“Call it what you will,” answered the man sneeringly, “the fact remains the same.” “And I don’t like your calling the fight at Lexington a skirmish,” spoke the blunt-tongued Philip, who had come to think of that first exchange of shots as a most glorious engagement. “It resulted in three hundred British troops being killed, and when Putnam and Arnold hurried up to take command of the minutemen, they walled General Gage up in Boston, for all his army and ships.” “Putnam!” said the man in his mocking way. “What is he? An old farmer turned soldier; and Arnold is a swaggering, reckless ruffian.” “Be quiet,” whispered Stephen Wheelock, as he dragged at the man’s sleeve, his face growing pale as he noted the resentful expressions of those about them. “Be quiet, I tell you!” Danvers’ quick eye saw the effect of his words and he smiled coolly. It seemed as though he rather enjoyed the risk he ran in being so open in his words. “Never fear,” said he, in a low tone to young Wheelock. “I only want to stir them up a bit. I’ll be careful not to go too far.” “You’ll get my father into hot water, Danvers, if you don’t mind yourself,” warned Stephen, drawing the man aside. “The Whigs know that our family sympathize with the cause of the king; and it must not be known that we harbor agents of Lord North’s government.” “Hush!” warned Danvers, in his turn. “They will know it soon enough, and you’ll have my neck in a halter, if you use such terms as that in this public place.” “Give them no cause for suspicion, then,” said young Wheelock. “I’ve seen them aroused more than once, and it’s not a pleasant thing to look at, indeed.” Philip Morgan’s ire was aroused by the words of Danvers, and he was talking loudly. “Let the English say what they like,” cried he, “we have as good officers as they, and perhaps better. And we were faithful to the king, too, until he hired the Brunswickers and Hessians to come and fight against us. No free men could stand such a thing as that.” “No, no,” chorused the boys upon the benches. “That was the last straw,” said Walter Stanton. “If King George had not done that, the gentlemen across the way would never have written, passed and signed the Declaration of Independence, July a year ago.” So interested were all the boys in the talk, which now became general, that they did not notice a horseman ride up, dismount and tie his nag to a post near at hand. He was a tall, spare, raw-boned man, with fiery red hair. He held himself with the rigid bearing of a man trained in the army; his face was resolute, indeed fierce looking; and an ugly sword slash had left a red scar across it that did not add to his appearance. He stood at his horse’s head listening, as Philip Morgan went on, addressing Danvers. “You may sneer at Putnam if you like, sir, but he is a bold and able officer, and so is General Arnold. Why, Arnold’s invasion of Canada alone would stamp him as an uncommon man.”