Under his sunbonnet Andy turned scarlet, but he did not turn toward Ruth.
"There goes our Ruthie to sell eggs," called little Margaret White from over her bowl of milk in the kitchen. "Does your leg hurt awful, Ruthie?"
Mrs. White at the table did not turn, but she said:
"Take heed, Margaret, your milk is spilling. Ruth is all right." As in very truth she was.
"We be late, already," called Hans from his wagon. "Can you get up, miss?"
Andy mounted slowly, and crouched behind Hans among the baskets and pails. The Dutch boy had but recently come over from Long Island to live with the parson. After the battle of Long Island he had fled to what he thought were more peaceful pastures for employment; but he had his doubts. Dangers pursued Hans, and he was sore distressed. It was necessary for him to sell the products of the little farm, and, really, the danger of the parson's daughter going along to straighten matters out, was no great matter. Peddlers, unless suspected, were allowed to pass the lines, and their wares paid for with more or less honesty.