for a wager.

"You little beast!" she said, fiercely; "is it courteous to pit your
guests like game-cocks for your pleasure?"

"You did it yourself!" retorted Ruyven, indignantly--"and entered the
pit yourself."

"For a jest, silly! There were no bets. Now frown and vapor and wag your
finger--do! What do you lack? I will wrestle you if you wait until I don
my buckskins. No? A foot-race?--and I'll bet you your ten shillings on
myself! Ten to five--to three--to one! No? Then hush your silly head!"

"Because," said Ruyven, sullenly, coming up to me, "she can outrun me
with her long legs, she gives herself the devil's own airs and graces.
There's no living with her, I tell you. I wish I could go to the war."

"You'll have to go when father declares himself," observed Dorothy,
quietly polishing her hatchet on its leather sheath.

"But he won't declare for King or Congress," retorted the boy.

"Wait till they start to plague us," murmured Dorothy. "Some fine July
day cows will be missed, or a barn burned, or a shepherd found scalped.
Then you'll see which way the coin spins!"

"Which way will it spin?" demanded Ruyven, incredulous yet eager.

"Ask that squirrel yonder," she said, briefly.