forth, with
the basket between them, to Mr. Wooster's house, hoping that he would
carry it in his wagon up to Boston. He was not at home.

"Get out the cart," said Aunt Hannah to Jeremy, when they learned no
help was to be obtained. She sat by the roadside watching the basket
until the cart arrived.

"I'm going with you," she said, after the basket was in; she climbed
to the seat beside the lad, and off they started for Boston.

It was dark when they reached the lines, and no passes granted, the
officers said, to go in that night.

"But I've food for the hungry," said Aunt Hannah, in her sweetest
voice, from the darkness of the cart, "and folks are hungry in the
night as well as in the day."

She deftly threw aside the cover from the basket and took out a
chicken, which she held forth to the man, saying: "Take it. It's
good."

He hesitated a moment, then seized it eagerly.

"I know you," spoke up Jeremy, at this juncture. "You went up the Neck
with us this morning. I saw you."

"Then you are the boy who got first into Boston this morning, are you,
sir?"

"I believe I did, sir."

"Go on."

The oxen went on.

"Now, Jeremy, down with you and wait here for me. You haven't had
small-pox," said Aunt Hannah.

"But the oxen won't mind you," said Jeremy.

Aunt Hannah was troubled. She never had driven oxen.

At the moment who should appear but Mr. Wooster. He gladly offered to
take the basket and deliver it at Mrs. Jagger's door.

"Don't go in, mind! Mother's had small-pox," called Jeremy, as he
started.

"I'm tired," gasped Aunt Hannah, who had done baking enough for a
small army that day, as she sat down to rest on the broad seat of the
cart, and the two started for home. The soldier at the gate scarcely
heeded them as they went out, for roasted chicken "tasted so good."

"I'm so glad the British are out of Boston," said Aunt Hannah, as she
touched home soil again and went wearily up the walk to the little
dark house.

"And so am I," said Jeremy to the oxen, as he turned them in for the
night; "only if I'd had my way, they wouldn't have gone without one
good fair fight. You've done your duty, anyhow," he added, soothingly,
with a parting stroke to the honest laborer who went in last, "and you
deserve well of your country, too, for like Gen. Washington, you have
served without hope of reward. The thing I like best about the man is
that he don't work for money. I don't want my sixpence a day for
cutt