Part 17 (1/2)

After dinner, at twelve, they had the afternoon for play. That afternoon, the day after the soldier came, they went berrying. They did this almost every day during berry time, so as to have what they liked better than anything for supper--berries and milk. Occasionally they had huckleberry ”slap-jacks,” also a favorite dish, for breakfast; not often, however, as flour was scarce.

They went for berries down the road known as South Lane, a lonely place, but where berries grew plentifully. Their mother had cautioned them not to talk about the occurrence of the night before, as some one might overhear, and so, though they talked about their play and their studies, about papa and his soldiers, they said nothing about _the_ soldier.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Tell Me, My Little Man,” Said He, ”Where You Saw the British Uniform.”]

They had nearly filled their baskets, when a growl from Caesar startled them, and turning, they saw two hors.e.m.e.n who had stopped near by, one of whom was just springing from his horse. They were in British uniform, and the children at once were sure what they wanted.

”O Arty, Arty!” whispered Dorothy. ”They've come, and we mustn't tell.”

The man advanced with a smile meant to be pleasant, but which was in reality so sinister that the children shrank with a sensation of fear.

”How are you, my little man? Picking berries, eh? And where do you live?” he asked.

”With mamma,” answered Arthur promptly.

”And who is mamma? What is her name?”

”Mrs. Heath,” said Arty.

”And don't you live with papa too? Where is papa?” the man asked.

Arthur hesitated an instant, and then out it came, and proudly too.

”In the Continental army, sir.”

”Ho! ho! and so we are a little rebel, are we?” laughed the man. ”And who am I? Do you know?”

”Yes, sir; a British soldier.”

”How do you know that?”

”Because you wear their uniform, sir?”

”You cannot have seen many British soldiers here,” said the man. ”Did you ever see the British uniform before?”

”Yes, sir,” replied Arty.

”And where did you see it?” he asked, glancing sharply at Arthur and then at Dorothy. Upon the face of the latter was a look of dismay, for she had foreseen the drift of the man's questions and the trap into which Arty had fallen. He, too, saw it, now he was in. The only British uniform he had ever seen was that worn by the American spy.

For a brief moment he was tempted to tell a lie. Then he said firmly, ”I cannot tell you, sir.”

”Cannot! Does that mean will not?” said the man threateningly. Then he put his hand into his pocket and took out a bright gold sovereign, which he held before Arthur.

”Come, now, my little man, tell me where you saw the British soldier's uniform, and you shall have this gold piece.”

But all the n.o.ble impulses of the boy's nature, inherited and strengthened by his mother's teachings, revolted at this attempt to bribe him. His eyes flashed. He looked the man full in the face. ”I will not!” said he.

”Come, come!” cried out the man on horseback. ”Don't palter any longer with the little rebel. We'll find a way to make him tell. Up with him!”

In an instant the man had swung Arthur into his saddle, and leaping up behind him, struck spurs to his horse and dashed away. Caesar, who had been sniffing about, suspicious, but uncertain, attempted to leap upon the horseman in the rear, but he, drawing his pistol from his saddle, fired, and Caesar dropped helpless.

The hors.e.m.e.n quickly vanished, and for a moment Dorothy stood pale and speechless. Then she knelt down by Caesar, examined his wound--he was shot in the leg--and bound it up with her handkerchief, just as she saw Basha do the night before, and then putting her arms around his neck she kissed him. ”Be patient, dear old Caesar, and Abram shall come for you!”