"A dwarf, do you mean?"
"No, not precisely; the boys call him a manikin, for he's not deformed; only very, very small; not above four feet high. He is Dutch and has been a drummer, it's whispered, in General Washington's army. They say he was in the battle of Harlem Lane, and beat the rally for our troops when Knowlton fell. The Vly boys are great friends with him."
"But, I thought you were at daggers drawn with the boys of the Vly Market, Peter? Surely, you told me blood-curdling tales of the fights between them and you Broadway boys?"
"Oh, aye, but that's for right of way" and don't mean much except when we are actually punching each other's heads. Billy can tell great yarns; how his eyes flash when he speaks of the prison ships, though I only heard him once, when Jan Steen was talking foolish Tory stuff."
"Do you think 'Billy the fiddler,' as you call him, is one of the Sons of Liberty?"
"H-u-s-h!" and Peter looked fearfully around. "I don't dare say, but I'm sure he's true and steady. Betty, I wish I was a little taller; if I were I'd run away some fine morning and go for a drummer boy with General Washington."
Betty looked up with affectionate eyes at the sturdy urchin. "I know how you feel, Peter; but wait a bit. It's sad and disheartening enough now, God knows, but perhaps better days may dawn for the patriots. My father says we must keep up our hearts as best we can, and trust in God and the Continental Congress. Did I tell you how we moulded the bullets last summer? We kept the tally, and over forty-two thousand cartridges were made from the statue of King George, so the women of Litchfield have contributed their aid to the cause in good practical fashion."'
"Aye, that was fine! It must have been jolly fun, too."
"It was very hot," said Betty, laughing; "we tried it in our big kitchen, but finally had to melt the lead in larger kettles hung over a crane in the shed down in orchard. Aunt Euphemia thought we would fire the house, and for many nights Miss Bidwell and she, protected by Reuben with a lantern, paraded the place before closing up, hunting for stray sparks which she fancied might fly in the wrong direction."
"What a lot this hamper holds," said Peter, diving down into it. "You've made enough wreaths to decorate the rooms, I'm sure, and your hands are getting black."