“Get out, Anne,” said Mr. Freeman in a low tone, and in a moment the two girls were following the black-bearded man into a low dark kitchen.
“You folks looked so dressed up I thought like as not you were Tories,” declared the man, as if wishing to explain his rude reception. “Now take seats, and I’ll put your horse where it can have a bit of fodder.”
Mr. Freeman followed the man back to the shed, and Anne and Rose looked at each other, and then glanced about the low dark room.
“I don’t believe he’s a pirate,” whispered Anne; “anyway I’m glad to be in out of this dreadful storm.”
“So am I,” answered Rose, “but it is a funny house. What do you suppose made Lady turn in at that place? This man may not be a pirate, but there is something odd about him. This whole place is queer. I almost wish we had stayed in the chaise.”
Under the two windows that faced toward the woods ran a long box-like seat, and in one corner of the room stood a shoemaker’s bench, with its rows of awls, needles threaded with waxed thread, hammers, sharp knives, tiny wooden pegs, and bits of leather; a worn boot lay on the floor as if the man had started up from his work at Mr. Freeman’s rap.
“What’s that, Rose?” questioned Anne, pointing to a piece of iron that could be seen extending from beneath an old blanket which lay under the bench.
“It’s a rifle!” answered Rose. “Look, Anne! Quick, before he comes back. I believe there are a lot of guns there.”
Anne knelt down to lift the blanket. Rose was close beside her, leaning over to see what the blanket might conceal, when the kitchen door swung open and the man entered. As he looked at the two girls his face darkened again, and he came quickly forward.
“Aha!” he muttered. “It’s just as I thought. Pretty clever of the old Tory to bring these girls along to peek about and find out all they can,” but the girls did not hear him until he stood beside them, and then his scowl was gone and he spoke pleasantly: “A good many rifles for one man, but they are not all mine. I’m storing them for friends.”