The quest there proved as fruitless as in the chambers; but on emerging one of the party noted the closed door by the chimney and tried it. “Why locked?” he exclaimed. “The key, fair mistress.” “For that you will do well to ask my mother,” replied Polly carelessly. “The closet is my mother’s keeping-room; and it is ever her custom to carry the key in her pocket.” “True,” remarked her cousin, who knew the ways of the household. “The rogue will hardly have got into madam’s keeping-room. Doubtless he has slipped away.” “If ever he were here,” flashed back Polly. “But beyond doubt, good cousin and gentlemen, you must be hungry after your hard ride. Will you not partake of our cheer?” Nothing loath, the young redcoats gathered about the supper-table, where for an hour or more Polly maintained the reputation of the house for loyalty and good entertainment. In truth, the soldiers were slow to depart, and would hardly have gone by nine o’clock had not Polly adroitly reminded her kinsmen that the “Knave” they were pursuing would surely get clear away. Thereupon they took leave and rode off with much laughter. But fearful lest they might return, Polly waited long listening, and not until old Rastus had come in to bar the outer door for the night and close the shutters would she release her prisoner. “Come forth, sir,” she at last commanded, with assumed austerity. “What have we here? A rebel, I fear me, from all I am told.” “But one profoundly grateful to his preserver,” replied the young man; and to old Rastus’s great astonishment he took Mistress Polly’s hand and gallantly kissed the tips of her fingers, albeit they were tinged with scarlet from her dye. “Methinks, sir, it but ill becomes me to accept such thanks from one who confesses his disloyalty to King George,” Polly replied, still with seeming severity, “and whose name I do not even know. But since you are here, prithee take seat before the fire. For of necessity, sir, I have made a good Royalist of you, so far as your greatcoat covers you. See!” And with the clothes-stick she lifted the coat out of the kettle. “Not Cousin Charles’s own is a brighter scarlet!” The stranger burst into a hearty laugh. “Good faith, I had not thought to wear a scarlet coat!” he exclaimed. “Yet, sir, it may stand you in good stead as you ride into Boston to-morrow,” replied Polly. “It was of that I thought as I dipped it. And now let us powder a little alum in the mortar to set the hue. I would not have thy loyalty wash out, sir, in the first shower that falls on you.” As a consequence, one young patriot found himself powdering alum to dye his own coat scarlet. And midnight came and passed as he and Polly sat in front of the great brass kettle, and old Rastus nodded in the corner. Beyond doubt they became better acquainted in this time; and Polly certainly learned the stranger’s name, for as the tall old clock in the corner struck one, she said, “It is now time to wring thy coat, John Fenderson.”