"Zenas"—Sally's hands dropped to her sides; she moved a step nearer to him—"how could James, think ye, betray to the enemy his own mother?"
Zenas shrugged his shoulders at the horror in the girl's voice. "Nay, he doubtless had bond that Mother would not be hurt, and"—the boy snapped his fingers—"what cared he what happened to the rest o' the women?"
Sally groaned softly. "Neighbor against neighbor! Think ye, Zenas, many o' the women he would betray to the cruelty o' the red-coats he hath known since childhood! How terrible!"
But Zenas suddenly grinned, rolling his eyes toward the door. "Not half so terrible," he said, "as missing our dinner. Nay"—he stepped past Sally determinedly—"an ye do not wish to eat, I prithee let me go, for I be ravenous as a wolf! I see Mother hath saved a place for us, one on each side o' her!" And his sturdy legs bore him out the cabin door toward the dinner table.
Sally, following more slowly, pondered the fine courage and the bravery of Mistress Mary Williams. It seemed more than human to be able to bear with such sweet patience the trouble this fateful year of 1777 had brought to her and was doomed, still more, to bring!
But if trouble or care were present at that gay gathering of patriot women that noon, not a whit
