Somebody released the farmer from his uncomfortable position, and he followed the bushwhackers to the door, bemoaning his fate. The men clattered out and, evidently fearing the power of Colonel Knowles, hurried away toward the river. When Uncle Ephraim saw his woodpile afire, he rushed out and began pulling from the flames such sticks as had only been charred, or were burning at one end, all the time railing at the misfortune that had overtaken him. The neighbor looked on a minute and then said, brusquely:
“I’ve little pity in my heart for such as you, neighbor Morris—a man that will take sides against his country.”
“And I’ve little pity for you, either,” Colonel Knowles declared, when the first speaker had ridden away, “for you are a dishonest old villain!”
He and William wheeled their horses and followed the bridle path back to the highway; but Hadley, much troubled by what he had heard, remained to help put out the fire in the woodpile. His uncle did not speak to him, however, but when the last spark was quenched by the water which the boy brought from the well, he went into the house and, fairly shutting the door in his nephew’s face, locked and barred it!
“Well!” muttered Hadley, “I don’t need a kick to follow that hint that my company’s not wanted,” and he rode back to the inn, feeling very sorrowful. Evidently his uncle was angry with him. But more than all else was he troubled by the words he had heard Colonel Knowles address to Ephraim Morris. The British officer had broadly intimated that the farmer was a thief!
On his return to the inn he was so tired that he did not think of supper, and, instead of going into the house, tumbled into his couch in the loft and dropped to sleep almost instantly. The next morning Master Benson did not arrive, and the mistress of the inn met Hadley with a very sour face and berated him well for the manner in which he had burst in upon her guests the night before.
“You are spending more than half your time with Washington’s ragamuffin army,” quoth she; “you’d better stay with them altogether. I cannot have my guests disturbed and troubled by such as you.”
Hadley was inclined to take her berating good-naturedly, for he knew at heart that she was a kindly woman, and that, when Jonas was at home, she would not dare talk so. But she had really engaged a neighbor to perform his tasks, and, learning that Jonas was not expected back for a week or more, Hadley saw that it was going to be very unpleasant for him in the neighborhood meanwhile. Even his uncle did not care for his company, and he could not eat the bread of idleness at the Three Oaks Inn. There were three or four men starting to join Washington’s forces, and he determined to accompany them, sorry now that he had returned at all.
He did not feel at liberty to take one of the Bensons’ horses this time, and so started afoot for the vicinity of Philadelphia. The roads were full of refugee families, and, although he could not learn of any real battle having been fought, the country people had evidently lost all hope of Washington staying the advance of the British. Hadley and his comrades traveled briskly, reaching the vicinity of Warren’s Inn early on the morning of the 16th and joined General Wayne’s forces just as the downpour of rain which spoiled the operations of that day began.