“King William was King James’ son,
And from a royal race they sprung,
Upon his breast he wore a star—”
“Stop!” cried Stephen, suddenly pausing in the middle of a word, “there is some one listening to us yonder in the road.”
The music ceased, the line broke, and six pairs of feet scampered down the slope toward the corner of the newly-moved fence. When, however, the children came near enough to see what sort of a person it was that had paused under King James’ Tree, there was some faltering and hanging back, so that at the end it was Stephen alone who pressed forward and peered over the bushes at the stranger.
A stout, broad-shouldered man it was who had come down the hot, dusty road and had stopped to rest in the shade of the pine. His hair was red, his coat was redder and his face was reddest of all.
“Heaven have mercy, young sir,” he said when he saw Stephen, and, as he spoke, took off his tall, gold-laced hat and wiped his dripping forehead, “but this America is no place for a hot-blooded English soldier. ’Tis worse than the Low Countries, for there at least men could find somewhat to drink, since, however many the battlefields were, there were always inns near by.”
At a whispered word from Stephen, his sister Elizabeth had run all to the house and presently returned with a tall blue mug, brimming over with cool water from the spring. This was gravely presented to the traveller by Stephen, since none of the other children would venture close enough.
“Many thanks,” said the man, as he took a great draught. Then he held the cup from him and looked at it in comic dismay. “Water!” he exclaimed, “sure that is a thin drink for a great stout soldier like myself, and on the King’s accession day, too. But it is cool and wet, at least, and I am well-nigh choked with the dust of this weary road. So here is a health to my friend George of Hanover, may he reign long and send me on better errands than my present one!”
Thus saying, he emptied the mug and handed it back to Stephen.