They called and called and searched the bedrooms and the attic and the back garden, but the girl was nowhere to be found. Dick left, after a bit, taking his spare shirt with him, a small ham, and a hunting knife proffered by Timothy. The old man went on his errand to the cellar, and Kitty returned to polishing glasses. A few men drifted in to drink beer and cider and talk about the exchange of prisoners. Gran muttered a few dark words about the flightiness of the younger generation and went into the kitchen to put the bread to rise and make pease porridge for supper. Bread and beer and pease porridge folk had to have, thought Kitty, no matter if wars came about, and handsome young men went out to be killed in them, and girls grew up all too late. * * * * * Trade got brisker during the long hot afternoon, and Kitty was kept busy filling mugs and glasses. She learned from the talk of the men who happened in that the British prisoners had been sent out by boat to the great, threatening man-o’-war that swung at anchor in the channel, halfway to Boston. The officers in charge of the business had all come into town to take some refreshment and expected shortly to return to the dock to receive the American lads whose delivery would complete the exchange. Everything had been conducted in an orderly and courteous fashion. Gradually the excitement died down. Gran put on her second best straw bonnet and went out to look for Sally Rose. Timothy had trouble getting the brandy keg up the cellar stairs. Bees droned loudly in the hollyhocks, and gulls cried from the harbor. Slowly the sun moved over to the westward side of the roofs and gables. It was a summer afternoon like any other summer afternoon. And then, all of a sudden, Sally Rose was back. She slipped in quietly, like a shadow. On her face was that cat-stealing-cream look that fitted her so well. She went straight to the kitchen. Kitty hastily served a waiting customer, that same Mr. Bassett who had come back to Charlestown to cut his hay, and then she followed her cousin. Sally Rose stood by the water bucket, the dipper lifted to her mouth. She drank thirstily. “My, that tastes good,” she said, licking her wet red lips. “It was hot down by the dockside. Not a sea breeze anywhere.” “You’ve been to the docks?” asked Kitty curiously. “Of course. Didn’t you see Gerry wave to me to follow him?” “Gerry?” “Oh, of course, Kit!” Sally Rose’s voice had a ring of impatience in it. “I tried to make signs to you. I thought by the look of your face you understood me. You were surely staring at him.” “Staring at whom?” “Oh Kitty! You saw him! Gerry was the lad in the homespun breeches who marched beside the prisoners’ cart. He was the only one able to walk, and so he had to wait on them.” “But--but that lad--he looked like an American. His clothes--I thought--”