“Have you any idea, Tom, who placed the effigy there?” Mrs. Brandon asked.
“I might have an idea, which might be correct or which might not be. A supposition isn’t testimony. I don’t think I’ll say anything about it,” said Tom.
“Can you guess who carved it?” Berinthia asked earnestly.
“Anybody can guess, Brinth, but the guess might not be worth anything; I’ll not try.”
“You Sons of Liberty don’t let out your secrets,” Berinthia said.
“If we did they wouldn’t be secrets.”
Never had there been such a funeral in the town as that of Christopher Snider. The schools were closed that the scholars might march in procession. Merchants put up the shutters of their stores; joiners, carpenters, ropemakers, blacksmiths, all trades and occupations laid down their tools and made their way to the Liberty-Tree, where the procession was to form. Mothers flocked to the little cottage in Frog Lane to weep with a mother bereft of her only child. Tom Brandon and five other young men were to carry the bier. The newspaper published by Benjamin Edes expressed the hope that none but friends of freedom would join in the procession.
Robert made his way to the Liberty Tree at the hour appointed. A great crowd had assembled. Somebody had nailed a board to the tree, upon which were painted texts from the Bible:—
“Thou shalt take no satisfaction for the life of a murderer. He shall surely be put to death.”
“Though hand join in hand, the wicked shall not pass unpunished.”