“Widder,” said Jacob, “your boy is welcome to smash that winder. Maybe he’s got more courage than Jacob Dyer; for although I can’t sing ‘God Save the King,’ chiefly because I don’t know how to sing anything, I feel sometimes as if I ought to be more outspoken than I am for my country. But I have a wife and eight children to support, and if I got the redcoats down on me, they’d close my tavern and then I’d be on the town. But sometimes my blood biles when I hear ’em talk about lickin’ General Washington. I kem to-night to tell you that if I look cross at your boy the next time he comes to the tavern he needn’t mind. You sha’n’t pay a cent for the winder, and I’d be a good deal more of a ’Merican if my livin’ didn’t depend on the redcoats.”
The very next day Dicky showed up in the tavern kitchen. As usual, redcoats were plenty. Jacob Dyer, in a huge white apron, was superintending the turning of the spit. As soon as he caught sight of Dicky he began to grumble.
“Here comes that Stubbs boy as cost me five shilling for a glazier’s bill. If it warn’t that his mother’s a widder, I’d be after him, I can tell you. But look out, you young scamp, if ever you get to wreckin’ my premises again, I’ll get after you as sure as shootin’. Do you mind that?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Dicky very meekly and not in the least alarmed.
CHAPTER IV.
AN IMPORTANT ERRAND.
Visitors were few at the widow’s cottage, but the very night after Jacob Dyer had been there another knock at the door ushered in a very different visitor. The widow had just trimmed the fire, swept the hearth, and drawn up the settle, and was waiting for Jack and Dicky to come in and get their supper of milk and porridge and potatoes, when a thundering rat-tat-tat came at the door. When she opened it, there stood an elderly gentleman in a cocked hat and handsome knee buckles and a gold-headed cane. The widow knew him in a moment. He was Squire Stavers, one of the richest citizens of Newport and a staunch patriot. The widow was rather flustered by the importance of her caller, but invited him in politely.
“I understand, madam,” began Squire Stavers, “that you have an uncommonly reliable boy—a little fellow who goes about singing for his living.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the widow, all in a flutter. “It mayn’t seem such a steady business for a boy, but the times are so hard I can’t find anything else for him to do, and he makes a very good living and brings all his money to me.”
“His employment will answer very well for the present,” replied the squire, “and when times become more settled no doubt you can find honorable work for him. What I came to see you about to-night was in connection with him. Is there any danger of being overheard?”
For answer the widow rose and bolted the door of the cottage and—rare luxury!—lighted two tallow candles. Then the squire continued: