That was enough for Don, and he accompanied his new friend past West Street and along toward the alley.
“It’s no fun, living so close to the Common these days,” said Jud. “All you see is Redcoats. And how I hate ’em! My father and my two brothers are in the army, and I only wish I could be there too. A drummer boy is what I’d like to be.”
“So would I,” replied Don. “I was up at Concord and saw the fight——”
“Did you!” cried Jud. “Tell me about it. And how did you ever get back?”
By the time Don had told him something of the skirmish and of Glen Drake and his Uncle David the two boys were at Jud’s house. A poor, miserable-looking, one-story little place it was, with a cracked weather-worn door and a window on either side that looked out across the road on a large triangular field covered with clover and dandelions.
“That’s our cow over there,” said Jud, “and those are our chickens. We had twenty-six, but we lost four the other night. Ma thinks a skunk got ’em, but I think it was Redcoats.”
He led the way to a shed behind the house, and a moment later Don was looking at six fluffy black and white kittens nestled in the folds of a burlap bag. As he bent over them the mother cat came running from a corner of the shed, and he started backward. Sailor backed away and sat down; he had suffered enough for one day.
“She won’t hurt you,” said Jud, laughing. “Will you, puss?” He played with the kittens for several minutes, stroking and calling each by name while the mother cat sat by and watched contentedly. “They’re pretty well grown now and about ready to shift for themselves. That’s a good dog of yours to sit there like that. I had a hard time to keep my dog away from them at first. Say, wouldn’t you like to have one? Ma says I can’t keep ’em all.”
“Yes, I would,” replied Don. “We haven’t any, and a cat might be good company for my aunt.”
“Well, here’s a nice one,” and Jud lifted one of the kittens that was all black except for one white foot. “See, she has one white shoe on; she lost the others.”