The little Jew opened his sick eyes under his bandage. The Weasel climbed nimbly over the tail-board and settled down beside the wounded man, taking his blood-smeared hand.
"Shemuel! Shemuel! We saw them split your head!" stammered Mount, in his astonishment and joy.
"Under my hat I did haff a capful of shillings," replied Shemuel, weakly; "I—I go back—two days' time to find me my money by dot Lechemere swamp—eh, Jack?"
"God bless you, old nosey!" cried Mount; "we'll get your money, lad! Won't we, Cardigan?"
The little Jew turned his heavy eyes on me.
"You haff found Miss Warren?" he gasped. "Ach, so iss all well. I go back—two days' time—find me my money." He smiled and closed his eyes.
So we re-entered Lexington, Jack Mount, the Weasel, Saul Shemuel, and I; and on the tavern steps Silver Heels stood, her tired, colourless face lighted up, her outstretched hands falling on my shoulders; and I to take her in my arms, for she had fallen a-weeping. Above us the splendid blue of the sky spread its eternal tent, our only shelter, our only home on the long trail through the world; our lamp was the sun, our fireplace a continent, and the four winds our walls, and our estates were bounded by two oceans, washing the shores of a land where the free, at last, might dwell.
In the south the thunder of the British cannon muttered, distant and more distant; the storm had passed.
Had the storm passed? The smoke hung in the north where Concord town was burning, yet around us birds sang.
And now came Jack Mount, riding postilion on the horses which drew the post-chaise; behind him trotted the Weasel, leading out Warlock. Silver Heels saw them and stood up, smiling through her tears.