A young lady with a pleasant face, light blue eyes, and soft brown hair, entered the room and was introduced as Miss Shrimpton.
“She has been helping us get ready, and has rolled out a bushel of crullers,” said Tom.
“Not quite so many,” said Miss Shrimpton, smiling.
Robert thought her very attractive and pleasing.
“I think I will go home now; father and mother will be expecting me, but I will be round to-morrow,” said Miss Shrimpton.
Tom put on his hat and escorted her. When he returned, and he and Robert were by themselves, he said that she was the best girl in Boston.
“Her father,” he went on, “is a red-hot Tory. He lives in a fine house, owns thousands of acres of land out in the country, thinks King George a saint, ordained of God to rule us; that Sam Adams and Doctor Warren are tricksters fooling the people for their own benefit. But Mary is just the nicest girl you ever saw. She has no mother, runs the house for her father, keeps everything as neat as a pin, and by and by, after I get through at Harvard and am in possession of my sheepskin with A. B. on it, she will be Mrs. Tom Brandon.”
Robert congratulated Tom upon his engagement.
The next morning saw Robert in the market disposing of what he had to sell, while Berinthia with Rachel called upon Miss Newville.
“It was very kind of you to send such a basket of fruit to me, a stranger; will you please accept a little gift in return? It is not much, but it will let you know that I appreciate your goodness,” said Rachel, placing a bundle in Miss Newville’s hands. When it was opened Ruth beheld a close-fitting hood of the softest lamb’s wool, made beautiful with pink ribbons; there was also a pair of mittens.