tlemen, that Charles Gordon's wife was of the
Nicholsons of Kent, who, as you know, are the leaders of the patriots
in that county? How will they like it when they hear of your burnings
and your razings?"

The Chairman frowned. "You are right," he said; "we must proceed about
it in a legal way, which is slow but sure. Mr. Clerk, institute
proceedings against Charles Gordon for the forfeiture of his lands for
high treason, and meanwhile we will publish him throughout the
province as a Tory and a traitor. We will teach this Charles Gordon
and all Tories what it means to contemn the authority and dignity of
this province and its committee."

And then applause broke out from the crowd; but the High Sheriff, who
left the room with me, shrugged his shoulders and said: "If they had
half of the courage of that Scot they would not be loafing around
here, applauding James Rodolph. I am tired of it; I am going to resign
and go to the front." He was as good as his word, for that very day he
resigned the office of High Sheriff of the county of Cecil, packed his
saddle-bags, gathered some volunteers about him, and rode away to the
North, becoming in time a noted officer. But it was not until the
month of August of that year that I was ready to follow him and felt
equal to the length of the journey. On the night of the day before I
took my departure I called John Cotton and ordered him to saddle Toby.

John Cotton received the order with wide-open eyes, as it was growing
somewhat late.

"Fo' de Lord's sake, Mars Jim, what do you want Toby fo'? It's after
ten o'clock."

"Ask no questions, you black rascal, and bring Toby around in a
hurry."

Then his eyes fell on a cluster of red roses on my table, and a broad
grin crept from ear to ear.

"Sartin, Mars Jim, sartin;" and he was out of the door before my
flying boot could repay the impertinence of that grin. A few minutes
later I slipped out of the house to the stables, and, mounting Toby,
was soon riding out of the silent town, having hit that rascal John
Cotton across the shoulders with my whip for the snickering laugh he
could not restrain as I was riding off.

Have you ever ridden by the silent river after the night has fallen,
and when it is far advanced? The great trees, rising far above you
like the vaulted arch of a cathedral, overhanging the path down which
you ride; the smooth flowing waters of the river, the towering dark
mass on the farther shore, and over all the