Our Grandmother's Clock [pp. 177-194]

192 OUR GRAArDMOTJJERS CLOcK. [Nov.,
consent. But then came the thought that perhaps my country
needed just this sacrifice of feeling on my part; and if duty called
me to an ignominious &ervice, should I hesitate to make good
my pledge on the altar of freedom and country?
"I had gotten along safely (sleeping in the daylight at the
houses of those who were friendly to the cause and had received
private instructions to assist me on my way, and at night making
wh~t speed I could towards the place of rendezvous) until the
afternoon that your Christian charity sheltered me. Having met
with no one before to cause me any detention, I had grown a little too bold, and ventured to resume my journey before night set
in. We will pass over the events of that afternoon, already too
well known to you and Miss Polly.
"If I had been compelled to remain much longer hidden away
be~hind that blessed old clock all would have been lost. I would
have personated the British soldier in vain. But, happily for me,
the same Providence who watched over my safety that summer
afternoon, and led me to your hospitable home, permitted things
to happen which also detained the messenger. So that, after
all my forebodings, I reached the Cross-roads farm-the place of
rendezvous being an old stable on that farm-before my unsuspecting adversary. I found a little thicket a short distance from
the stable, but near enough to command any movements that
might be made on the outside. A little glimmer through a
chink in the logs warned me that the hour for the meeting had
come. Soon a man walked on past me and approached the
building, and, giving the word, was allowed to enter. After a
while some one opened the door and peered anxiously up and
down the road, but he did not see me. As soon as he had gone
back into the place and closed the door I drew a little further
into the shelter of the friendly thicket, for I was far from wishing
to fall into the hands of the waiting Tories.
"The hour that I ~pent in the thicket waiting for the messenger was far from a cheerful one; the moaning of the night wind
through the trees, the rippling of a distant rivulet in its rocky
bed, the sound of some melancholy bird~ the despairing cry of
an owl, and the croaking of the doleful frogs, were depressing to
my heart, already weighed down by the nature of the errand tilat
had brought me to that lonely place.
"At last my q~iick ear caught a sound of something treading
on a fallen branch. A glimmer of light through the chink in the
logs shot across the path, and the young British soldier stood revealed. More quickly than I can tell it I stood before him, spoke