Part 3 (1/2)

”Ruth,” said Andy in a whisper, ”I think my chance has come!”

”Your chance, Andy?”

”Aye. I have been thinking that Sam's being taken has aroused me, and given me courage, just as your father said, and--and last night the chance began!” Then he told her of much that had occurred. Ruth knelt among the flowers, her young face glowing.

”Oh! I shall have some one to watch,” she panted, ”some one to help while he works. Oh! Andy, you do not know how I long to help, and be part of this great time. I go on long walks, and I hear and see so much.

Down on the Bowery I heard a group say the other day that General Was.h.i.+ngton was going to burn the town and order the people to flee. One man said, did he order such a thing, he, for one, would go over to the British; and, Andy, there was a great shout from the other men! I felt my heart burn, for did our General order _me_ to go, then would I go whither and where he ordered; nor would I question, so great is my trust in him. And did he burn all, even my home, yet would I gladly obey, for I would _know_ he was doing wisely. So greatly do I honor him that I think, next to G.o.d, I trust our General!”

The young face glowed and quivered, and Andy, with the spirit of hero-wors.h.i.+p growing upon his recent experiences, panted in excitement as she spoke.

”I, too, would follow, and never question,” he said. ”Never fear, Ruth; what the General expects of me, that will I do. Not even death do I fear--it comes but once!” The boyish voice rang clear.

Suddenly, Ruth started toward the house. ”Wait,” she said, ”I have something for you.” She was back in a moment, bearing Sam's cap. ”The time has come,” she faltered, and there were tears in her eyes. ”I--I want to crown you, Andy McNeal.” She removed Andy's rough cap and replaced it with Sam's.

”I'll keep the old one,” she said, ”and--and if you should fail to do bravely, you can have your own!” Then she dashed away the tears.

”Forgive me, Andy McNeal!” she sobbed; ”you will never fail. There is hero blood in your body, I know, and it may be that your lameness will aid you in accomplis.h.i.+ng tasks that a l.u.s.ty lad could never attempt.”

Andy raised his head proudly and the new crown set not badly on his boyish curls.

”I must go,” he breathed. ”I will come every day unless--you know, Ruth?”

The girl nodded, and so they parted silently, Ruth pressing the old hat to her aching heart, and taking up the woman's part in those troubling times; the part of the watching, waiting one.

The days following became filled with one longing for Andy. The longing for Was.h.i.+ngton's messenger. Unless he came soon, the boy feared that he would be too late. During his own recent explorations beyond the lines, he heard much that warned him that the British were planning something of grave importance.

Andy had told his mother and Ruth nothing of Was.h.i.+ngton's antic.i.p.ated messenger. They knew merely that Andy had ferried the great General across the river--was that not enough? Had they known for what the boy was eagerly watching, they could not have done their own daily tasks.

”He has an eager, watchful air,” Janie confided to Ruth. ”I am thinking the lad expects the General to pa.s.s this way again. Lightning and _such_ happenings do not strike twice in the same spot.”

Ruth smiled gently. ”I do not think Andy walks as lame as he did,” she mused, watching the boy disappearing down a woody path.

”He is always on the go,” Janie broke in. ”He practices walking without his crutch more than I think wise; but one can do little with men-folk!”

Janie tossed her head proudly. Andy was a growing delight to her.

”It may do him good,” Ruth added; ”he looks stronger and--and gladder.”

”He has gone beyond me,” the mother sighed. ”I--I begin to know, la.s.s, the happy feeling a mother has when her heart aches with loneliness and--and pride! What ails you, la.s.s?” For Ruth had started and given a short cry.

”Why--why--” laughed the girl, ”I am thinking my eyes are playing me false. I was watching Andy up the path, and I saw him as clear as I see you this minute--and then he was gone!”

”Do not get flighty, Ruth.” Janie came close, however, and peered up the path. ”You and Andy will drive me daft. The path is a straight, clean one; had Andy been on it, he would still be in sight. I'm thinking he turned before he came to the brook bed. You did not notice, but your thoughts kept agoing on.”

”Perhaps,” nodded Ruth, but Janie knew she was unconvinced.

On her way home soon after, Ruth began to ponder. Once clear of Janie's observant eye, the girl turned back through the shrubbery, and ran to the spot where she had last seen Andy. All was as silent as a breathless summer day could make it. There was no side-path; no broken bushes.

”He _was_ here,” breathed the girl, ”and he disappeared like a flas.h.!.+”

Then she knelt down and tried to trace footprints in the mossy earth.