with a great fellow who was among the foremost, shaking with mirth,
an oak wreath over his red curls making him look like a satyr, when
Mistress Mary rode between us. "Back, Master Wingfield," said she,
"I pray thee stand back." Then she looked at the folk, all smiles
and ready understanding of them, until they hurrahed again and rang
their bells and blew their horns, and she looked like a blossom
tossed on the wave of pandemonium.

I had my hand on her bridle-rein, ready to do my best should any
rudeness be offered her, when suddenly she raised her hand and made
a motion, and to my utter astonishment the brawling throng, save for
some on the outskirts, which quieted presently, became still. Then
Mistress Mary's voice arose, clear and sweet, with a childish note
of innocence in it:

"Good people," said she, "fain would I be your Maid Marion, and fain
would I be your queen of May, if you would hold with me this Kingdom
of Virginia against tyrants and oppressors."

I question if a dozen there grasped her meaning, but, after a
second's gaping stare, such a shout went up that it seemed to make
the marshes quiver. I know not what mad scheme was in the maid's
head, but I verily believe that throng would have followed her
wherever she led, and the tobacco plants might have been that
morning cut had she so willed.

But I pulled hard at her bridle, and I forgot my customary manner
with her, so full of terror for her I was. "For God's sake, child,
have done," I said, and she looked at me, and there came a strange
expression, which I had never seen before, into her blue eyes, half