“That sounds well, but it means treason; and I for one will not harbour or support traitors,” was the angry response.
“And I,” replied Allison, with dignity, “will permit no man to control my thoughts or call me a traitor to the country for which I fought.”
Thus the kindly relations between the two men, 14 who in their hearts held warm regard, each for the other, were abruptly ended in mutual ill will. At a window looking out stood Henry Mogridge, with the same disagreeable smile his face had worn the previous evening.
How like a chill fog stealing in and shutting down, shrouding a place, is trouble in a household!
The squire was uneasy all the morning and then, calling for his horse, mounted him and rode away. Elizabeth eluded her cousin, who, left to amuse himself, heartily wished himself back in London.
At the home of the Allisons the trouble was of a very serious nature. David’s intention to keep from his wife and family what had occurred that morning, failed. Mrs. Allison knew that something serious had happened and, in her quiet way, finally learned what it was. Rodney, too, learned of it and that night went to his bed feeling that other boys fared better than he. There was his cousin, Dick Tawbee, with horses and dogs and servants to care for them, while he––well, there was no lad he knew who had so much of trouble.
It might have contributed to Rodney’s peace of mind that evening could he have seen the predicament of a boy, about his own age, who, to escape abuse, had run from his cabin home and huddled down behind a stump in the clearing around the cabin. He lived on the frontier of the colony of Pennsylvania, and, though a rather uninteresting little fellow, had troubles of his own and was bearing them without a murmur, and, 15 instead of thinking about them, was considering the pleasures the day had afforded him.
The Vuysens with whom he lived, because after the death of his parents he could not find a better home, had been abusing him for running away in the morning, leaving his duties because he had wished to see a beaver colony at work. He had not intended to do anything wrong, but the temptation had been too great. That morning the world seemed overflowing with the alluring promises of spring, and the birds were singing in the forest. He thought of the beaver colony he had discovered the winter before when it was locked in ice. The ice would now be gone. Surely here was his opportunity.
He had approached very cautiously so as not to alarm the little animals, and finally found a place where he had a good view of them at work, cutting down trees with their chisel-shaped teeth and building dams with a skill which causes men to wonder.
While trying to get into a comfortable position he had stepped on a dry twig that snapped under his feet. A big beaver slapped his broad tail on the water. Splash! and they disappeared in a twinkling. But Conrad, that was the boy’s name, was a patient little fellow and after a time his patience was rewarded by seeing the beaver resume their tasks. Some cut down the trees, cutting them so they fell just where the beaver wanted them, woodsmen could have done no better. Some were piling brush among the branches of the trees while others brought earth to fill in the 16 network of brush, patting it down with their broad tails, as masons would use their trowels; others were rolling a stone into the dam they were building. Seemingly they had the work as carefully planned as men could have done.