ment. For, despite Uzal's warning, she had been shocked by the treachery James had revealed to her ears last night. She turned the matter over and over in her mind, wondering how to proceed. Mistress Harrison, she knew, would have everything ready, for the women to go ahead with the bullet moulding by this time—the fire would be built, with a slave to watch over it and smother its telltale smoke, in the cornfield, the kettle of lead would be slung into place over the blaze. What should she do? Should she tell Mistress Williams of her son's treachery? But if Mistress Williams were not loyal, either, doubtless she would find means to keep Sally at home and so the rest of the women would be unwarned. No, better to let the morning proceed as planned and say nothing. Then, if the Hessians or red-coats did appear, the other women could secure Mistress Williams, if she evinced any disloyalty, and hide in the cornfield until the raiding party had passed on.
So Sally, that morning, washed and scrubbed and toiled in the big, hot kitchen. It did not occur to her that, as a guest, she might be privileged to wander out into the cool of the garden and on to the bank of Wigwam Brook, there to sit with idle, folded hands. The fact that she was Mistress Todd's bond maid had nothing to do with it, for not one of the girls, daughters upon even the richest, largest plantation, visiting another family,
