The three of them walked together up the broad graveled path between the boxwood hedges, and in at the wide front door. Kitty had heard much about Isaac Royall, the owner of the house, a rich Tory who had fled to Boston, but she was not prepared for the carved elegance and panelled wainscot of the great hall. She had never before seen a room like the white and gold parlor where Colonel Stark seated them. It reassured her a little to see his somewhat battered musket leaning against the rosewood desk, a cartridge box flung down on a brocade chair. “O’erlook the disorder if you will,” he said, picking up the cartridge box. “I been at Cambridge all day, and Molly’s housemaids are forbidden to meddle with my field equipment. Well, lad,” and he turned to Gerry, his mouth severe, but a twinkle in his cold blue eye. “You say you come here to see me about some matter.” “Yes sir,” said Gerry, clenching his fists and leaning forward. “Colonel Stark, sir, I been abed in your field hospital ever since the battle at Charlestown. I said to all that I came from New Hampshire, but since I was wounded I couldn’t remember my town or the name of my captain. I told a lie, sir. I am Gerald Malory of the Twenty-third.” “I know it,” said Stark quietly. The twinkle in his eye deepened. “You--you know it? How?” “Haven’t forgotten you was our prisoner after the Ipswich Fright, have you? I won’t question you about the Fright too much. That’s water under the bridge. Might have enjoyed it myself, when I was a lad.” Gerry hung his head, and the Colonel went on. “You was recognized by more’n a dozen men when we carted you back from the Hill.” “Then--why?” “Why didn’t we clap you back in gaol again? Well, maybe we should have. I decided instead to have you watched. I wanted to find out your game.” “I haven’t any game,” said Gerry miserably. “So it was beginning to seem,” agreed Stark. “What are you? Tired of fighting? A deserter?” “I--I suppose so,” said Gerry. “I never meant to be a soldier. But after I got in trouble at home, it seemed the best way.” Stark cleared his throat. “You got a father?” he asked. “A father? Yes, sir.” “At home in England?” “Yes.” “How do you think he’d feel if he knew you was behaving so?” “I don’t believe he’d care,” said Gerry. “After my mother died, he took a young wife and has other sons. New one every year. ’Twas getting so there was no room at home for me.”