“Was jes below de town, suh, a few hours ago. Reckon he’s gone now, ’cross de river.”
“Do you know what’s written on this paper?” keenly.
“’Deed no, suh. I can’t read writin’ no-how. It’s sumfin ’bout Gen’ul Washington, though. Mistah Brewstah done told me that when he said I was to be ca’ful and not let the British see it.”
“How did he come to give it to you?”
“I wu’ks for Mistah Spen’sah, outside town; Mistah Spen’sah is a friend to Gen’ul Washington’s gen’l’men, an’ he done tol’ Mistah Brewstah that he could done trust me. I’se pow’ful sot ’gainst dese heah Hushians, I is.”
For some time after the lad had gone George stood immovable reading the paper so that there could be no mistake as to its meaning. Then he touched one end of it to the flames upon the broad hearth and watched it blacken and curl. A door opened and the draught carried the charred fragments up the wide chimney; George was still bending toward the fire meditatively, when a harsh, high-pitched voice demanded:
“Where are my friends, sir? Come now, don’t keep me kicking my heels and waiting.”
There was something familiar in the tones, and George lifted his head and gazed at the speaker. The man was burly, red-faced and had small, deeply-set eyes; and his manner, as he stood waiting for the landlord to reply, was oddly like that of an ill-trained mastiff. It flashed into the youth’s mind that he had seen this man somewhere before and under conditions which had possessed interest. As George was measuring him closely, the glance of the newcomer happened to rest upon him; and into the small, deeply-set eyes there came a look as puzzled as his own. For a moment they stood thus, gazing at each other; then the landlord spoke:
“Your friends, sir,” he said, “are in the back parlor. They required that you be shown in when you arrived.”
Several times after this George encountered the same person and each time he fell to wondering who he was; and always did he see speculation in the glances which the big man leveled at him.