Before the picket could speak Master Daggett answered:
“I did,” he said. “It is a call to your commander. Step one side, please, and wait. He’ll be here in a moment.”
“More likely it was a call to the enemy,” the officer cried angrily. “Here, boys, seize that fellow and bring him into camp.”
“That command will cost you your commission, young man,” the old Tory said sternly. “And, soldiers, unless you want to go to the guard-house, you’d better keep your hands off.”
“Seize him, boys; we’ll find a way to put a stop to his nonsense,” the officer cried, running forward at the head of his men; but before he could touch the old man, a stern voice in the rear cried:
“Let that man alone, and go back to your stations!”
They knew the voice and obeyed, leaving the triumphant Tory face to face with their commander and a second man in the dress of a civilian.
“Hello, colonel! Hello, Hiram!” was Master Daggett’s salutation. “I thought those bugle notes would fetch you.”
“Why did you call, father?” the man in plain clothes asked.
“Because yonder numskull wouldn’t let me in,” was the angry reply, “and now I won’t go in for anybody. If you want to hear my news, you’ll have to get it here.”