. Maine in history and romance. Shall I sell it all? David asked, glancing from mother to daughterwith the smugglers rich horde between them. Why, do as you like, boy; its a noble find, not that I think you dontdeserve it and its not fitting—and the silks are fine as spiders web. Are they fitting for Priscillas wedding gown? The brown headbent quickly to hide blushing cheeks, and there was a silence. Shes all I have now—you may have her, David. Im going home tohelp Mary Ann about the supper— Priscillas quick lift of lashes caught the glance flung by David afterher mothers retreating form, the
. Maine in history and romance. Shall I sell it all? David asked, glancing from mother to daughterwith the smugglers rich horde between them. Why, do as you like, boy; its a noble find, not that I think you dontdeserve it and its not fitting—and the silks are fine as spiders web. Are they fitting for Priscillas wedding gown? The brown headbent quickly to hide blushing cheeks, and there was a silence. Shes all I have now—you may have her, David. Im going home tohelp Mary Ann about the supper— Priscillas quick lift of lashes caught the glance flung by David afterher mothers retreating form, the lashes fell and her lips curved. Priscilla? Davids voice asked and his shoe planted itself firmlyon a rich brocade. Oh, David, how cruel, I wanted it— You wanted it, Priscilla, for— Please take your foot awav or there wont be enough not ruinedfor— Ill take my foot away when you say what you want of the silk. Your wedding coat, David. And youll stand beside me when its worn, Priscilla? Ill be proud to do that, T3O oO John Jones, Sometime Tory and Renegade By JESSICA J. HASKELL ^^^wP^ OHN JONES—the very name suggests respectability andsolid worth; mediocrity, perhaps, but morality. A villainby the name of John Jones upsets all our preconceivednotions of the fitness of things. Yet it was the villainspart that John Jones of Augusta, one-time Hallowell,played in the eyes of his neighbors in the soul-trying days of the Revo-lutionary war. Dark and gloomy enough was life in the little town onthe Kennebec, a veritable tragedy of sorrow and suffering; but a tragedylightened here and there by flashes of comedy—furnished by one JohnJones. In happier days, John had been a respected citizen andi an office-holder; a man who made firm friends, some of whom clung to himthrough all his later trials and difficulties. He was originally from Con-cord, that hot-bed of Revolutionary feeling, a fact which makes his Toryproclivities seem all the stranger. He had been educated f
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