“I al’ys said them reg’lars, shootin’ breast high at nothin’, couldn’t stan’ agin our bushfighters, aimin’ to kill,” Job said exultantly; “but what next, Dan’l?” “War—it means war. The country’s all a-risin’. Every man’s got to choose the side he’ll take. Which side is yourn, Job?” There was a silence, and the answer came with slow deliberation. “I hoped to end my days in peace. I’ve had enough o’ fightin’, the Lord knows. When I’ve fit it was for the land I was born in—if it was under the British flag—an’ I shan’t never fight for no other.” “Every man in these clearin’s is all right, so far as we know, exceptin’ that aire sour-faced Toombs. He hain’t no good will towards our side. A Tory in Seth’s shoes, and him red-hot for liberty. He’s got a Canuck a-workin’ for him, and I’d livser trust a wolf’n one o’ them pea-soupers. I hain’t no patience wi’ Ruth for marryin’ that critter. Where do you s’pose her boy is?” There being no reply the speaker went on: “I b’lieve that devil has made way with him. He acts turrible cur’us, scared and startin’ at every sound,” and the two walked off towards the creek. Half an hour later when Job returned, he asked Nathan: “Well, what do you think o’ the news, my boy?” “Oh, is it true about the fight? How I wish I could go and help our folks. Father’d go quick.” “Well, well, stay where ye be. If it goes on, it’s sure to strike the ol’ war-path,” and the old ranger swept his arm towards the lake. “There’ll be work for us here. The sign o’ that fresh water mairmaid is comin’ true agin.” They passed a week in restless, impatient waiting, when, unheralded by the hound, Newton again entered the cabin and chanced to come face to face with the boy. “Well, here you be,” he said, without surprise and smiling good-humoredly; “I s’pected as much t’other day when I see the extry knife an’ pile o’ mushrats. Say, Job, how is’t? Can I speak out afore him consarnin’ the business we was talkin’ on?” “To be sure. He’s close-mouthed an’ he’s achin’ to go an’ jine our folks down in the ol’ Bay Colony.” “Good; he’s the same stuff as his father.” He laid his friendly hand on Nathan’s shoulder and continued in a low, earnest voice: “There’s a plan all fixed to take Ti and Crown P’int. It seems a Connecticut feller named Brown started the thing a-goin’ some weeks ago. There’s nigh ontu two hunderd and fifty men in the Grants engaged to do the job. Ethan Allen commands. We muster at Beeman’s Crik, day after to-morrow night. You’ll be there?” Job stretched forth his hand to his friend, who warmly clasped it. “Me, too; let me go, too.” Nathan’s heart swelled with pride, and he felt himself suddenly leaping to manhood and a place among men. “He’s a stout lad an’ he handles a gun like a man. Let him come,” said Job. “But how be we goin’ to git across the lake? There hain’t boats enough hereabouts to take more’n thirty men to oncet.”