After supper Jack saw the man who lived across the street putting some boxes into a cart before his door. Jack watched him cord and strap the boxes in the cart. "I'm taking my wife and baby into the country for a few days," the neighbor explained.
"And you're coming back yourself?" Jack asked.
"I don't think so." The neighbor shook his head. "I'm not a fighting man; I don't believe in shedding blood. I'm sure no good Quaker could approve of warfare. I'll stay away till the town's quiet again."
"But suppose the French take the town and hold on to it," said Jack. "Perhaps you couldn't get your house again."
"Well, there's plenty of country for us all," answered the other.
"I suppose you're right," said Jack. "Most people seem to think as you do. But somehow I can't understand how so many people are willing to give in to so few. Aren't our men in Philadelphia as big and strong as the Frenchmen?"
"Why yes, of course they are, Jack. But the French come with firearms, and we don't approve of firearms. We'd be glad to reason with them, if they'd listen to us. But men with guns don't generally want to listen to reason."
"And because they won't listen we run away," said Jack. "I can't understand that."
"You will when you're older," said the man, and went indoors for another box.
Jack went to Peter Black's, and helped him put his mother's silverware and valuables, securely tied in a sack, into a small hand-cart. Together the boys pushed the cart through the town and in the direction of the hiding-place. They secreted the sack in the cave beside the brook, and trundled the cart back to Gregory's shop. The night was fair and warm, and the shoemaker was sitting outside his house. "The town must be pretty empty by now," he said. "I've seen so many people hurrying away. Soon there'll be nothing left there but the governor and some stray cats and dogs. All our good citizens seem to prefer to spend the spring in the country."