“‘Do you remember,’ he said, ‘how, when I escaped from that battle where your forces fought to so much greater advantage than ours, there was a certain officer of the rebel army who snatched a gun from one of his men, slipped down a path that he knew and was waiting for me, with rifle in rest, at the turn of the road?’
“‘Yes,’ I stammered, ‘I remember.’
“‘And do you recollect how he took careful aim as I galloped by and then suddenly flung up his weapon and saluted me instead of firing? I remember it well, even to the man’s face, for although it was a hurried moment, one notes clearly the countenance of an enemy who is about to take one’s life. I was thinking of it when I saw that same officer in huckster’s clothes, standing by the Common. And I am thinking of it still’—and here he opened the door—‘when I bid that man go free now, to follow Cousin Betsey, who wants his protection more than King George wants his life.’
“I tried to gasp out my thanks, but was too much amazed to speak the half of what I felt. I had thought no one knew of my chance to slay the escaping officer and of my having, at the last moment, no heart to take the life of so brave a man. His face had been partly hidden by his flying cloak and I should not have known him again.
“‘Waste no more time,’ he said, cutting short my stammering thanks; ‘there are two unprotected women out yonder on the lonely road. Take my grey horse that stands before the door; when you have caught up with your wagon you can turn him loose and he will come home again alone. So go on your way, but I warn you, stay not this time to leave love-tokens for the British Army.’
“You may be sure that I lost no time in carrying out his directions and that Cousin Betsey received her purse in safety. Her complaints and her description of the terrors she had felt over my being gone so long, lasted us for many miles. The sentries permitted us to pass with earnest recommendations that I come soon again with another load of provisions, and before morning we were safe within our own lines. Cousin Betsey has been spreading through all the country, it seems to me, the tale of our escape and of my heroism, as she calls it. And I must needs be silent under all these praises, for to tell of my real adventures would mean to tell also how I failed in my duty as a soldier and did not capture a fleeing enemy. Ah, but my heart is lighter, now that some one knows how miserably I bungled the whole affair.”
Stephen arose, knocked the ashes out of his pipe and came over to put his hand on Miles’ shoulder.
“You do well to bemoan your heedless folly,” he said, “for you risked much and for very little. None the less you did a brave deed in saving those two women, but, since your Cousin Betsey sings your praises so loudly, I will leave the task of doing you justice, to her. And think not that you failed in your duty when you hesitated to slay a brave man; there is no wrong in an act of plain humanity. I think that we acquit you of those woeful charges against yourself. Eh, Clotilde, do we not?”
And most completely and heartily did Clotilde agree that Miles was the most noble soldier in the whole patriot army.
“One satisfaction I did have,” Miles said more cheerfully. “When Christmas came and my mother sent me a great hamper of good things, I dared the passage to the house of David Thurston’s brother again, and sent by his boy a fine ham and a large, fat goose as an aid to that officer’s holiday dinner. I knew not his name, but I could give the lad directions for finding the place where my friend lodged. And to the goose’s leg I fastened a paper that said, ‘With the compliments of General Washington’s Army.’”