“It was a stormy day,” continued he.  “The equinoctial gale blew violently, and scattered the yellow leaves of Liberty Tree all along the street.  Mr. Oliver’s wig was dripping with water-drops, and he probably looked haggard, disconsolate, and humbled to the earth.  Beneath the tree, in Grandfather’s chair,—­our own venerable chair,—­sat Mr. Richard Dana, a justice of the peace.  He administered an oath to Mr. Oliver, that he would never have any thing to do with distributing the stamps.  A vast concourse of people heard the oath, and shouted when it was taken.”

“There is something grand in this,” said Laurence.  “I like it, because the people seem to have acted with thoughtfulness and dignity; and this proud gentleman, one of his Majesty’s high officers, was made to feel that King George could not protect him in doing wrong.”

“But it was a sad day for poor Mr. Oliver,” observed Grandfather.  “From his youth upward, it had probably been the great principle of his life, to be faithful and obedient to the king.  And now, in his old age, it must have puzzled and distracted him, to find the sovereign people setting up a claim to his faith and obedience.”

Grandfather closed the evening’s conversation by saying that the discontent of America was so great, that, in 1766, the British Parliament was compelled to repeal the Stamp Act.  The people made great rejoicings, but took care to keep Liberty Tree well pruned, and free from caterpillars and canker worms.  They foresaw, that there might yet be occasion for them to assemble under its far projecting shadow.

Chapter IV

The next evening, Clara, who remembered that our chair had been left standing in the rain, under Liberty Tree, earnestly besought Grandfather to tell when and where it had next found shelter.  Perhaps she was afraid that the venerable chair, by being exposed to the inclemency of a September gale, might get the rheumatism in its aged joints.

“The chair,” said Grandfather, “after the ceremony of Mr. Oliver’s oath, appears to have been quite forgotten by the multitude.  Indeed, being much bruised and rather rickety, owing to the violent treatment it had suffered from the Hutchinson mob, most people would have thought that its days of usefulness were over.  Nevertheless, it was conveyed away, under cover of the night, and committed to the care of a skilful joiner.  He doctored our old friend so successfully, that, in the course of a few days, it made its appearance in the public room of the British Coffee House in King Street.”

“But why did not Mr. Hutchinson get possession of it again?” inquired Charley.

“I know not,” answered Grandfather, “unless he considered it a dishonor and disgrace to the chair to have stood under Liberty Tree.  At all events, he suffered it to remain at the British Coffee House, which was the principal hotel in Boston.  It could not possibly have found a situation, where it would be more in the midst of business and bustle, or would witness more important events, or be occupied by a greater variety of persons.”