"Though I ask your pardon, Mistress Sally, an I did seem to cross-examine ye! Mine own name be Gerald Lawrence, mostly called Jerry, at your service!"
"Jerry!" Sally repeated it musingly. "Aye, I like it. It hath a nice, honest sound. One could trust the name o' Jerry, I think."
"Thank ye, Milady!" Young Lawrence got up and made her a courtly bow, then laughed gayly as he selected some more strawberries from the basket at his feet. "Master Todd's farm does not look as barren and lean as the Jersey farmers would have the British believe," he went on idly, resuming his seat, his eyes roving from orchard in magnificent bloom to the fields already green beyond the house.
The enemy! Sally sent him an oblique glance as she bent over her task. Could he be planning to report all that he saw with his alert black eyes, and would that report result in another disastrous raid by the Hessians or the British, with the Todd gatepost marked "R" for the word "rebel"? Her lips tightened as she went on with her work; and Jerry, glancing at the straight shoulders which fairly shouted defiance at him, smiled again to himself. Like most boys, he loved to tease. He did not pursue the subject, however. There was something rather pitiful about those slender shoulders, after all, so alone in the world, yet so eager to assume
