That evening the ex-minister sought the governor’s presence, and with many protestations of regret at the late unfortunate misunderstanding, as he phrased it, offered Oldhame’s submission and willingness to comply with the military requirements of the government, adding craftily,-- “If our worthy governor were also our captain there could never be any of these troubles.” “That would be to burn down the house because the chimney smokes now and again,” replied Bradford good-humoredly. “It is largely due to Captain Standish’s courage and skill, not to mention his loyalty, his steadfastness, and his wisdom, that this colony is other than a handful of ashes and a field of graves. When you new-comers have learned to know him, you will value our captain as we do.” The next morning Master Oldhame was released, and the next night stood his watch, nor, jealously as he watched and listened for them, was there a look or a tone from the captain or any of his adherents to remind the conquered rebel of his discomfiture, or the triumph of authority. The next Sunday, or as it was universally called, the Lord’s Day, the plot laid in the strong-room of the Fort developed most unexpectedly. When at ten o’clock Bartholomew Allerton, now promoted to the post of band-master to the colony’s army, beat the “assembly” in the Town Square as a summons to the church-goers to meet and form in their usual procession up the hill, he was confronted by Peter Oldhame, a lad somewhat younger than himself, who swung a cow bell almost in the drummer’s face, shouting,-- “To church! To church! Englishmen hearken to the English Church! To church! To church!” Bradford, who was just coming out of his house with Alice and Christian Penn, her buxom handmaiden, following meekly behind, stopped and looked sternly at the intruder until he, turning his back, walked down Leyden Street toward the old Common House, disused now except for storage. “Shall I arrest the varlet, and clap him up in the strong-room?” asked Bart Allerton eagerly, as he swung the drum-gear off his shoulder. “Nay, my son; it is the Lord’s Day and we will not farther disturb its peace. This rebel has ceased his summons and you may do so also, lest worse come of it.” “Does your honor see Master Lyford in gown and bands coming out of Master Oldhame’s house?” “Nay, Bart, I see him not, for I look not at him. Now no more, good youth, but fall into rank with your fellows.” And fifty men or more, each armed and ready for battle either with men or the Ghostly Enemy who inspirits men, moved in solemn procession of threes up Burying Hill to the Fort, the rear closed by the governor in his robe of office, with the Elder in his gown at his right hand, and the captain in full uniform at his left.