As for the stranger, his heart sank afresh. “I will pay for my supper and get on,” he thought. “I shall be safer abroad in the darkness than here.” And he rose to take leave as gently as he might, but at that moment the tramp of horses was again heard; and this time they did not pass, but pulled up before the house door. “My kinsmen, it is very like,” said Polly, smiling. “They wear sharp swords, sir.” Then, as she noted the hunted look which the young man cast about the room, her light and taunting manner changed. “Is it that you would not like to meet them, sir?” she asked, in a low tone. As she spoke there came an imperative rap at the outer door, and a cry of “Open in the king’s name!” “For heaven’s sake, mistress, show me some way out,” cried the stranger. “It is less that I fear their swords, but I am on a mission of importance.” “Open, madam! Open, Polly! It is I, your Cousin Charles; and they say there is a rascally rebel here!” cried the voice outside. “But we have the house surrounded.” Polly had turned toward a rear door, but hearing these last words, darted to the centre of the room again. For an instant she was at a loss. Then her eyes fell on the door of her mother’s storeroom, a closet beside the large chimney, which it was Madam Callendar’s practice always to keep locked; but in the haste of departing that day she had forgotten to take the key. “Here, sir,” Polly whispered. “Quick, be quick!” and she unlocked the door, half pushed the man within and hastily turning the key again, put it in her pocket. “Open! Open!” cried the voices outside. “Open in the king’s name!” and the raps were repeated. “Coming, good sirs, coming,” cried Polly. Then her eye fell on the young patriot’s greatcoat lying across the back of a chair. If seen, that would betray all. She snatched it up and plunged it into the great kettle of scarlet dye. Then throwing the door open and courtesying low, as was the custom of those days, she cried: “Good-evening, Cousin Charles. Welcome, good gentlemen. My mother has gone to Natick for the day. Ne’theless you are right welcome.” “Ay!” grumbled the young officer. “After my knuckles are skinned with knocking. But prithee, Polly, have you seen naught of this insolent knave?” “Indeed, Cousin Charles, this is but a sorry jest!” exclaimed Polly Callendar. “Since when has my family been aught but loyal to the king?” “True,” assented the Briton. “Yet the rascal may be lurking about.” “Enter, then, and see for yourselves,” cried Polly. “My mother would earnestly desire you to purge her house of rebels!” They came noisily in--while the young patriot’s heart beat fast--they peered into nooks and corners, and presently ascended to the attic. “Do not forget the cellar!” cried Polly gaily, opening the door and handing her cousin a lighted candle. “Perchance the knave is hiding in some bin or box.”