urn the town if Mr. Washington opens fire upon the ships."

"General Howe threatens that?" exclaimed Mrs. Newville.

"Yes; John Scollay and several of us have asked General Robertson to
intercede with Howe. He has done so, but Howe will make no promise. He
has permitted a flag of truce to go out to Mr. Washington to let him
know if the British are molested he will set the town on fire. If Mr.
Washington is the kind-hearted man they say he is, probably he will
not make an attack. He wants to compel Howe to get out and to have the
town spared. We are not the only ones who will suffer, but everybody
who has stood for the king will have to go or take the consequences
when the provincials march in. They will be implacable in their
retaliation for the burning of Charlestown and Falmouth, and for the
destruction of the Old North Meetinghouse, the desecration of the Old
South, and the pulling down of hundreds of houses. They will
confiscate the property of every one who has adhered to the crown, and
make them beggars, or send them out of the Province, or perhaps do
both. We may as well look the matter squarely in the face, for we have
got to face it."

It was spoken with quivering lips. Several vessels had been designated
on which the friends of the king might embark for Halifax, the only
port near at hand where they could find refuge. He looked around the
room, gazed mournfully at the portraits of his ancestors on the walls,
at the rich mahogany furniture, the mirrors above the mantel
reflecting the scene. In the dining-room was the buffet with its rich
furnishings. Upon the stairs was the clock, its pendulum swinging as
it had swung since the days of his boyhood. Upon the sideboard were
the tea-urns used on many convivial afternoons and evenings. Whichever
way he turned he saw that which had contributed to his ease, comfort,
and happiness. Looking out of the window, he saw the buds were
beginning to swell upon the trees under the genial rays of the sun.
The bluebirds and robins had arrived and were singing in the garden. A
few more days and the grass would be springing fresh and green, the
asparagus throwing up its shoots, the cherry-trees white with blooms,
the lilacs and roses perfuming the air; but never again was he to sit
beneath the vine-clad arbor as he had sat in former years, listening
to Nature's symphony rehearsed by singing birds; never again was he to
see the coming of ecstatic life in bud and blossom. He must