“To fight the British.”
“What, the King?”
“Yes.”
“The King? Do I hear my ears, boy?”
“Uncle?”
“I am going to pull the latch-string, and out you go. Don’t talk back. Do you hear? Out you go, and you may never be able to tell all you lose.”
The boy half comprehended the hint, for he believed that his uncle had money stored in the cellar, or in some secret place near the house. As the latter would never let any one but himself go to the soap-barrel in the cellar, the boy suspected the treasure might be there, or in the ash-flue in the chimney.
Young Peter turned white.
Old Peter tugged his rheumatic body to the door, and turned.
“I am going to pull the string, Peter.”