"Good day, friend. A frosty morning."
"But the wind will turn to east at sunset," said the other, with a quick glance from under his heavy eyebrows.
"A good wind, then, for the Sturdy Beggar," was the reply, as the fisherman clasped his hands behind his neck with a peculiar gesture.
"Then all's well," returned the shopkeeper, laying down his razors, and motioning his customer to come farther inside. "Whom do you seek here, sir?"
"Mynheer Wilhelm Hoffmeister, known commonly as 'Billy the fiddler.'"
"He is off on duty since last Tuesday, but must be here to-night to play at a grand ball given at one of the Tory houses; there must be news, for you are the third one who has asked for him since yesterday."
"News?" said the fisherman eagerly; "perhaps you have a billet for me?"
"And what may you be called?" asked the other cautiously.
"Jim Bates, from Breucklen Heights."
"Then you're all right, sir; why didn't you say so before?" and the man, casting a swift glance to make sure that the boy at the door was not looking, pulled a scrap of dirty paper from his pocket, which was instantly seized and opened by the fisherman. As he read the few words it contained, the anxious lines on his face grew deeper.