ZOUNDS!" exclaimed Mehitable in bitter disappointment. "They be not home, Cherry! And I will not go swimming in the pond an Mistress Wright be not here to keep watch for us!"
She sighed and pushed her sunbonnet back on to her neck. Charity, seated upon the pillion behind her on old Dulcie, sighed, too. All the way across the Valley they had been anticipating their cool bath beneath the willows.
"Well, let us return home," Charity was commencing, when the other interrupted her.
"Cherry, there is a letter 'R' on their gatepost!"
Both girls stared, then looked at each other in alarm. "Think ye Moody is out?" exclaimed Mehitable uneasily. "'Tis plain that is why the poor Wrights have fled! Doubtless they are gone to hide on the Mountain!"
"Moody!" answered Charity. "Nay, not a stick would have been left standing, nor a stone, had Moody been here!"
James Moody, a peaceable enough man before the war, had been goaded by foolish neighbors into bitter Toryism, so that much of New Jersey had suffered from his anger. He had joined the loyal troops in New Jersey, had even attempted to capture, though unsuccessfully, Governor Livingston, so that wherever special pillage and destruction and cruelty had been done, his name was upon the lips of his victims.
"Ye be right," agreed Mehitable now. "But mayhap he will come!"
Charity gave a startled glance down the road, then shook her head. "Not until night, Hitty, I feel sure. Ever he seems to time his raids then!"
They slipped off from their horse with one accord, and approached the gatepost. Yes, there, unmistakably, was the letter "R" for rebel with which the British who came over into New Jersey were wont to mark their victims. As she glanced away, however, Charity caught sight of a gander near by.
"Look, Hitty, there be one o' Mistress Wright's precious geese!" She gestured toward it laughingly. "Hast ever seen him before without the other seventeen?"
Mehitable, glancing at it carelessly, suddenly looked more intently.
"Why, what has he upon his leg, Cherry? Something be around that old gander's leg, I vow! Let's catch him and see!"
At once there commenced a wild chase around Mistress Wright's dooryard. Finally, the indignant fowl was cornered beside the kitchen step, both girls so intent upon spreading wide their skirts and approaching him with wary caution that, when a voice spoke behind them, they jumped nervously.
"Eh! And is this hoo ye treat my gander!" Mistress Wright and her husband, who had arrived unperceived, stood looking at them. The two girls regarded them in return rather sheepishly.
"Where have ye been, dear Mistress Wright?" asked Mehitable hastily. "I thought ye must have gone to Cranetown!"
"Cranetown!" exclaimed the old lady. "Noo, John, do'ee carry in summat oor gudes afore yo' sit!" She turned imploringly to her old husband, who had been about to seat himself upon the doorstep. With a sigh and a groan, he got up and shuffled out to the farm cart which the girls saw, now, was piled high with household goods. "I will gae in and see hoo the house has fared!" She disappeared within the house.
"Mither has been fair distracted wi' the raid!" explained Master Wright, returning with various boxes and bundles from the cart.
"Raid!" Both girls stared at him open-mouthed.
"Aye!" The old man looked at them curiously. "Was not your house marked, then?"
The girls shook their heads.
"We received word yesterday morn, 'Moody is out!'" went on the old man slowly. "It did not take us lang to pack oor wee bit o' goods and gae! Mither set her geese free, hopin' they wad stray! I see only the gander, though, so I fear t'others be missin'! Mither," he addressed his old wife, who came out the door just then, "see aught o' yer geese?"
He did not offer to search for them as, immediately worried, the old lady shaded her eyes with her hand and looked around. As she stepped into the yard, she glanced at his nonchalant attitude.
"I was jes' sae pleased, John—nothin's been touched in the house. All that's missin' be your paintin' f'r the Horse's Neck Tavern!" she said innocently.
Old Master Wright, who had remained entirely complacent at his wife's loss, darted into the house. "Nay—my paintin'! My bonnie paintin'! Woe is me!" The girls heard him wail.
"It do make a wee bit o' difference whose the loss be around here," observed his wife unsympathetically. "He cared nowt aboot ma geese! What"—she stopped and stared at the gander, who had ventured near her at that moment—"what be that around the fowl's leg?"
Mehitable giggled. "We were about to find out when you came, Mistress Wright," she explained demurely. "That is why we were cornering him!"
