obey but one will:
in our provinces each governor has his own. They were royal troops the
French sent against you..."

"Oh, but that some of ours were here!" cries Madam Esmond, tossing her
head up. "I promise you a few good English regiments would make the
white-coats run."

"You think nothing of the provincials: and I must say nothing now we
have been so unlucky," said the Colonel, gloomily. "You made much of me
when I was here before. Don't you remember what victories you prophesied
for me--how much I boasted myself very likely over your good wine? All
those fine dreams are over now. 'Tis kind of your ladyship to receive a
poor beaten fellow as you do:" and the young soldier hung down his head.

George Warrington, with his extreme acute sensibility, was touched at
the other's emotion and simple testimony of sorrow under defeat. He was
about to say something friendly to Mr. Washington, had not his mother,
to whom the Colonel had been speaking, replied herself: "Kind of us to
receive you, Colonel Washington!" said the widow. "I never heard that
when men were unhappy, our sex were less their friends."

And she made the Colonel a very fine curtsey, which straightway caused
her son to be more jealous of him than ever.

CHAPTER VII. Preparations for War

Surely no man can have better claims to sympathy than bravery, youth,
good looks, and misfortune. Madam Esmond might have had twenty sons, and
yet had a right to admire her young soldier. Mr. Washington's room
was more than ever Mr. Washington's room now. She raved about him
and praised him in all companies. She more than ever pointed out his
excellences to her sons, contrasting his sterling qualities with Harry's
love of pleasure (the wild boy!) and George's listless musings over his
books. George was not disposed to like Mr. Washington any better for
his mother's extravagant praises. He coaxed the jealous demon within him
until he must have become a perfect pest to himself and all the friends
round about him. He uttered jokes so deep that his simple mother did not
know their meaning, but sate bewildered at his sarcasms, and powerless
what to think of his moody, saturnine humour.

Meanwhile, public events were occurring which were to influence the
fortunes of all our homely family. The quarrel between the French and
English North Americans, from being a provincial, had grown to be a
national, quarrel. Reinforcements from France had already arrived in
Canad