er.

"Mother," the boy was saying, "Abram Dodds made me very angry to-day. He
said I was not an American, because my father was not, and because I
have always lived in Canada."

"I wouldn't mind what the boys say. When they know you better I'm sure
they'll stop trying to tease you." She laid her hand on his shoulder as
if to check his impatience.

"Nay, daughter," interposed the older woman, her eyes flashing, "let him
stand up for himself--if he can. Because you chose, against my wishes,
to marry a Canadian is no reason why the boy should be sneered at. Was
not his grandfather, Caleb Marston, as good a soldier as fought in the
Revolution, and a captain, too? Let the boy stand up for himself, say
I!"

His mother only stroked the boy's hair soothingly. "Bide your time,
Noel," she whispered; "your chance will come, and in the mean time keep
guard over that quick temper of yours. Remember you must be strong to
take care of us all--Ninette, and your grandmother, and me--and a quick
unruly temper ever means weakness."

"I'll not forget," said Noel. "But still, it angers me to be told I'm
not an American. If my arm would only get stronger, I could be a soldier
like grandfather, and prove that I'm an American. I am, really, am I
not? for I was born in this country before my father took you back to
his home in Canada."

Noel got up and walked off down the road toward the field where the boys
held their drills. In spite of his weak arm he thought he could manage
well enough in the drilling, and he was anxious to be asked to join a
military company the boys had organized. This evening there had come
together about twenty boys, all of whom lived on the neighboring farms.
Their drill-ground was a level piece of pasture-land, bordered on one
side by the forest, which in those times stretched far away to the
north, even to the banks of the St. Lawrence River.

When they saw Noel coming toward them the boys had just finished one of
their evolutions and were resting, leaning on the wooden staffs which
served them instead of real muskets. Jacobus Boonter, who was captain,
had a real sword--one that his grandfather, Ensign Dirk Boonter, had
carried in the war of the Revolution. The boys had much respect for the
old sword, especially when Jacobus pointed out some spots on it that
looked as if they might be blood-stains.

"Captain," said one of the boys, "there comes Noel Duval. You know, he
came here with his mother from Canada