The light thrown was dim and uncertain enough; but Nat Brewster was struck with admiration and looked wonderingly down each street as they passed. He had been in Philadelphia several times since his arrival, but never before at night.
“Do you know the town very well?” he asked the dwarf, as they rode along.
“I was born in it,” replied that personage, proudly. “And it is the largest city in America. There are thirty thousand people living here,” in a tone of almost incredulity, “and there is a fast coach that makes the journey to New York in two days.”
They turned at a smart pace through some open ground into High Street, then across a field and to the eastward of the State House whose tower pointed darkly into the sky.
“Below here we shall soon come to Gray’s Road, which leads direct to the ferry,” said the dwarf. They rode on in silence for some time after this. But the Porcupine’s manner showed that he had something on his mind; finally he twisted himself about in his saddle and asked:
“What’s your name?”
“Nat Brewster,” was the reply.
“Nat Brewster,” repeated the other, slowly, and with much the manner of a person who is tasting something. “I kind of like the sound of that; and,” suddenly, “I kind of like you. But tell me this, Nat Brewster,” tapping the young mountaineer upon the elbow with one finger-tip; “when you come up with Master Royce and his men, what do you intend to do?”
For a moment Nat was startled. He drew hard upon the rein and the big gray came to a stand.
“You are right,” said he. “I’ve been in such haste that the thing entirely escaped me.”