"Weel, let us see, oursel's!" cried the old lady. Then, while her husband searched high and low for his painting, in the house, she pursued her gander around and around outside. At last, after ten or more minutes of strenuous exercise in the blazing June sunshine that left them gasping and warm, they succeeded in once more cornering the gander, and Mehitable, weak and breathless from laughter, tore a paper from his leg which had been around it like an anklet.
"Why, 'tis a poem, I vow!" She spread it open and studied it interestedly.
"Nay," the old lady spoke in a peremptory tone, "let us awa' into oor cool house. 'Twill be better, there; and Feyther do be a bonnie reader," she finished pointedly.
Rather taken aback, Mehitable meekly handed the paper to old Master Wright, upon entering the kitchen, and subsided into a corner. Charity sent her a laughing glance, and then they settled down to listen as the old man read aloud in a sing-song voice:
We bid you good-night
'Tis time for us soldiers to wander
We've paid for your geese
A penny apiece
And left the change with the gander.
Signed, Colonel Ross and Soldiers."
For a moment there was silence in the big kitchen then the old couple spoke together.
"Why, hoo did the mon know oor name?" That was Master Wright.
"Where be the change he did write aboot?" That was Mistress Wright.
Together they scurried out the door, the girls following. Master Wright forgot his sorrow over his missing sign as he ducked and ran after the elusive gander, who, becoming wise from experience, exhibited surprising powers of evasion. But Master Wright grew wise from experience, too, and at last the gander was flapping wildly beneath his arm. Feeling over the plump, feathered body, the old gentleman drew out a piece of cloth tied beneath the wing and this, when opened, displayed some jingling coins.
"Seventeen!" said Master Wright triumphantly. "Weel, Mither!"
Mistress Wright picked the coins up and carried them into the house. When the others had followed, she looked around at them innocently from her armchair.
"I ha' put it awa'—the money!" she said. "Mayhap oor descendants will wish to know an the red-coats were allus cruel. This paper and the money will tell a different tale—though Heaven knows," she cast her eyes up piously, "the British need all these tales they can get! And at least, Feyther"—she looked at her old husband mischievously—"I received more for ma' loss than yo' did for yours. And it had been winter, I'd ha' said the red-coats used the paintin' for firewood!"
"Woman!" Her husband spoke sternly. Then his eyes commenced to twinkle. "Woman, ye allus be richt!" he said mildly. "That be the worst of it. But I do think they learned oor name was Wright from the name I put on ma paintin'."
At the door, waving good-bye to the two girls, Mistress Wright looked up anxiously at the sky. No longer did the June sunshine spread over the scene. While they had been drinking buttermilk in the old kitchen, an enormous black cloud had crept from the west, drifting, drifting, until now a weird purple-gray light enveloped sky and land alike.
"Feyther, hast forgot the things out in you cart?" she scolded. "Hitty," she screamed, "think yo' better not return?"
Mehitable, out of hearing, smiled and waved her hand unheedingly, and leaping into the saddle before Charity, they trotted off. Mistress Wright, watching them anxiously, saw Charity tilt her head backward to glance into the sky and speak to her sister; but Mehitable shook her head violently, and in another moment, they were out of sight beyond a bend in the lane.
Master Wright had no sooner carried in his household goods than, with the tropic violence of extreme weather, the heavens seemed to open, and straightway he was drenched to the skin, so that his old wife, as though he had been out in the rain for his own pleasure, scolded him vigorously when he came into her kitchen.
Mehitable, meanwhile, was lashing poor old Dulcie to a gallop.
"Let us go back to Master Wright's!" shrieked Charity in her ear.
"Nay!" The other shook her head stubbornly. "We have come too far. We be near that old cabin that Granny Ward lived in, Cherry. I have been watching for it through this terrible rain."
And a moment or so later they did indeed come upon the cabin, standing vacant and forlorn beside the edge of the woodland. Dismounting, they both ran for the low opening, Mehitable pulling the horse after her.
The cabin was a single room with a dirt floor. A big fireplace stood at one end, and directly over their heads, as they entered, was a half-loft, open to the room. Old Dulcie had to be pulled in through the low door and beneath the loft out into the center of the cabin, where she stood gazing around her with surprised eyes and erected ears. Mehitable, shaking herself like a wet terrier, glanced at the horse and burst into laughter.
