Andy made the most of that time.  Stealing cautiously in and out of the shrubbery, he worked his way out of sight of the greenhouse.  The chill of the morning made him shiver.  How many hours he had passed without food or drink he did not consider; but his heart seemed dead within him.

Painfully he came at last to the shelter of the woods.  Then he sat down upon a fallen tree, clutching the scraps of paper against his throbbing breast.  In imagination he seemed to see the master being led forth to die.  See! the east was rosy.  Now, even now, the brave soul was marching on undaunted and undismayed.  Andy could see nothing in the brilliancy of that lovely morning light, but the uplifted face of the man he loved.  A pride and joy came to the boy.  That hero was his friend!  The world might call him a spy—­but he, Andy McNeal, knew that he had given all for the country’s cause, and regretted nothing, even in the face of a dishonored death.

“And Washington shall know!” breathed Andy.  “As soon as I can reach headquarters, the General shall have these!” Fiercely he pressed the papers.  Then he arose.  He was stiff and deadly weary.

“I will go to Ruth!” he sighed.  “I must have food and rest.  I dare not go to mother.  My plight is too sad.  I will save her the sight.”  Bedraggled and blood-stained—­for the fall of the night before had left its mark—­Andy went on, looking, as indeed he was, a soldier of the cause.

CHAPTER VII

ANDY HEARS A STRANGE TALE

Andy made but poor time to the minister’s house.  It was well on toward noon when the shouts of the children at play cheered his heart.  He had been obliged to rest many times, and once he had fallen asleep and slept longer than he knew.

As he drew near the cottage he saw Ruth kneeling by Sam’s grave.  It was one of the girl’s daily duties of love to bring fresh flowers and cover the mound with the bloom.  Glad enough was Andy to see her alone, and in this quiet spot.  He went more rapidly; the sight of Ruth gave him new strength.  He had no intention of frightening her, he made no attempt to walk quietly, but indeed a look at his haggard face would have caused alarm in any case.

“Ruth!” The girl looked up, stared, but made no cry.  She rubbed her eyes feebly as if awakening from sleep, then she grew deadly pale.

“Andy McNeal!” she whispered.  “Whatever has happened?”

“I will tell you.”  He sank down wearily, and took the cap from his head.

“My heart has been filled with horror,” Ruth went on, giving Andy time to catch his breath.  “I dared not tell any one what really happened.  They think you merely went as guide.  I never expected to see you alive again.  I am not sure that I do now!” She smiled pitifully, and came near Andy to chafe his cold hands.

“I’m alive,” the boy faltered.  “But, oh!  Ruth, I have lived years.”  Then brokenly, and with aching heart, he told the story of the past hours.  Ruth never took her eyes from his face, but her color came and went as she listened.  The tale was ended at last, ended with all the tragic detail and the showing of the scraps of paper.  Then Ruth stood up.