Then he found another teamster going across the river, and with him he journeyed until he was at the Mills, only six miles from the Three Oaks Inn. Those last six miles he managed to hobble with only the assistance of his crutch, arriving at the hostelry just at evening. Jonas Benson had returned from Trenton and the boy was warmly welcomed by him. Indeed, that night in the public room, Hadley was the most important person present. The neighbors flocked in to hear him tell of the Paoli attack and of the occupation of Philadelphia, and he felt like a veteran. But he could not help seeing that Mistress Benson was much put out with him. As time passed the innkeeper’s wife grew more and more bitter against the colonists. She had been born in England, and the presence of Colonel Knowles and his daughter at the inn seemed to have fired her smoldering belief in the “divine right,” and had particularly stirred her bile against the Americans. [Illustration: THERE WAS AN OCCASIONAL OUTBREAK IN THE QUIET TOWN] “I’m sleepin’ in the garret, myself, Had,” groaned Jonas, in an aside to the boy. “I can’t stand her tongue when she gets abed o’ nights. I’m hopin’ this war’ll end before long, for it’s a severin’ man and wife--an’ sp’ilin’ business, into the bargain. She’s complainin’ about me keepin’ your place for ye, Had, so I’ve got Anson Driggs for stable boy. And, of course, she won’t let me pay Miser Morris your wage no more. I didn’t know but she’d come down from her high hosses when them Knowlses went away, but she’s worse ’n ever!” “Have the Colonel and Mistress Lillian gone?” “They have, indeed--bad luck to them!--though I’ve no fault to find with the girl: she was prettily spoken enough. But the Colonel had been recalled to his command, I understand. His business with your uncle came to naught, I reckon. D’ye know what it was, Had?” Hadley shook his head gloomily. “No. Uncle would tell me nothing. But the Colonel seemed very bitter against him.” “And what d’ye think of doing?” “I’m not fit for anything until this wound heals completely. I can’t walk much for some time yet. But I’ll go over and see Uncle in the morning.” “Ride Molly over. There’s no need o’ your walking about here. And come back here to sleep. Likely Miser Morris will be none too glad to see ye. Your bed’s in the loft same’s us’al. Anson goes home at night. The place is dead, anyway. If this war doesn’t end soon I might as well burn the old house down--there’s no money to be got by keeping it open.”