"She is not used to being invited into milady's chamber, forsooth!" she cried. Sobering, she glanced at Charity through the dense gloom. "Didst know General Washington hath often visited the Widow Ball on the ridge road to Millburn and concealed his horse in her kitchen because o' passing Tories?" she asked abruptly. "John told me o't when he was home and when Mother next sent me upon an errand to Mistress Ball's, I looked in the corner o' her kitchen as ye enter, by the fireplace, ye mind"
"Oh, Hitty, what did ye see?" asked Charity breathlessly. She shrank back as a flare of lightning illuminated the dingy place. "What did ye see?"
"I saw where His Excellency's horse had chewed off the inside window ledge!" said Mehitable, bursting into a laugh.
"Nay, it is an honor, I think, to have so famous a man's horse chew one's window sill!" said Charity with dignity. Her tone changed. "Think you he will come there this summer?" she inquired eagerly.
"Nay—hush!" Mehitable leaned toward her. "General Washington hath left Morris Town—on June seventh, he was at the Short Hills, awaiting results o' the battle—skirmishes at Springfield, John told me."
"The day poor Mistress Caldwell, wife o' Pastor Caldwell, was murdered in her home at Connecticut Farms," said Charity, wide-eyed.
"Aye." Mehitable nodded her head. "Oh, how dark it be, Cherry—just like night."
The next instant she uttered a scream, for a figure leaped down from the open loft and, landing lightly upon his feet, swept Mehitable a ceremonious bow.
"We meet in strange places, forsooth!" said the spy, Simpson. "And I thank ye for the information ye have given me so kindly." He bowed again mockingly and was gone.
For a long moment, neither girl moved. Then, the air seemed to turn to a sizzling yellow, the earth seemed to rock, and while old Dulcie neighed in uneasy fear, the two sisters clutched each other.
"The lightning!" screamed Charity, in a panic. "The lightning hath struck in the woods near here! I like not to be under these big trees! 'Tis safer in the open! Let me out, Hitty—I be going!"
Mehitable tried in vain to stay her; but Charity was now beyond reasoning with. She flew out the door and up the streaming lane, so that the older girl was forced to follow with their horse. Catching up to the sobbing, hysterical figure, Mehitable made her mount and did so herself. They galloped toward home. Gallop as they might, however, they could not escape the storm.
"I am going to seek shelter at Munn's tavern!" declared Mehitable, when they had turned into the First Road and were headed toward the Mountain.
"Nay, that spy might be there!" shuddered Charity. "Let us be on our way, Hitty! I'd rather far risk the rain than his shifty ways!"
"But we must get in somewhere out o' the rain, Cherry!" answered Mehitable desperately. "See how ye do shiver! An ye get sick o' chills and fever, Mother will ne'er forgive me!"
"Let us go into the meeting house!" suggested Charity, all of a sudden, spying the plain stone structure, built lengthwise to the road, ahead of them.
Mehitable, in silent answer when they reached the church building, drew rein, and slipping out of her saddle, sped across the wet grass to try the heavy door. To her intense disappointment, it was locked. She fled along the front of the building, trying each of the two windows to the right of the entrance. Rounding the corner, she tried two more windows, and finally reached another door. This was unlocked and yielded beneath her eager fingers. Returning to Charity, who was sitting with bent head beneath the terrific downpour of rain, Mehitable directed her to go into the church.
"I will lead Dulcie around to the little grove in back. There, she will be concealed from the road, as well as partially sheltered," added Mehitable.
Entering the shadowy church a little later, she peered around and saw no sign of Charity. "Cherry!" she called softly. "Where are ye!"
"Here I be!" came back Charity's voice, echoing and reëchoing in the big bare room.
"Nay, I see ye not!" Mehitable's tone grew impatient, though she felt strange, almost sacrilegious, in using the meeting house even as a place of refuge.
Only a suppressed giggle answering her, she looked around her. She saw the plain pulpit, with its old desk taken from the old church which had been razed when this second one had been built. Above the pulpit, with its uncomfortable wooden bench placed against the wall for the minister and his assistants, were four wooden pegs for their hats. The pews flanking the pulpit right and left were reserved for the church officials. The rest of the pews were all alike, except that the women sat alone on one side of the church, while the men sat together on the other side, with the unmarried, younger element of the congregation segregated in the same way in the balconies, where a tithing-man watched over the boys. All was quiet to-day. No sign, even, of Charity until—Mehitable's eyes dropped to the level of the pew directly before her as she stood in one of the end aisles and met her sister's mischievous ones staring at her over the pew door.
