“Our horses are at the door,” said Ezra, promptly. “We are ready to go at once.”
So they remained after Colonel Prescott had departed. Soon the dispatch of the colonial commander was placed in Ezra’s hands; their instructions were brief; then they mounted and rode swiftly away upon their journey through the deepening dusk.
“We should sleep at Framingham to-night,” said Ezra.
“We made the complete journey once in seven days,” answered Nat. “And this time we should not be behind that.”
A farmhouse was their first halt; and the good people were eager to do all they could for them when they heard who they were. It was the same through all of Massachusetts and Connecticut. Innkeepers gave them their best attention; hostlers looked to their horses with unexampled solicitude; the townspeople gathered about them burning to hear the news from the lips of the lads who had been in the battle.
They reached New York, where they attracted great attention, crowds thronging the streets to watch their progress; then they crossed the Hudson and began pushing their way across the level Jerseys. They had gone a half day’s ride over the sandy roads; it was a little past noon when they came to a fine, old, tree-shaded house, with broad fields, green with the spring’s planting, beautiful orchards and a generally prosperous look.
“Now this,” spoke Nat, good-humoredly, “is a likely sort of place for two wayfarers to alight and beseech entertainment. The people who live here could provide good food and in plenty, if appearances go for anything.”
They dismounted at the open gate and tied their horses to the fence. A small dog, hearing their footsteps upon the path, ran toward them with a great ado of barking; this brought forward a very small boy, who stood before them, his freckled face turned up inquiringly.
“Do you want my father?” asked he.
Ezra smiled down at the child.