“We had a young fellow here a short time back. A young fellow who said he hung around the Bay and Beagle some.” He waited, his face expressionless, for Sally Rose to speak. In the silence Kitty heard the rattle of dishes from the kitchen. She caught the delicious odor of roast meat, the tang of crushed mint leaves. Sally Rose’s smile grew no whit dimmer. “We’ve many young fellows who hang around the Bay and Beagle,” she said. “My dad would go poor, if we didn’t. They keep the till full. Did he tell you his name?” The landlord spoke accusingly. “He said his name was Gerry Malory. He said he was going to Newburyport to see a girl.” Sally Rose shrugged her graceful shoulders. “Plenty of girls in Newburyport,” she said. “Do you know this Gerry Malory?” “I might,” she answered cautiously. “Was he a dockyard hand now, or maybe a farmer from Breed’s hill--” “This one was took up for being a British officer,” said the landlord grimly. “Took up, right here in my tavern. Irons put on his wrists--part of an old ox chain I had--and he was took to the camp at Cambridge under guard. Likely they’ll hang the damn redcoat. I hope they do.” Sally Rose’s smile looked a bit frozen, but it did not vanish away. There was a tremor in her voice, but she spoke imperiously still. “All very interesting, Landlord, but your daughter has undertaken to fetch us a supper of spring lamb. We are tired with long riding, and if you could ask her to be spry about it, we should be grateful. Our horses, also, are at your door and in need of attention.” She sat down and turned her back upon him. Kitty watched the lame man shake his head. Then he stumped off toward the kitchen. She looked again at her cousin, and Sally Rose’s eyes were shining with more than the candlelight. “He was coming to see me,” she murmured happily. “Gerry was coming to see me when they caught him.” Kitty felt her face twist in a frown and spoke her disapproval. “Which he shouldn’t have been doing, of course. He belongs with the other British in Boston. Well, he’s got himself in trouble now. A prisoner of our men, and the landlord talked of hanging. Aren’t you worried about him?” Sally Rose took off her bonnet and shook back her shining hair. “Not a little finger’s worth,” she said. “They won’t hold him long. He can come and go like a breath of east wind, Gerry can. My, oh my”--and she patted the front of her muslin gown--“I’m so hungry. I wish Nanny would hurry and bring that spring lamb!” * * * * * Twenty-four hours later they were hungry again, much hungrier, and very tired. But they were riding down Crooked Lane in Charlestown, with the Bay and Beagle almost in sight, and over the river the lights of Boston. “My, it’s been a tiresome day,” sighed Sally Rose. “Losing my purse, horse going lame, taking the wrong turn in Danvers--I don’t see how I could have been so stupid as to do that.”