ve changed, and as a
matter of fact it had, for the relief and portion of content that
showed now in the boy's face, was reflected in some measure in that of
the man. Before seating himself Mr. Wicker rang a silver bell on the
tray by the pitcher. In a moment Becky Boozer knocked on the door and
stuck her gigantic hat through the opening.

"You rang, sir?" she inquired, the feathers and roses bobbing as
cheerily as live things around the sweeping brim.

"I did, Becky. It occurred to me," said Mr. Wicker, looking sideways
at Chris, "that some hot chocolate for Master Christopher and coffee
for me would not be amiss at this hour of the morning. And," he added,
seeing the interested spark in the boy's eyes, "some of your delicious
little cakes, perhaps?"

"Most certainly," beamed Becky, "most certainly sir. I have the
chocolate hot, as it so happens, and some cakes new-baked."

She bustled off and in no time returned with a tray of china cups,
matching flowered pots for coffee and for chocolate, a bowl of sugar,
and a plate piled high with cakes. From one corner Becky pulled out a
small table which she placed between the two chairs. The tray was
safely settled, the fire given a poke and a fresh log before Mistress
Boozer removed herself, in her starched dress and apron and her
outrageous hat, from her master's study.

"Now," said Mr. Wicker, pouring out the steaming drinks, "we shall
refresh ourselves and you shall listen, if you will."

Chris took a sip of the hot chocolate and a bite of golden cake,
deciding that he had never tasted better. This point decided on within
himself, he gave his attention to the man across from him.

"I told you," Mr. Wicker said, "that I was a shipowner and a merchant.
That is true. But these are troubled times. A revolution has had the
land in its grasp. Times are bad, and this vast land is now convulsed
with the birth throes of democracy. Money is hard to come by, and much
needed, for General Washington's troops were farmers called away from
their harvesting or sowing. The period of healing, for them and for
the land, will be long and costly."

He paused to sip his coffee and then put the cup down.

"Destruction is so fast, and to construct and build," Mr. Wicker said,
staring at the fire, "that is what is slow." He turned to Chris.
"Without financial help, without money for the beginning of this new
land and this new government that is struggling to be born, this free
place and