“The boy rejoiced over the Concord fight—you see! Put your arms around him. I want you two should be friends.”
“I will put my arms around him, for your sake and for the sake of Dennis O’Hay. He shall be my heart’s own.”
Peter had found friends—hearts.
He used to think of his old uncle as he slept under the cedars out of doors, on guard after his duties in the store, amid the fireflies, the night animals and birds.
He would seem to hear the old wood-chopper counting:
“One—
“Two—
“Three!”
He would wonder if the old man were counting for him, or if that which was counted would go to the King. If the patriots won their cause, the counted gold, if such it were, could not go to the King. What were the old man’s thoughts and purposes when he counted nights?