We all knelt, and I stammered through the beautiful words. They brought to me a feeling of strange relief. Before I slept, in words of my own, I thanked God that He had given me a sister, who, in my weakness, had sent me to Him for strength. Chapter VII The Die Cast The next day was Sunday. As I walked about the hedged garden in the early morning, as I looked away toward Boston and marked the general quiet of the country about, I was surprised that I did not see more evidence of war and disorder. Except some white tents in the distance, and the occasional passing of a supply wagon from the country, there was really nothing to break the Sabbath quiet, or to remind one that the city of Boston was closely invested by thousands of farmer soldiers, and that a great revolution was in progress. When the church bells chimed out sweetly on the beautiful spring air, it seemed harder still to think that the time of peace had really passed. I left the garden and re-entered the house. At the foot of the stairs I met my sister Caroline. 'You will come with us to church, Roger,' she said. 'Doctor Canfield will be delighted to see you back.' My mind ran back a little. Would I not be in danger of arrest? The whole country, I knew, was swarming with spies. I thought of the part I had played in saving Duncan Hale, also of my imprisonment and escape. I had not thought of openly showing myself, at least for a little while. But Caroline was of quite a different mind. 'You will be in no more danger in church than at home,' she argued. 'I have seen many at church lately who I am sure are in favour of the King. Since you left, things have gone on quite as usual; nobody has been molested, and Doctor Canfield has said nothing of the war. Then Roger'--she came nearer to me, and put her hand upon my arm--'should we not go to church to-day, at least, and pray that God might guide us to do what may be best?' I felt once more rebuked by my sister. In less than half an hour I was seated, with my mother and two sisters, in the handsome church that had been for years the pride of the town of Cambridge. Not even Boston could boast a finer church building, or a more cultured congregation. Boston was a centre of trade; its narrow and crooked streets; its wharves and many ships; its mixed population; its noise and taverns; its large and busy crowds, had for years stood out in sharp contrast with the quiet and delightful country culture of Cambridge. The educated and the wealthy, particularly those in whom the English instincts were strongest, had, like my father, chosen to live in the country rather than in the city. Thus it was that, when Doctor Canfield entered his pulpit that Sabbath morning, he faced representatives of all that was best and most intellectual in the life of the colony.