“Glen—Glen!” cried Aunt Martha and fairly flew to meet the visitor.
Don was too much surprised to speak. He only looked on dumbly as the old trapper caught his aunt’s hands and drew her swiftly into the shadows away from the window.
“Glen,” said Aunt Martha, “only one thing could bring you here—David——”
“Is well,” replied the trapper and sat down in one of the chairs. “He’s been sick, Martha—he was wounded at Bunker’s Hill—but he’s doing well. There’s no cause for worry.”
Aunt Martha drew a deep breath and sank into a chair beside him.
“Don, my boy, how are you?” asked Glen. “I see you’re taking good care of your aunt. And this——” He glanced at Jud searchingly for a moment.
“This is Jud Appleton,” said Aunt Martha. “Don’s close companion and as loyal as any of us.”
Jud winced under the trapper’s grip and from that moment would have followed his lead anywhere.
“I told you he’d come if he wanted to,” whispered Don.
Though Glen was naturally a man of few words he did most of the talking during the two hours that he remained at the house in Pudding Lane. He had crossed from Cambridge under cover of rain and darkness and would return the same way. David Hollis, he said, had received a ball through the shoulder during the third assault of the Redcoats on the hill and was now at Cambridge, where he would probably remain until he was fully recovered; then he would rejoin his company.