The few neighbors who had assembled to perform the last rites for Little Peter's mother had just returned to the house as Tom and Indian John approached. Tom at once went to his friend, and the warm grasp of the hand was all he could give. Not one of the children save Little Peter was there, and the hurried duties had been hastily performed by kind, though rough hands.
The two boys withdrew from the house, and after an awkward silence Tom said in a low voice, "What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to leave the children at Benzeor's house. He has been very kind, or rather Sarah has, Tom. And then I'm going to start for Refugee Town; I think father may be there."
"Refugee Town?" said Tom in surprise. "Do you think that will be safe?"
Tom well knew the place. It was a spot on the outer beach of the Hook, where some of the more desperate refugees, tories and negroes, had assembled. A few huts and tents served as their dwelling-places, and the men were supposed to be in league with the men on board the boats which the British had stationed near by, for a part of Howe's fleet was already anchored there, waiting for the coming of Clinton's men. Clinton's original plan had been to march across Jersey to New Brunswick, there embark his men on the Raritan, and sail away for New York; but the rapid march of Washington had caused him to abandon the project, and word had been sent for the fleet to be ready for him when he should arrive at the Highlands.
Refugee Town had become a familiar name within the past few weeks.
"No, it isn't safe exactly, but I've got to do something for father. If he's taken to New York and shut up in the sugar-house I'll go with him; and if he's still there at the Town I may be able to do something, though I don't know what," said Little Peter sadly.
"But there are the children," protested Tom. "What'll become of them?"
"They're at Benzeor's, and they'll be all right. You'll help look after them, won't you?"
"I've left Benzeor's."