It was sundown when the queer-looking figure of the patriot might have been seen wending its way along a rather deserted-looking street, looking to the right and left in a staring, half-silly sort of manner, so natural to those who, totally uneducated either in heart or mind, look upon some strange scene for the first time.
Three or four soldiers, in red uniforms, came staggering down the street, evidently just from a visit to a tippling-house. These the youth carefully avoided by giving them the sidewalk and himself taking the street. A loud laugh was raised as they passed, for there was something truly ludicrous about the countryman; and he joined in the laugh as though not perceiving it was against himself. After having passed the soldiers, the sidewalk was regained and the lonely march continued.
A stop was finally made before a small building which our readers will hardly be surprised to learn was inhabited by the family of Simon Hunt, the blacksmith, who had, on two occasions, sent to Ernshaw and his men most important intelligence. It being so near dark, the blacksmith himself was at home, and answered the knock which came thundering against his door. The person whom he perceived to be standing on the steps was perfectly unknown to him; nevertheless he bid him enter.
When the two entered the room, Simon turned, and, by the light of a candle, surveyed the other with a long and scrutinizing look. The countenance somehow seemed familiar, but it was only after hearing him speak that the worthy smith was able to say, “Your name is Vale, is it not?”
“Right, sir—my name is Vale; and yours, I believe, is Simon Hunt?”
“It is.”
“Then allow me, before proceeding any further, to thank you for the services you have done to Ernshaw and his men, as well as to the holy cause of liberty.”
“Never mind about them; I have done nothing which I wouldn’t wish to do again; and you had better thank another one whose name I can not tell you, but who was the person that furnished me with all the information that I have had.”
“Well, Mr. Hunt, to whoever the thanks are due, to him or them, let them be earnestly given. It was not for this I came here, disguised in this dress; and, though any assistance which you can render me will be but small, still, little as it may be, I shall feel thankful for it.”
“I am with you,” said Hunt, decisively.