Stephen was silent, digging his toe into the dust and wishing that he could find the words to explain his grievance. Down at the wharf lay the good ship _Margeret_ and many another of his father’s and his grandfather’s vessels, that would cross the sea no more. It was the English boats that now did all the carrying and left the Colonial vessels idle at their anchorage. That staunch, swift _Margeret_, the pride of the whole fleet, had carried many cargoes of corn, furs and salted fish to England, Spain and France, had brought back silks and velvets, lemons and sweet-smelling spices, but she had made her last voyage! All this Stephen knew from the talk of his elders, but nevertheless found it hard to explain to the Sergeant why he thought it such an injustice that their best ships should be useless while, at the same time, their fairest trees should be cut down and carried away to build more vessels for the English. He could do nothing but repeat what he had said before: “You shall not cut down our tree.” He looked about for the other children, but they had long since grown weary of waiting and had scampered away. He was not to have even their help. [Illustration: “You shall not cut down our tree.”] The King’s officer shrugged his shoulders. “You can say what you will,” he observed, “and sure it is that you in the Colonies permit yourselves to speak words that no one would dare utter in England. Nevertheless, your tree must go, and shall be cut down to-morrow, since the ship that is to carry it is already loading. For all your stubbornness you cannot resist King George.” The soldier turned away and strode off down the road, leaving Stephen choking with sudden helpless rage. He snatched up a stone and was preparing to throw it with all his force, but in the end let it drop to the ground. It would be easy enough to strike that broad, red-coated back, but of what avail were such a blow? The crowned head of King George the First was the mark at which he really sought to aim, but that, alas, was far beyond the reach of a little lad in New England. With a long sigh he turned away and set off toward the village to consult with his best friend, John Thorndyke. Whether Gilbert Sheffield, had he known what danger threatened King James’ Tree, would have resisted the law and bade the officer begone, cannot be known. When Stephen came home later, ready to tell his father the dire news, he found that a messenger had come in hot haste and that Master Sheffield had ridden off with him to join his ship in Boston. So there was an end of help from that source! Three times Stephen opened his lips to tell his mother of what was about to occur and three times closed them firmly again. Suppose she should forbid his making resistance, then what was there to be done? For Stephen was thoroughly resolved that resistance should be made.