"It was more horrible to think that my own father had been struck by a blow dealt in my defense. You must have thought that, too."
"No, I did not. Who struck that blow?"
"Nathan Hale."
The man started. "And he?"
"Died the death of a spy two days ago."
"Andy!" It was Janie who cried out. "Was our dear schoolmaster, Nathan Hale, the spy?"
"Nathan Hale, the patriot!" corrected Andy, and his eyes dimmed.
"Oh! how you have suffered, lad."
"Aye." Andy sank into a chair.
His father was looking at him keenly; and a growing expression of admiration was dawning in the searching eyes. Here was a son of whom he might yet be proud.