p from the patriot army we must be ready,
mother."

"Aye, surely, lad. You know where my heart lies!"

"But, mother, the--the person below. He is--a deserter if he is found
here. What then? And surely not even he must keep us from doing our
duty."

"Lad" (Janie came close), "I cannot hope to have you understand. When
love comes your way, Andy, it will plead for me. All these years--I have
been a starved and forsaken woman, and it has changed me. We all go
astray, Andy, and--and your father. Oh! call him that, son, for my sake.
Your father has dealt sorely with me and you, but he has come back. He
was hunting us long before he found us. He wants to mend the past. Andy,
as we hope for mercy from the good God, let us be merciful."

"But a Britisher, mother. An enemy to our cause. Oh, mother!"

"Andy, lad, come!" She put out her hand pleadingly, and Andy followed.
There was a candle burning in the guest-room, and by its modest gleam
sat the man who, when Andy had seen him last, was proclaiming his own
son to be the rebel who had presumably struck one of the king's men in
the cave. Very pale was the man now, and the bruise on the forehead
shone plain even in the dim light. He looked up at Andy in a curious,
interested way, and half extended his hand.

"You do not care to take the hand of a Britisher, I see." The white face
relaxed in a faint smile. Andy went nearer.

"For my mother's sake I can take my--my father's hand, though it all
seems mighty queer."

"I want you to know," said the man, "that I would not have told my head
officer who you were that day, but I was so alarmed at the likeness you
bore my mother that I was unaware of what I was doing. It was horrible
to realize as I was beginning to do then, that I was probably speaking
to my own--son."

"It was more horrible to think that my own father had been struck by a
blow dealt in my defense. You must have thought that, too."

"No, I did not. Who struck that blow?"

"Nathan Hale."

The man started. "And he?"

"Died the death of a spy two days ago."

"Andy!" It was Janie who cried out. "Was our dear schoolmaster, Nathan
Hale, the spy?"

"Nathan Hale, the patriot!" corrected Andy, and his eyes dimmed.

"Oh! how you have suffered, lad."

"Aye." Andy sank into a chair.

His father was looking at him keenly; and a growing expression of
admiration was dawning in the searching eyes. Here was a son of whom he
might yet be proud.

"Andy," he said, "I