“Peter Nimble,” said Dennis to the young farmhand one day, as the latter was resting under the trees after the planting of pumpkin-seeds among the corn, while the sheep grazed, “I have come over here to have a secret talk with you. I have long had my eye on you. You are full of the new fire; you see things quick; you have long legs, and you are all brain, heart, and legs. You are just the lad I want.”
“For what, Dennis?”
“For the secret service. Will you promise me never to tell what I am about to tell you now?”
“Never, Dennis.”
“Though the sky fall?”
“Though the sky fall, and the earth cave in, and the waters cover the land. Never, Dennis, if it be for the cause.”
“It is for the cause, Peter. Hark ye, boy. We must store powder here. Powder is the life of the war. We must store it in a cave, and we must have some one to guard the cave, and to give an alarm if spies shall come.”
“I can run,” said Peter.
“Yes, Peter, you can run, and run the right way, too. You will never turn your heels against the country. You can outrun all the boys. But it is not for your heels that I come to you. I want a guard with nimble thoughts as well as legs. You could run to me quickly by day, as on feet of air, but it is for the night that I want you; for a curious service, a queer service.”
“What would you have me do?”