“Bravo, my darling!” cried the piper, slapping me on the shoulder with enthusiasm.
“That's not exactly my question,” said the stranger, smiling good-naturedly; “I want to know your age.”
“I was fourteen in August,” said I.
“I had rather you could say twenty,” responded he, thoughtfully. “This is a sad mistake of yours, Darby. What dependence can be placed on a child like this? He's only a child, after all.”
“He's a child I'll go bail for with my head,” said Darby.
“Your head has fully as much on it as it is fit to carry,” said the other, in a tone of rebuke. “Have you told him anything of the object and intentions of this Society? But of course you have revealed everything. Well, I 'll not be a party to this business. Young gentleman,” continued he, in a voice of earnest and impressive accent, “all I know of you is the few particulars this man has stated respecting your unfriended position, and the cruelty to which you fear to expose yourself in trusting to the guardianship of Mr. Basset. If these reasons have induced you, from recklessness and indifference, to risk your life, by association with men who are actuated by high and noble principles, then, I say, you shall not enter here. If, however, aware of the object and intentions of our Union, you are desirous to aid us, young though you be, I shall not refuse you.”
“That's it,” interrupted Darby; “if you feel in your heart a friend to your country—”
“Silence!” said the other, harshly; “let him decide for himself.”
“I neither know your intentions, nor even guess at them,” said I, frankly. “My destitution, and the poor prospect before me, make me, as you suppose, indifferent to what I embark in, provided that it be not dishonorable.
“It is not danger that will deter me, that 's all I can promise you.”