Ben rapped the oaken table smartly with his knuckles by way of applause.
“Good!” cried he. “That is just the way of it!” He looked at his friend in high admiration for a moment. “And it is very fortunate that you stumbled across it. Yes,” thoughtfully, as he renewed his inroads on the bacon, “Abdallah is the chief spy, as you think. His little tilts with Major Buckstone show that plainly enough.”
They discussed the matter for a long time, over the remnants of their meal. The fact that the British had discovered the practically unguarded condition of Boston Neck worried the boys not a little. One swift rush of the trained regiments of the King might undo all the good that had been accomplished. They spoke in low voices, for the landlord, and now and then some other of the inn people, were constantly about; at length some patrons entered and took seats at no great distance.
Safe in a hamlet where practically all were united in hatred of the laws of Parliament, the boys gave little heed to those who came or went. The newcomers ordered elaborately of the fare of the “Plow and Harrow”; the host, in high good humor, bustled about giving them his best attention.
“Your horses, gentlemen,” said he, “should be rubbed down and unsaddled. It will do them much good.”
“Leave them as they are,” said one of the strangers; “we may require them at——”
The thin hand of one of his fellows tugged at his sleeve.
“Sh-h-h!” whispered the owner of the hand, warningly.
The first speaker laughed.
“But you are right,” admitted he, with great candor. “It is a well established fault of mine that I talk too much.”