“He can bear a good share of it,” clamoured Skerry, his voice rising, along with his anger, “but the whole of it cannot be his. I saw them there together, worshipping with the Indians and the Jesuit priest, I saw them later talking to that outcast Papist in the garden, three of them, this maid, that boy, Roger Bardwell, and another—that precious Master Simon whom you all revere so much.” “What?” “No! Not Master Radpath!” Cries of amazement and horror arose from the crowd. Surely not their idol, Master Simon! “Ask them both if it be not true,” cried the shoemaker, pressing his advantage home, “and ask this fellow further who he is and whence he came. Ask him if his father was not the most notorious enemy to religion in New England, who sat in the stocks in Plymouth and was imprisoned to await more serious punishment in Boston, whence he escaped, no man ever knew whither. Ask him, good sirs, and see him grow pale and hesitate.” That Roger grew pale was quite true but that he hesitated was not. “It is as the shoemaker says,” he declared bravely. “My father held views other than yours concerning certain matters of the church and he was bold enough not to hold his tongue. Although it chanced that I myself followed my dead mother’s faith, which was the same as yours, good neighbours, I also fell under suspicion and was imprisoned with my father, but we both escaped. There was a ship just sailing from Boston whose captain was my father’s friend and a kindly man. His was a little vessel but we managed to find a place of concealment in her hold, so that she put to sea with my father on board. When he was found they did not turn back but carried him safe to Holland.” “And why did you not go with him?” demanded Goodman Allen, bluntly. For the first time Roger’s voice faltered. “There—there proved to be hiding place for but one,” he said. Although he spoke so low, there was not one of that breathlessly attentive audience who did not hear. A low mutter of approval went around the room, for every stout-hearted Puritan there loved courage and high undaunted spirit. “Speak on, boy,” said Allen, “tell us how you came hither.” “I let my father think that I could find another place,” Roger went on, “so that he did not discover, until too late, that I was left behind. I wandered from town to town, dwelt in the forest with the priest and the Indians for a space and at last came here and took service with the shoemaker. He cared not for differences of faith if he could have a helper whom he need not pay. I think he found and read a letter from my father and so learned who I was. That, men of Hopewell, is the whole of my tale.”