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- 1169
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- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.590Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1092
- text
- glance, that our poor hero quaked to the core. Neither was his dread of
detection relieved by the knight’s now calling in a loud voice for one
from the house. Israel was just on the point of fleeing, when
overhearing the words of the master to the servant who now appeared,
all dread departed:
“Bring hither some wine!”
It presently came; by order of the knight the salver was set down on a
green bank near by, and the servant retired.
“My poor fellow,” said Sir John, now pouring out a glass of wine, and
handing it to Israel, “I perceive that you are an American; and, if I
am not mistaken, you are an escaped prisoner of war. But no fear—drink
the wine.”
“Mr. Millet,” exclaimed Israel aghast, the untasted wine trembling in
his hand, “Mr. Millet, I—”
“_Mr_. Millet—there it is again. Why don’t you say _Sir John_ like the
rest?”
“Why, sir—pardon me—but somehow, I can’t. I’ve tried; but I can’t. You
won’t betray me for that?”
“Betray—poor fellow! Hark ye, your history is doubtless a secret which
you would not wish to divulge to a stranger; but whatever happens to
you, I pledge you my honor I will never betray you.”
“God bless you for that, Mr. Millet.”
“Come, come; call me by my right name. I am not Mr. Millet. _You_ have
said _Sir_ to me; and no doubt you have a thousand times said _John_ to
other people. Now can’t you couple the two? Try once. Come. Only _Sir_
and then _John_—_Sir John_—that’s all.”
“John—I can’t—Sir, sir!—your pardon. I didn’t mean that.”
“My good fellow,” said the knight looking sharply upon Israel, “tell
me, are all your countrymen like you? If so, it’s no use fighting them.
To that effect, I must write to his Majesty myself. Well, I excuse you
from Sir Johnning me. But tell me the truth, are you not a seafaring
man, and lately a prisoner of war?”
Israel frankly confessed it, and told his whole story. The knight
listened with much interest; and at its conclusion, warned Israel to
beware of the soldiers; for owing to the seats of some of the royal
family being in the neighborhood, the red-coats abounded hereabout.
“I do not wish unnecessarily to speak against my own countrymen,” he
added, “I but plainly speak for your good. The soldiers you meet
prowling on the roads, are not fair specimens of the army. They are a
set of mean, dastardly banditti, who, to obtain their fee, would betray
their best friends. Once more, I warn you against them. But enough;
follow me now to the house, and as you tell me you have exchanged
clothes before now, you can do it again. What say you? I will give you
coat and breeches for your rags.”
Thus generously supplied with clothes and other comforts by the good
knight, and implicitly relying upon the honor of so kind-hearted a man,
Israel cheered up, and in the course of two or three weeks had so
fattened his flanks, that he was able completely to fill Sir John’s old
buckskin breeches, which at first had hung but loosely about him.
He was assigned to an occupation which removed him from the other
workmen. The strawberry bed was put under his sole charge. And often,
of mild, sunny afternoons, the knight, genial and gentle with dinner,
would stroll bare-headed to the pleasant strawberry bed, and have nice
little confidential chats with Israel; while Israel, charmed by the
patriarchal demeanor of this true Abrahamic gentleman, with a smile on
his lip, and tears of gratitude in his eyes, offered him, from time to
time, the plumpest berries of the bed.
When the strawberry season was over, other parts of the grounds were
assigned him. And so six months elapsed, when, at the recommendation of
Sir John, Israel procured a good berth in the garden of the Princess
Amelia.
- title
- Chunk 4