“What is that?”
As if arousing from a revery, Ira exclaimed:
“I declare, Master Earle, you have more visitors!”
The farmer was at his side in an instant, and, with a glance at the coming troopers, turned and ran toward the kitchen, crying:
“Quick, Master Lyman! They are rebels, and we must hide!”
But he and his friend gained the back door too late to escape. The lad followed in time to see both fall into the hands of four stalwart men, who were lying in wait. Two others seized the young scout as he appeared, and then the commander of the company, a long, lank, grizzly-bearded man, not far from the age of the Tories, came forward.
“What does this mean, Sam Adams?” Master Earle demanded. “It is an outrage to treat men this way in a free country.”
“We ain’t free yet,” the lieutenant retorted, “that is, we ain’t free of red-coats or Tories, though we are likely to be before a great while. Howsomever, if you want to know by whose authority I have arrested you and Squire Lyman, I’ll say the Committee of Safety sent me for that purpose, and they’ll tell you what’s wanted. But who’s that young chap?”
“He’s my nephew, Ira Le Geyt,” Master Lyman replied quickly. “He was going home with me for a visit.”
“Ira Le Geyt,” repeated the officer slowly. “Seems to me I’ve heard that name before, though I can’t tell where. But I’ve no orders to take him. Let the lad go, men, and we’ll hope the next time we see him he will be in better company.”