"Yes," answered the corporal. "But no longer."
Then they began talking about the British fleet that was cruising in Long Island Sound, and about the ship on which they were temporarily quartered until they could join the main body of the army, and how a neighbor of Brinton's father's and mother's had been down at the store when a ship's boat had put in for water, and how he had told the officer in charge that Major Hall, Brinton's father, was expected home for a few hours that day, and what a fine opportunity it would be to make an important capture.
The clock struck half past five.
"H'm!" grunted the corporal. "It doesn't seem that late; but, you know, you can't tell anythink about anythink in this blaisted country."
Brinton now began to be very much afraid that his father would come before the soldiers left. He wanted to move the pendulum faster and faster, but after what the corporal had said he did not dare to. Then, when the men lapsed into silence, it suddenly came over Brinton how dreadfully weary he was, how all his bones ached, and how much, how very much, he wanted to cry. But he felt that his father's only chance of safety lay in his keeping the pendulum swinging to and fro, to and fro.
At last, however, came the welcome sound of the corporal's voice bidding the men get ready to start.
Whang-whang-whang-whang-whang-whang!
"Fall in!" ordered the corporal. "Forward, march!"
As the sound of their footsteps died away, Brinton, all of a tremble, opened the door of the clock and stumbled out. He knelt at the window and watched the retreating forms of the redcoats. As they disappeared down the road he heard a noise behind him, and jumped up with a start.
There stood his father!