The news of the billeting of the troops on Boston, and the removal of the capital to Salem, came with a shock to Westings House. It came in a copy of the Connecticut Gazette, delivered at Mistress Mehitable's dinner-table while she and Barbara were entertaining Doctor John and Doctor Jim, Squire Gillig, and the Reverend Jonathan and Mrs. Sawyer. It had been a gay repast, but when Mistress Mehitable, craving indulgence by reason of the times, read out the Boston news, a cloud descended upon the company. Squire Gillig began to say something bitter, forgetful of Mistress Mehitable's sentiments, but was stopped by a level stare from the Reverend Jonathan Sawyer's authoritative eyes. Then Doctor John spoke—no longer droll and jibing, but with the gravity of prescience, and turning by instinct to his brother.
"Jim! Jim!" said he, "this is going to mean war. I see it! I see it! The people will not stand much more,—and more is coming, as sure as my name's John Pigeon. Your precious king's gone mad. He's going to force it on us!"
Doctor Jim shook his great head sorrowfully. "I am sorry for this, John. I think the king is not well advised in this—on my word I do. It is too harsh, too sudden. But the people won't fight. They may riot, and talk,—but they won't fight. We are too strong for you, John. There will be no war. That would be absurd!"
"There will be war!" repeated Doctor John, still looking into his brother's eyes. The two men had forgotten every one else. "There will be war, if not this year, the next. The people will fight,—and that soon!"
"Then the people will be beaten, and that soon, John!" retorted Doctor Jim, firmly, but in a low voice.
"The king's armies will be beaten, Jim! You mark my words! But it is going to be a terrible thing! A horrible and unrighteous thing! There will be dividing of houses, Jim!"
There were several seconds of silence, a heavy, momentous silence, and Barbara held her breath, a strange ache at her throat. Then Doctor Jim brought down his fist upon the table, and cried in his full voice:
"A dividing of houses, maybe,—but not a dividing of hearts, John Pigeon, never a dividing of hearts, eh, what? eh, what?"
He reached out his hand across the table, and Doctor John seized it in a mighty grip. The long years of love and trust between them spoke suddenly in their strong, large faces.
"No, never a dividing of hearts, Jim, in the days that are to come, when our swords go different ways, and we see each other not for a time!"