me. He was of the kind that never shows a
hurt. Force of habit still sent him to Gordon's Pride, but for days he
would have nothing to say to the mistress of it, or she to him.

CHAPTER XLVII. VISITORS

It was not often that Mr. Thomas Swain honoured Gordon's Pride with his
presence. He vowed that the sober Whig company his father brought there
gave him the vapours. He snapped his fingers at the articles of the
Patriots' Association, and still had his cocked hats and his Brussels
lace and his spyglass, and his top boots when he rode abroad, like any
other Tory buck. His intimates were all of the King's side,--of the
worst of the King's side, I should say, for I would not be thought to
cast any slur on the great number of conscientious men of that party.
But, being the son of one of the main props of the Whigs, Mr. Tom went
unpunished for his father's sake. He was not uncondemned.

Up to 1774, the times that Mr. Swain mentioned his son to me might
be counted on the fingers of one hand. It took not a great deal of
shrewdness to guess that he had paid out many a pretty sum to keep Tom's
honour bright: as bright, at least, as such doubtful metal would polish.
Tho' the barrister sought my ear in many matters, I never heard a
whimper out of him on this score.

Master Tom had no ambition beyond that of being a macaroni; his
easy-going nature led him to avoid alike trouble and responsibility.
Hence he did not bother his head concerning my position. He appeared
well content that I should make money out of the plantation for him to
spend. His visits to Gordon's Pride were generally in the late autumn,
and he brought his own company with him. I recall vividly his third
or fourth appearance, in October of '73. Well I may! The family was
preparing to go to town, and this year I was to follow them, and take
from Mr. Swain's shoulders some of his private business, for he had been
ailing a little of late from overwork.

The day of which I have spoken a storm had set in, the rain falling in
sheets. I had been in the saddle since breakfast, seeing to an hundred
repairs that had to be made before the cold weather. 'Twas near the
middle of the afternoon when I pulled up before the weaving house. The
looms were still, and Patty met me at the door with a grave look, which
I knew portended something. But her first words were of my comfort.

"Richard, will you ever learn sense? You have been wet all day long, and
have missed your d