrous crime, of course, but could they never stop looking for signs of Indian in him after his years in Canada? He was no tame squirrel to eat from their fingers. He needed time to get used to their ways. Indians were heathen and fiendishly cruel, as Rebecca well knew, all of her family except Eseck having been killed by them; yet Eseck said they had been marvelously kind to him and they had good points as well as bad.
    Not many good points, she guessed, remembering a certain day in February eleven years ago. Five years old she had been then, and Eseck eight when down from Mount Agamenticus in the middle of the night had come the screaming, yelling Indians. She could remember the town of York as a town of scattered houses stretched a mile and a half along the river, the coast ice-locked and covered with heavy snows that night. Her mother had put her to bed and her father had smiled upon her and she had gone to sleep feeling warm and safe; and that was the last of safety, for when she awoke it was to the sound of muskets being fired, and there was the reflection of fire leaping up the walls of her room. Her father had opened the front door and been killed at once; her mother, holding the door closed with the weight of her body, had shouted to them to run out the back and go to one of the garrison houses. Alcocks’ was closest, she’d cried; hurry, hurry. But only Eseck had obeyed her; Rebecca, tom at leaving her mother, had climbed into the woodbox and hidden. And lain there until noon the next day, trying to shut out the terrifying war whoops she had heard.
    They had found her later, but not Eseck. They had