"If we were all as good as gold," said Unity pensively, "and as wise
as--as Socrates, and wore black cockades, and cared only for the
Washington March, and hated Buonaparte, and the Devil, how tiresome life
would be!--Myself, I like variety and the Marseillaise!"

"Then you differ from the other rogues only in liking the Rogue's
March," said Uncle Edward. "Jacqueline, more sugar!"

The younger Cary rushed to Miss Dandridge's defence. "Well, sir, in
itself the Marseillaise is a very noble air. It is better than
Jefferson's March!"

"Oh, a very good air to go to the gallows by!" snapped Uncle Edward.
"Jacqueline, some cream!"

"Well, well," said his brother amicably, from the head of the table, "we
must care for a man when he's wounded at our door, friend or foe,
Federalist or damned Republican. Noblesse oblige. I was glad enough the
night my mare Nelly threw me, coming home from Maria Erskine's wedding,
to hear Bob Carter's voice behind me! And if Gideon Rand was a surly old
heathen, he broke colts well, and he rolled tobacco well. We'll treat
his son like a Christian."

"And he'll repay you like a Turk!" broke out Major Edward. "I tell you
it is bred in the bone--"

"Mr. Rand is our guest," said Jacqueline, in a clear voice, from her
place behind the coffee urn. Her hands made a little noise amid the
rosebud china. "Mr. Cary, may I not pour you another cup?--Caleb, Mr.