Then the party marched for the farm, where, red-eyed, and her florid face mottled and troubled-looking, Mrs Shackle met them.
“Well, woman,” said the lieutenant severely; “I have to search this place.”
“If you please, sir,” said the woman humbly.
“One moment. Answer me honestly. Is there any contraband article stored about the farm?”
“No, sir, and never was.”
“Humph! That’s what your son said.”
“My son? Oh, pray, pray tell me, gentlemen, is he safe? I heard that he was burned to death.”
“Your son is quite well, aboard my ship.”
“Thank God! Oh, thank God!” cried the poor woman, sinking upon her knees to cover her face with her hands, sobbing violently, and rocking herself to and fro.
“There!” she cried, jumping up quickly, and wiping her eyes; “I’ve no cause to fret now.”