"What mean you?" said the man, stepping across the road and coming closer. The others had by this time come down also, and our young hero found himself confronted by a group of curious faces. The nondescripts had proved to be Tory irregulars.
"I mean just this," said George: "you are English—John Bulls, are you not? I am Richard Blount, of Albany. I have some letters for General Howe and his Lordship; and I have crawled, walked, and stolen through the American lines, and it is my desire to reach New York. Anything that you can do for me I am sure will be appreciated by my family and the gentlemen I wish to see."
The officer laughed and advanced. "I am happy to meet you, sir," he said. "How did you do it?"
"I kept to the woods mostly, and used some Indian tactics, doubtless," answered George.
"He knows them well," broke in a voice. "See how he escaped us up the road."
"I feared you were Yankees," was "Mr. Blount's" rejoinder. "I will be grateful to you, sir, if you will bring me to where I can get a Christian meal, for I am half famished, and no dissembling."
He descended from his perch on the stone wall and approached the officer.
"Here are my credentials, sir," he said, unbuttoning his coat and showing the letters sewed into the lining. "If you can hasten me on my way to the city and recommend me to a tailor, for I am a stranger there, I shall be greatly in your debt."
"'Twill be a pleasure, sir," said the officer, glancing at the first paper George had extended. "Will you give us the honor of breakfasting with our mess? We are quartered in the farm-house yonder."
George accepted, and the two young men walked down the road.