“Well, I know where we can get a square meal, though it won’t taste as good as that roast pig down in Jersey. Will you go with me?”
“Certain sure I’ll go. I reckon thar be no good o’ my hangin’ round any longer to-day.”
As they walked down Chestnut Street Rodney saw a familiar figure approaching.
“Zeb, there comes one of the greatest men in the country, Thomas Jefferson. Wonder if he’ll remember me.”
He was not left long in doubt. Mr. Jefferson’s face was careworn and noticeably older than when Rodney had last seen him, and the lad was but a shadow of his former self, yet the man recognized him the moment they met.
“How is my young friend this morning? You’ve had an illness.”
“I am just up from a fever. Mr. Jefferson, I want you to know my friend, one of Morgan’s Rangers, Mr. Campbell, or Zeb, as we call him. He’s been to me almost as good a friend as you.”
“I’m always glad to meet your friends, Rodney. What are you doing here?”
“I’m waiting till I get strength enough to go back to Charlottesville. I was taken prisoner and am on parole and I think home is the best place for me.”