Ezra laughed; and there was a look of appreciation in his eyes as he slapped his friend upon the back.
“Ben,” exclaimed he, “you’re the greatest fellow I ever knew! You always think your share of the work the easiest, no matter what it is. If General Ward had an army of fellows like you before Boston, Gage would not be able to hold the town for a week.”
Far away, against the horizon line, a spire arose from amidst a clump of dwellings.
“I will meet you there as soon after dark as I can,” continued Ezra, his outstretched finger indicating the tower. “If there is an inn wait for me there.”
After a few words more, Ezra urged the reluctant bay into the much cut wagon road; Ben, upon the soft-stepping roan, went loping easily down the highroad, his usually laughing face grave as became a rider with an urgent mission to perform.
Ezra Prentiss after a time dismounted and led his steed by the bridle.
“Mr. Paul Revere used to say a horse well looked after always finished earlier in the day,” said he to himself with a smile. “And I guess it’s true. At any rate, old fellow,” to the bay, “the going is too hard for a rider here; so I’ll try walking for a little, anyway.”
In a field he saw two men working with teams of oxen. He waited at a fence corner until one of them had completed his furrow.
“Good-day, neighbor,” called the boy.
“Good-day,” returned the farmer.