“Yes. I meant you weren’t to tell Louise Trent, or those Young girls,” said Nathan. “And don’t tell any one unless you are sure it will be of some use. You see I may tell, if it comes to that.”
Faith drew a long breath. “Thank you, Nathan,” she said, in so serious a tone that the boy laughed aloud.
“You are as grave about that old fort as my father and the Shoreham men are. You ought to hear my father tell about the big fight here in 1758. He was a young man then, and the French held the fort, and the English were after it.”
Donald had stopped his work, and he and Hugh were listening eagerly. “Tell us, tell us about it,” said Donald.
“Father says there’ll never be anything like it again. All the Colonies sent men, and Lord Howe brought thousands of English soldiers. England was our friend then,” said Nathan. “They had thousands of boats, and rafts to carry their big guns. They had big flags, and music; and they didn’t lurk or skulk about. Their boats came right down the lake in fine shape; they landed, and marched toward the fort. But the French were ready for them, and beat them back. However, the next year the English and Americans drove the French out.”
“I guess the English are brave,” Donald ventured, returning to his work.
“Of course they are. Why, we’re all English ourselves,” declared Nathan, “and that’s why we won’t stand being treated so unfairly. We can’t stand it.”
“I’m not English. I’m an American,” said Faith; “and when the Americans take Ticonderoga that will be American too.”
“That’s the way to talk, little maid,” said a gruff voice, and the children turned quickly toward the door.
“I didn’t mean to listen,” and a tall man, dressed in deerskin jacket and trousers, with moccasins, and wearing a fur cap, stepped into the shop, resting his musket against the wall near the door. “Shouldn’t have dared come in if I had not heard I was in good company,” he said laughingly, his sharp eyes looking carefully about the shop.