The well-worn arguments on the questions of the day were threshed out vigorously until the night was well advanced. Still no sign of the voyagers and a general feeling of uneasiness as to their fate became manifest. “Something must have gone wrong with Win and Hoppy,” remarked Obed Sparrow. “They should have been here long ago.” Peter Walker winked at Crosby. “Neighbor Sparrow is getting anxious about the stock in hand, Master Crosby,” insinuated Peter. “Well, Master Walker,” replied mine host, “Obed has good reason to feel anxious about it, if that’s what’s in his mind. My last hogshead of Jamaica is running low.” “Oh,” Peter put in slyly, “you may be doing Obed an injustice. Perhaps he’s thinking about the molasses. Mistress Sparrow is famed for her cookies, you know.” Everybody laughed. “What was that rhyme of yours on the subject, Peter?” inquired Squire Knowles. “If it wouldn’t hurt Obed’s feelings,” replied Master Walker, “I might give you a verse or two, if only to help pass the time.” “Let’s have it, Master Walker!” cried several in chorus. “Well, neighbors, it isn’t very good poetry, but it’s good rhyme and it’s a tribute to Mistress Sparrow’s accomplishments.” Master Walker cleared his throat and began: This good old town of Eastham boasts Of gallant men and true, Who never shirked their duty when The call of country blew; Who carried sail thro’ many a gale, To meet upon the sea The British foe, and strike a blow For home and liberty! And foremost in the battle’s van Bold Obed leads his crew; He’s always there his part to share In deeds of derring-do! And when he brings his prize to port Thro’ storm and flying foam, He’ll proudly tell he’d conquer hell On the grub he gets at home! Cheers and laughter greeted this sally and Master Walker was urged to continue. Obed was particularly clamorous for the rest of the verses. He loved to hear his good wife praised. “Aye, it is just like your blood, Peter,” muttered Uncle Jabez. “I remember well when Jonas Walker kept the camp in goodhumor that time before Louisburg. We were in the Fourth company of Gorham’s Regiment, and Elisha Doane, our captain, used to say that Jonas Walker was the life and soul of the regiment. Colonel Shubael Gorham often had Jonas to amuse the officers when they supped in the Colonel’s tent.” “Those were stirring times, Uncle Jabez,” said Squire Knowles. “Aye, Squire; there were fine men in that regiment. I have seen Captain Joseph Thacher, of Yarmouth, go right through an embrasure into the Grand Battery while the bullets were thick as hail.” “You must tell us the story some time, Uncle Jabez. Master Walker might get offended if we don’t listen to the rest of his poem.” “It’s getting late, neighbors,” said Peter. “Some other time I’ll finish it.” Harding Knowles and Peter Walker went home together.