“I will, of course,” her uncle quietly replied. And Lettice hesitating to enter the house, he passed in before her, spoke a few words to his wife, and then walked back to where a long garden showed borders abloom with the roses of June glimmering faintly from out the dusky green. Presently arose sounds of wailing and lamenting, and Lettice, unable to restrain her sympathies, rushed back to see poor old Mrs. Flynn rocking back and forth, wringing her hands, and making her moan over the capture of her son. “There, Winnie, there,” Lettice heard her uncle say. “After all, it is not as bad as it would seem. Pat will find his way back, or I’m mistaken, and there are plenty of persons who will tell you he should be proud to serve in the British navy.” “Ah, but they’ll be battherin’ the life out av ’im, sorr, an’ be markin’ up his poor back wid the cat, an’ indade, sorr, I’m thinkin’ he’d betther be dead than alive.” “Pshaw! not a bit of it. Pat’s too good a hand for that, and Mr. Joe gave him a word to make no cause for offence, but to do his duty by the ship he is on, just the same as if she were the _Delight_.” “’Tis a hard day, sorr, when our min must be dragged from their proper places an’ be put to wurruk for thim as has no right to be dhrivin’ thim. Not that I’m so down on the ould counthry, sorr, but I’m not upholdin’ thim British min stealers, Misther Tom, sorr, an’ it goes agin me grain for a son o’ mine to be slavin’ for the inimy av the counthry where he was born.” Lettice sat down on the step beside the old woman and began softly to stroke the wrinkled hand which was nervously fingering the hem of Mrs. Flynn’s gingham apron. “Never mind, Mrs. Flynn,” the girl said; “it will be no time before Patrick will be back again. Why, if he had gone on a long cruise from this port, you’d not see him for years, maybe, and this is no worse. Cheer up, now. Ah, there is Cousin Joe. I’ll bid him come out here. I think my father is with him.” The two men approached, gesticulating excitedly. “It is an outrage,” Lettice’s father was saying, “and one that Americans will not stand much longer. Odious servitude for our citizens! impressed into a service they despise! our commerce impeded! insults, injuries of all kinds heaped upon us! We will not stand it. There will be a war, sir, for, as the wise Benjamin Franklin so aptly said, ‘Our War of Independence has yet to be fought.’” “Nonsense, William, what was our war of the Revolution?” put in Mr. Hopkins. “It was the Revolution. We are not yet free, if indignity can be offered us which we must accept silently.” “Ah, Masther Joe, dear,” whined Winnie, “ye let thim steal me bhy.” Joseph Hopkins, a tall young fellow, sunburnt and stalwart, looked down at her with kindly eyes. “Indeed, Winnie, I did my best to save him and two others, but it was no use.” “Tell us about it, Cousin Joe,” said Lettice.