Barry Upper Branch was a rich plantation and had come into full
possession of the brothers but lately, their father, Major Barry,
who had been a staunch old royalist, having died. There were acres
of tobacco, and whole fields of locust for the manufacture of
metheglin, and apple orchards from which cider enough to slack the
thirst of the colony was made. But the brothers were far from
content with such home-made liquors for their own drinking, but
imported from England and the Netherlands and Spain great stores of
ale and rum and wines, and held therewith high wassail with some
choice and kindred spirits, especially on the Sabbath.

Not a woman was there at Barry Upper Branch, except for slaves, and
such stories were told as might cause a modest maid to hesitate to
speak of the place; but Mary Cavendish was as yet but a child in her
understanding of certain things. Her blue eyes fixed me with the
brave indignation of a boy as she went on, "'Tis a pretty parson,"
said she again, "and it would be the tavern, just as openly, were it
on a week day."

I put my finger to my lip and cast a glance about, for it was
enjoined upon the people under penalty that they speak not ill of
any minister of the gospel. While I cared not for myself, having
never yet held my tongue, except from my own choice, yet was I
always concerned for this young thing, with her utter recklessness
of candour, lest her beauty and her charm might not protect her
always against undesirable results; and not only were the slaves
within hearing of her voice, but none knew how many others, for
those were brave days for tale-bearers. But Mary spoke again, and
more sweetly and shrilly than ever. "A pretty parson, forsooth! And