Through the next two hours they toiled on, Jeremy on foot, and often ready to lie down with the healthy sleep that would not leave its hold on his weary brain.
It was day-dawn when the fagots had been duly delivered at the appointed place and Jeremy reached home.
He had been cautiously bidden to see that the cart was not left outside with its tell-tale rigging. He obeyed the injunction, shut the oxen in, gave them double allowance of hay, and was startled by Aunt Hannah’s cheery call of: “Jerry, my boy, come to breakfast.”
“Breakfast ready?” said Jeremy.
“Why, yes. I was up early this morning, and thought of you.” And that was the only allusion Aunt Hannah made to his night’s work. He longed to tell her and chat about it all at the table; but, remembering his promise in the swamp, he said not a word.
Six nights out of seven Jeremy and his oxen worked all night and slept nearly all day.
The brook in Cedar Swamp was robbed of its willows, and many another bit of land and watercourse suffered in a like manner.
Then came the order to make the fagots into fascines. Two thousand soldiers were got to work to effect this. Jeremy Jagger began to understand what was going on behind the lines at Roxbury. He was the happiest lad in existence during the ensuing days. He forgot to eat, even, when the fascines were in making. Perceiving the manner in which they were formed he volunteered to help, and soon found he could drive the cross supports into the ground, lay the saplings upon them, and even aid in twisting the green withes about them, as well as any soldier of them all.
Bales of “screwed” hay began to appear in great numbers within the lines, and empty barrels by the hundreds sprang up from somewhere.