A week after this, little Mistress Southorn was escorted to the British lines and handed over to her waiting husband; and a few days later, a transport sailed, taking back to England some disabled officers and soldiers, as well as a small number of royalists, who were forced to leave the country for the one whose cause they espoused too openly.
Dorothy was standing by the ship's rail, alone, her husband having left her for a few minutes. She was busy watching the stir and bustle of departure, when she recognized, in a seeming farmer who had come aboard with poultry, the pedler, Johnnie Strings.
The sight of his shrewd face and keen little eyes brought to her mingled feelings of pleasure and alarm, and, wondering what his mission could be, she hurried toward him.
"Oh, Johnnie, is it safe for you to be here?" she exclaimed, as she grasped his hand.
"Sh-h, sweet mistress!" he said cautiously. "I won't be safe if ye sing out in such fashion. Jest ye get that scared look off yer face, while we talk nat'ral like, for the sake o' them as stands 'round. Ye see I was the only one that could risk comin', an' I'm to carry back the last news o' ye. But oh, Mistress Dorothy," and his voice took a note of expostulation, "however had ye the heart to do it? But o' course we all know 't was not really yer own doin', arter all. I tell ye, mistress, that mornin' at the Sachem's Cave saw the beginnin' of a sight o' mischief."
She passed this by without comment, smiling at him kindly while she gave him many parting messages for those at Dorchester, and for Aunt Lettice and little 'Bitha, and all at the old house.
The pedler promised to deliver them, and then looking into her face, he sighed mournfully.
"Aye, but 't is thankful I am, mistress, that yer old father ne'er lived to see this day."
"Oh, Johnnie, don't say that—how can you?" she cried impulsively.
He saw the pained expression his words had brought, and added hastily, as he drew the back of his hand across his eyes, "There, there, sweet mistress, don't take my foolish words to heart, for my own is so sore this day over all that's come to pass, an' that ye should be goin' away like this, that I scarce know jest what I be sayin'."