"Come ye into Mistress Baldwin's pew," invited Charity laughingly. "She has left a most comfortable pillow on her bench!"
Mehitable opened the door of the little boxlike arrangement and, closing it after her, sank down beside Charity.
"Nice and warm in here," she answered drowsily, refusing the pillow unselfish Charity tried to force her to accept. "The heat must have remained from last Sunday when it was so warm. Our things ought not to take long to dry, Cherry. And just hear the rain on the roof! 'Tis like a hundred cannon, I vow!"
"And how dark it is!" exclaimed Charity, in a wondering tone. "Why, 'tis just like night, now, Hitty, and"
Charity's voice died away as she turned her head to listen. "There be someone at the door, Hitty!" she whispered then.
Mehitable shook her head violently and ducked to the floor, motioning her sister to do likewise. They were just in time, for no sooner had they concealed themselves than the door through which they, themselves, had obtained admittance, opened and creaking boots stamped along the aisle off which their pew opened. The boots seemed to stop, to the girls' dismay, directly in front of their pew. Then, as they knelt with bated breath, they heard the opposite pew door open and close.
"Well, Hawtree," said a cheerful voice, "this be saintly shelter from the storm, yet 'twill serve our purpose as well as any!"
Charity grasped Mehitable's arm. The voice was that of the spy, Simpson!
"Saintly shelter, indeed!" responded Hawtree surlily. "And because o' the storm—Gad, that be a close one!—it must do for us!"
There were sounds of wet garments being spread out to dry upon the wooden bench, then Simpson spoke briskly:
"And now to business, gentlemen!"
"Nay!" interrupted a third voice gruffly. "Let us first assure ourselves, young man, that we be the only occupants in here! The door was unlatched, ye mind!"
"An it make it any easier in your mind, Moody!" answered Hawtree scornfully.
"Back here beneath the bench, Cherry—quick!" whispered Mehitable, noiselessly, as footsteps scattering over the church indicated that a search had begun.
"No one here!" reported Simpson's voice from the front of the church after awhile.
"No one on this side!" came Moody's voice from the opposite side of the big room.
Clump! Clump! Clump! Charity's eyes dilated in silent horror as a heavy tread came down the aisle toward her pew. A pause. Hawtree was stopping to glance in the pew ahead. Clump! Clump! Another pause. Through the black storm shadows there came to the sisters an impression of a peering face, the vague gesture of an outstretched hand feeling along the bench above their heads, a heavy breath—then, clump! the footsteps moved on and the frightened girls clasped each other's hands in spasmodic relief.
"No one here!" they presently heard Hawtree announce sullenly, his search over, too. Followed sounds of the three men settling themselves.
A half hour passed slowly, tortuously. Mehitable's body grew cramped, so that all of her being seemed to dissolve into an aching, agonizing desire to move. When she became numbed, it was better. But she dared not move. Charity, smaller than her sister, was not so limited as to space, and therefore was not so uncomfortable as she; but even she was glad when, at the end of the half hour, the men rose noisily and left the church.
The two girls crawled out of their hiding place, when they had made sure the unwelcome visitors were not returning.
"What are ye going to do, Hitty?" asked Charity, as they stood groaningly trying to straighten their backs. Knowing Mehitable, the little sister had not the least doubt in the world that, having acquired a vast amount of information concerning the enemy's plans, she would do something!
"I shall ride to warn our militia!" Mehitable's eyes flashed. "Ouch, my back! I vow 'tis broken. There be the signal gun at the Short Hills, Cherry—they call it Old Sow because it is placed on the Sow's Back—that ridge that can be seen both Morris Town way and Springfield and Elizabeth Town way! I shall ride to warn the countryside! Mayhap I will have a chance to help my poor country after so betraying her to Simpson—though Heaven knows I did not mean to! They expect to go right through our lines at Springfield, do they?—those hateful Skinner's 'Greens' and those despicable Hessians under General Knypehausen! Well, we shall see how farmers fight when they wish to avenge a New Jersey woman's murder! Mayhap poor Mistress Caldwell did not die in vain, after all!"