"Yes,--they went straight forward upon the road. But, look you, Mr. Horse Shoe, you're not thinking of going after them?" "Isn't there an old field, about a mile from this, on that road?" inquired the sergeant, still intent upon his own thoughts. "There is," replied the dame; "with the old school-house upon it." "A lop-sided, rickety log-cabin in the middle of the field. Am I right, good woman?" "Yes." "And nobody lives in it? It has no door to it?" "There ha'n't been anybody in it these seven years." "I know the place very well," said the sergeant, thoughtfully; "there is woods just on this side of it." "That's true," replied the dame: "but what is it you are thinking about, Mr. Robinson?" "How long before this rain began was it that they quitted this house?" "Not above fifteen minutes." "Mistress Ramsay, bring me the rifle and pistol both--and the powder-horn and bullets." "As you say, Mr. Horse Shoe," answered the dame, as she turned round to leave the room; "but I am sure I can't suspicion what you mean to do." In a few moments the woman returned with the weapons, and gave them to the sergeant. "Where is Andy?" asked Horse Shoe. The hostess went to the door and called her son, and, almost immediately afterwards, a sturdy boy of about twelve or fourteen years of age entered the apartment, his clothes dripping with rain. He modestly and shyly seated himself on a chair near the door, with his soaked hat flapping down over a face full of freckles, and not less rife with the expression of an open, dauntless hardihood of character. "How would you like a scrummage, Andy, with them Scotchmen that stole your mother's chickens this morning?" asked Horse Shoe. "I'm agreed," replied the boy, "if you will tell me what to do." "You are not going to take the boy out on any of your desperate projects, Mr. Horse Shoe?" said the mother, with the tears starting instantly into her eyes. "You wouldn't take such a child as that into danger?" "Bless your soul, Mrs. Ramsay, there ar'n't no danger about it! Don't take on so. It's a thing that is either done at a blow, or not done,--and there's an end of it. I want the lad only to bring home the prisoners for me, after I have took them." "Ah, Mr. Robinson, I have one son already in these wars--God protect him!--and you men don't know how a mother's heart yearns for her children in these times. I cannot give another," she added, as she threw her arms over the shoulders of the youth and drew him to her bosom. "Oh! it aint nothing," said Andrew, in a sprightly tone. "It's only snapping of a pistol, mother,--pooh! If I'm not afraid, you oughtn't to be." "I give you my honor, Mistress Ramsay," said Robinson, "that I will bring or send your son safe back in one hour; and that he sha'n't be put in any sort of danger whatsomedever: come, that's a good woman!"