Silence lay heavy upon the kitchen at his exit. Mistress Todd, carrying a sleepy-eyed baby up to his trundle bed, then bade Sally, in her harsh manner, to "blaze" the fire and set the table for supper. And for a while only the latter's quick, light steps broke the stillness. Then the English boy spoke.
"Why did ye come to my rescue? I heard ye speaking, though my eyes were closed! Why did ye, hating red-coats as ye do?" he asked curiously, a hand pressed against the aching arm where Mistress Todd had ripped away the red uniform.
Sally, absent-mindedly placing gourds of cool milk upon the supper table, started as though the old grandfather's clock in the corner had spoken.
"Nay, I—I" she began.
"Aye—aye" imitated boy teasingly. "We agree, then," he said laughingly, "that ye do hate red-coats?"
"Why, I—I" Sally bit her lips, brought to an embarrassed standstill beside the supper table, one hand still holding little Mary's bib.
"Why, aye—aye" mocked the boy. His dancing brown eyes looked at her merrily. "So ye said before. But why? After all, 'tis not fair to hate us all alike for wearing the same uniform!"
"But it is!" retorted Sally, with sudden spirit. She tossed Mary's bib upon the table and faced him. "'Tis the odious symbol of your allegiance to a fool—that uniform be!"
