When Nat had arrived at Germantown, some weeks earlier, his place at the office was not yet ready. In order not to be idle he had gone to work in the fields with the hired bands, and so still wore his backwoods costume. A hunting-shirt, low about the throat and coming almost to his knees, served the place of a coat, while his leggings of tanned deerskin and moccasins gave him the air of one fresh from the wilderness, which he was. But for all this homely dress he was a fine, upstanding youth, broad-shouldered and tall; his movements were as free and supple as those of a savage, and his face wore the look of habitual resolution that comes to those who live in dangerous corners of the earth.

“It’s queer,” he said to himself as he strode along, “that I can’t get out of the idea that I should take my rifle everywhere I go, as I did at home. Somehow I don’t know what to do with my hands when I haven’t it.”

To supply the place of the missing rifle he stopped a little later and cut a good-sized cudgel from a scrub oak; then once more he started forward, whistling softly.

Further on, he found it necessary to vault a fence into a narrow, tree-lined lane. Darkness had now about set in; the lane, because of its border of trees, was especially shadowy, and some little distance away Nat caught the yellow glow of a lantern as it came halting and dancing along toward him. Leaning back against the fence, he waited silently for the person carrying it to advance.

Forward it came, hesitatingly, timidly, it seemed. Nat at length made out the figure of a man and that of a girl, and in a short time they were close enough for him to catch the sound of their voices.

“But, grandfather,” said the girl, and Nat saw her look intently ahead in the lamp-light, “I feel quite sure that I heard some one.”

“Pish!” answered the man, impatiently.

“What if you did? The roads are free to every one, are they not?”

“But just now,” persisted the girl, “it is dangerous, is it not, with all this coming and going of strange men? Indeed,” with great candor, “I don’t like their looks any too well.”

“Hold your tongue,” cried the man, angrily. “It’s not for you to question the appearance of loyal subjects of the king.”

“And do you think,” said the girl, “they are really willing to——”

“Hush, I tell you!” The voice of the man rose sharply and broke with the quaver of age. “What talk is that to have in a public place? For all you know, there may be a score about to hear you.”

During the above, the pair continued advancing along the lane in Nat’s direction; and all the time the girl gazed ahead, trying to pierce the darkness beyond the circle of light. A ray from the lantern fell upon Nat’s face as the old man spoke the last words, and the girl halted with a sharp exclamation, grasping his arm.

“What is it?” asked her companion.

“A stranger!” breathed the girl. “There near the fence.”

The old man flashed the lantern in the direction indicated; and Nat’s lounging figure was bathed in its rays.

“What now, sir?” demanded the girl’s companion, sternly. “What do you mean by prowling around and startling decent people in this way?”

“I beg your pardon,” said Nat, politely, taking off his cap. “I just happened to be passing.”

The old man peered into his face. He was old, but his eyes were keen and bright; and he studied Nat closely.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “I don’t think I have seen you in this neighborhood before.”

“Possibly not,” replied the boy. “I have not been here a great while.”

An inquiring look came swiftly into the deeply-lined face of the man with the lantern. He bent forward eagerly.

“Perhaps,” said he, “you are from the north.”

“Yes,” replied Nat, calmly. “I am from the north.”

“WHO ARE YOU?” HE DEMANDED

“And you are going——?”

“To Chew House,” with great frankness.

“Good!” The old man burst into a cackle of laughter, reached out and patted the boy’s shoulder approvingly. “Excellent! But,” with an admonitory air, “it would be as well to mention no names.”

Nat had no reply for this, and so remained silent.

“I am Stephen Comegies,” continued the old man. “Perhaps,” with a great deal of pride, “you have heard of me.”

“I have,” replied the lad.

“There are a few who have not,” chuckled “Grumpy Comegies.” “The king has some friends who do not fear to speak their minds to the rabble. And I would not let it end with speaking,” he went on, with increased spirit, “if I were twenty years younger. There is not a lad of you all that would take horse in the government’s service quicker than I.”

Here Nat noticed the girl plucking the old man’s sleeve. He bent impatiently down and she whispered some quick words in his ear. But he shook his big gray head at her evident attempt to check his garrulousness.

“Child,” said he, “leave men’s work to men. I am old enough to know a friend from a foe. And I will not hesitate to speak a word of encouragement to one when I meet him prepared to do dangerous work for his master.” He turned to Nat and held out his hand. “Your hand, lad.”

Nat extended his hand; the old man grasped it in a way that showed that all his strength had not departed from him, and said:

“If you and your comrades succeed in what you are about to undertake, you will scatter this rebellion like chaff. Have no fear; sweep upon them and crush them out.” He turned to the girl once more. “Come, child,” he said. And as he started off he continued over his shoulder, to Nat, “Good-evening, sir.”

They had gone barely a dozen yards when Nat, who stood looking after them, saw the girl leave old Stephen’s side and dart back toward him.

“I do not know who you are,” she said, “but you have an honest face.”

“Thank you,” replied the youth, smiling.

“My grandfather is a very old man,” she continued in a breathless, hurried sort of way, for old Comegies had begun to call rather angrily to her, “and like most very old men, he—he says a great many things that perhaps he should not say.”

Nat bowed silently, in the shadows.

“I am glad you understand me,” continued the girl, who perceived this despite the thickening darkness. She drew closer to him and lowered her voice. “If you are not what he has taken you to be, I beg of you to be generous and hold none of it to his injury. Remember, he is, as I have said, an old man.”

“If it will ease your mind, mistress,” said Nat gravely, “I promise to forget him in the matter entirely.”

“Thank you,” said the girl, gratefully. “Thank you. You are kind.”

And with that she darted away toward old Stephen, who was holding up the lantern and calling to her in his high-pitched, quavering voice.