"Nor can others older than you, my child," he said with an unmirthful smile, as he arose from the table. "The soldiers are a pest in the town, little one. But till the King sees fit to call them off, or we find a way to make them go, you must be content to stop nigh the house, and away from the boats." Then he added teasingly, as he put his hand upon her head, "The redcoats may carry you off, if you put yourself in their way."
'Bitha shook off his hand as she gave her small head a belligerent toss. "If they tried to do that, Uncle Joseph, I'd push them over the rocks, as Mary Broughton did that redcoat we met in the cave. And oh, Dot,"—turning to her—"that 'minds me that the other day when I was with Leet and Trent, down in the ten-acre lot, that same redcoat was there, sitting in the door of the shed, with his horse standing nigh. And when he saw us coming, he hurried away. And Trent said 't was lucky no sheep were within the shed for him to steal."
"He is a gentleman, 'Bitha, and would no more steal my father's sheep than would you or I!"
Dorothy's voice was full of indignation, and the child's eyes opened wide at its unusual sharpness. But this, as well as her heightened color, her father and Aunt Lettice ascribed to embarrassment at being reminded of her exploit of the past summer.
All the outside world lay flooded in the warm golden sunshine that blunted the cold edge of the wind rushing from the north, where sullen cloud-banks were piling up in a way to threaten a change of weather before night. The sea lay a floor of molten silver and burnished steel, and the crows called incessantly from the woods.
Dorothy chose to take a short cut across the fields to old Ruth's abode; and while skirting the ten-acre lot, she cast a furtive glance toward the large shed, as if expecting to see a scarlet coat in the doorway.
But only the homespun-clad form of Trent was there, letting out a large flock of sheep, who came gambolling about him, and then dispersed over the dry brown grass, where a bright green patch showed here and there.
"'T was queer, Mist'ess Dor'thy, dat we nebber foun' de two cows dat strayed so long 'go, don't ye t'ink?" inquired Pashar, who followed close behind her with a big basket on his arm.
Dorothy, intent upon her own affairs, did not reply, and the boy went on: "Trent say now dat he b'leebe de redcoats stole 'em, fo' sure."
"How could that be," she asked sharply, "when the cows were missing before any soldiers came down here?"