"They're all anti-slavery and non-combatant. Besides, I picked an acquaintance with this one yesterday."
The small, plain, whitewashed house, with its whitewashed barn, stood close to the road and shining in the moonlit dusk. An elderly man, with smooth, gray hair falling to his collar, shaven lips, and spade-shaped beard, came to the door and stood there, mild, quiet, round-shouldered.
"Can we put up our horses here and pass the night?"
He nodded and turned back into the room without speaking, but left the door open.
They spent the evening talking with him, studying the while his outward make-up, his manner and language, critically. He had a certain gentle suggestiveness of his own, and before they parted for the night brought out a pair of saddle-bags and a large bundle of printed sheets.
"De is tracts," he said, gently, "of religion."
"Good," said Mavering. "An ungodly army, no doubt. Oh, I beg pardon!"
"De is not of de doctrine of the bruderen only. De is Christian."
"Oh, well, Captain Windham was bred a Catholic. He'll distribute them, and read some himself."
The quiet elder seemed to have taken a shy liking for Gard. He touched him softly on the back of the hand.