Don soon found himself seated in front of a blazing wood-fire in a large room. It was the first time he had ever entered the Green Dragon Tavern. He glanced round the low-ceilinged room—at the long table, at the rows of pewter on the walls, at the dozen or more chairs with shiny rounded backs. Then he moved as close to the fire as he could with safety, and soon steam was rising from his shoes and stockings. The dog curled up on the hearth and blinked now at the boy, now at the blazing logs.
Hank left the room and returned a few minutes later with a bowl of broth and a cup of strong tea. “You needn’t be afraid of this tea, my lad,” he said and grinned. “Nobody’s paid a tax on it.” He winked at the fisherman. “See if you can find some dry clothes about the place, John.”
Don finished the broth and was sipping the hot tea when a big, rugged-faced man strode into the room, and Don recognized Paul Revere.
“This is the boy,” said John.
“H’m,” said Revere. “David Hollis’s nephew, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Don.
“They tell me you saved a Redcoat.”
“I did, sir,” replied Don. “He couldn’t swim.”
“What’ll your uncle say to that?” The man smiled.
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Indeed the question had occurred to Don several times before. What would Glen Drake say? Don felt his face grow hot; he thought he ought to say something more. “I—wouldn’t pick a Redcoat to save—if I had my choice,” he added.