Tom looked around and found an outcrop of ledge where he thought he could probably leave the blunderbuss in safety. Then he peeled off his hunting shirt. British mortar fire still droned overhead—too high; he had heard back in camp that the British usually shot that way. As he shook his hands free from the loose sleeves and flung the garment down, he lifted his head and looked at the man nearest to him. Then a wry smile twisted his mouth.
“I think I seen you before,” he said.
The other lad peered through the thinning mist, then his eyes widened in recognition and he smiled.
“Aye,” he answered jauntily. “Last time I seen you, you was playing hide-and-seek. You grown up yet, I wonder?”
“There was others playing it, too,” retorted Tom.
“Yes, others. Kitty Greenleaf, you’ll likely remember.”
“Kitty Greenleaf! So that’s her name. I never did know the whole of it. Promised her I’d call by and see her, if I ever happened back that way.”
“Don’t take the trouble. Kitty’s closer now. She’s in Charlestown with her cousin, Sally Rose. I went home to get some clean shirts and a better gun, and ’twas there I heard it.”
“In Charlestown?” asked Tom in surprise. “Charlestown’s not held to be very safe these days. ’Tis thought the British may strike at us from there. I heard there be only a couple hundred people left in the town, and most of the women sent away.”
“I heard so, too. But Sally Rose took a notion to go home and nothing would stop her, so Kitty went along. I ain’t got over there yet to see them, but I mean to. I heard Granny Greenleaf went legging after them, mad as time.”