England not to
have heard of this."

"Yes, indeed, my friend. My son and I landed but yesterday from a
voyage across the Atlantic; and, except from the master and shipmen on
board, we have heard but little of what has taken place in England for
some years past."

"Then take my advice, friend," said the artisan. "Make all the
inquiries you please, but utter not your opinions, as you were just now
doing to me, or you may find yourself accused of I know not what, and
clapped into jail, with slight chance of being set free again."

"Thank you, friend," said the stranger; "but will all these people
submit to be treated thus by those few soldiers? By my faith, it's more
than I would, if I desired to enter yonder house of prayer."

While this conversation was going on, the number of people in front of
the Quaker's meeting-house had greatly increased; and though the greater
number appeared quietly disposed, there were evidently some hovering
about, and others now elbowing their way through the crowd, who were
inclined to create an uproar. At this juncture, the young gentleman who
has already been described, stepping on one side of the street where the
pavement was highest, took off his hat. "Silence, I pray you, dear
friends; I would speak a few words," he said, in a rich musical voice.
"We came here purposing to enter yonder house, where we might worship
God according to the dictates of our consciences, and exhort and
strengthen one another; but it seemeth to me that those in authority
have resolved to prevent our thus assembling. We are men of peace, and
therefore must submit rather than use carnal weapons; and yet, friends,
having the gift of speech, and the power of the pen, we must not cease
to protest against being thus deprived of the liberty which Englishmen
hold so dear."

CHAPTER TWO.

While the young man was speaking, the stranger and his son had worked
their way close to the stout soldier-like man who has been described.
The stranger's eye fell on his countenance. He touched his son's
shoulder. "An old comrade in arms!" he whispered. "A truer man than
Captain William Mead,--trusty Bill Mead, we used to call him,--never
drew sword in the cause of liberty. If I can but catch his eye and get
a grip of his honest hand, I will ask him who that young man can be,--a
brave fellow, whoever he is." In another instant the two old comrades
had recognised each other.

"What, Christison! Nicholas Christis