After a few moments the old gentleman looked at the boy, who was talking in low tones with the landlady.
“He is my only son,” he explained, “and I have been much put out by thoughts of his safety. Indeed, I am now on my way to the camp. I felt that there must soon be a battle, and I desired to see him once more.”
They talked, while the landlady laid the table at the fire with her whitest linen and most shining delft.
“My name is Joseph Claflin,” said the old man. “I once manufactured iron-mongery of many kinds, but am long since retired.”
Ben glanced at him, surprised.
“Not the Joseph Claflin whose foundry is still on the Wissahickon, just above Weiss’s Mill?” said he.
“Hah, you know the place then?”
“I ought to, sir, seeing that I was born at no great distance from it. My name is Cooper, and my father’s place is near to the Mennonite Meeting House.”
“Attorney Cooper’s son! Are you, indeed? Let me shake your hand.” The old hands grasped the young ones in a quavering grip. “Why, I have known him these many years; yes, I knew him when he was not greatly older than yourself.”
And so when they sat down to the smoking supper by the crackling fire they had many topics in common for discussion. The Claflins now resided in the city proper; but they knew Germantown still, and, so it seemed, frequently visited there.