“Of course,” he told himself, “it’s connected with the message that Ezra carries to Dr. Warren. But who are these men? They do not belong to the party we encountered at the burned mill, I feel sure; for they go about their work in a more crafty and experienced manner.”
Of course, under the circumstances, to show Ezra that he knew anything about them was out of the question.
“And I can’t tell Mr. Revere or Ben anything either,” he reasoned, “for as soon as I had done so they would let it all out to Ezra. And, if there is any truth in my suspicions that the strangers are friends of his, he’d warn them at once, a thing that I most particularly don’t want done.”
In a very little while the candles were lighted and the tables spread with smoking dishes. In the meantime Nat had spoken quietly to the landlady, and the good soul had at once fallen in with his plans of feeding and housing the dwarf.
“But I quite agree with what you say, young gentleman, in regard to not allowing my other guests to know of his presence. They might object to having such an unfortunate in the house. Travelers, you know, are most peculiar.”
And so Nat had the satisfaction, when he sat down to his supper, of knowing that his little friend was also well taken care of, and in a position, perhaps, to render a prompt service, if such a thing should be necessary.
Revere, Ezra, Ben Cooper and Nat were gathered about a large table; a smaller one was laid for the tall Englishman, and he smiled contentedly as he tucked the generous napkin under his chin.
“Madam,” said he, to the landlady, “I take this occasion to ask your pardon. I did you the discredit of questioning your skill in cookery; but in the presence of these gentlemen I take it back unreservedly.”
“But you have not tasted the dishes as yet,” protested the landlady, assuming to be short and vexed. But in reality she was much mollified.
“I don’t need to taste them to be assured of their excellence,” spoke the stranger with a wave of the hand. “The aroma that arises as I lift each separate cover is enough for me. You are not a cook, madam; you are an artist.”