he
called,--

"Howland, John Howland, a word with thee!"

"Ay, sir," replied a blithe young voice; and presently a handsome head
of pure Saxon type, as indeed were both Bradford's and Carver's,
appeared above the hatchway, and a strong young fellow swinging himself
upon deck approached the governor, saying apologetically,--

"I was helping to get out the pinnace, and there is a mort of dust and
dirt about her."

"I'll give thee a pleasanter task, John," replied Carver, smiling
affectionately upon his young retainer. "Thou and John Alden and Gilbert
Winslow shall take charge of the women who fain would go ashore to wash
their clothes. They will use the boat already lying alongside, and thou
hadst better advise with Mistress Brewster for the rest. I leave it all
with you twain."

"I will do my best, sir," replied Howland with a smile that showed his
short, strong teeth and made his blue eyes twinkle pleasantly; then
returning to the hatchway he called down,--

"Ho, Alden! You're wanted, man, and so is Gilbert Winslow."

"He's not here, then," responded a heavier voice, as a splendid young
giant swung himself up on deck and ran his fingers through a shock of
curling chestnut hair; a glorious youth, six feet and over in his hose
of hodden gray, with the shoulders and sinews of an athlete, and the
calm, strong face of an Egyptian god.

"What is it, John?" asked he, fixing his dark eyes upon Howland with the
affectionate gladness one reads in the eyes of a dog called to his
master's side, but of which few human natures are capable.

"Why, Jack, thou and I and Gilbert Winslow are appointed squires of
dames to some of the women who would fain go ashore to wash clothes, and
we are to pack them into yonder boat, row them ashore, and then purvey
wood, water, and such like for them."

"I'd liefer haul out the pinnace," replied Alden with a grimace. "But
your will is mine."

"Nay, the governor's will is thine and mine, and it is he set us this
task. Where is Winslow?"

"In the cabin belike, chatting with Mary Chilton. It's the work he best
loves," replied Alden grimly. "But I'll find him."

"And some of the boys, Jack," suggested Howland, as the younger man
turned away. "Bart Allerton and Love Brewster, Giles Hopkins and
Crakstone and Cooke, any of the lads that you fall foul of, except the
Billingtons,--of them I'll have none."

"And why not the Billingtons, worshipful Master Howland, lackey of the
governor, and