“No, I did not.  Who struck that blow?”

“Nathan Hale.”

The man started.  “And he?”

“Died the death of a spy two days ago.”

“Andy!” It was Janie who cried out.  “Was our dear schoolmaster, Nathan Hale, the spy?”

“Nathan Hale, the patriot!” corrected Andy, and his eyes dimmed.

“Oh! how you have suffered, lad.”

“Aye.”  Andy sank into a chair.

His father was looking at him keenly; and a growing expression of admiration was dawning in the searching eyes.  Here was a son of whom he might yet be proud.

“Andy,” he said, “I can imagine your feeling toward me.  I do not say I do not deserve it.  But your mother is willing to forgive the past, if you are willing to give me a trial.”  The thin lips twitched.  Martin was a proud man, and his humble diet seemed never to be coming to an end.  The hard young face opposite appeared more unrelenting than Janie’s had seemed.

“What is best for mother is best for me,” said Andy.  “I am almost a man.  When the war is over I shall try to do a man’s part in the world.  Each one of us has his life.”

Martin again became serious.  “I have money, Andy; I can help you, and give you a fair start.”

“Your money will make mother’s life easier.  It has been a hard life.”

“There, there, Andy, lad!  Do not be bitter, son.”

“Not bitter, mother.  But I cannot forget.  Not just at first.”

“I can educate you, Andy,” Martin added.  “You might take that help from a stranger, and repay it later on.”

A hungry look came into the boy’s eyes.  The teaching of the master had awakened an appetite that would not sleep.  “I did without for many years,” he replied.  But Martin had seen the gleam, and was proud.

“In a day or so, Andy,” he went on, “I must ask a favor of you.  I want you to guide me to the patriot headquarters.”  The boy started.  “I came half-heartedly to fight against the colonies.  It is my desire to throw my lot in with theirs now.  You may be able to do me a favor with your General.  He will know you.  If I come back you may be able to respect your father.  If not—­your mother has a good son, and Parson White will see that what belongs to you two will be yours.”

“Father!” Andy arose, and this time stretched forth his hand gladly.  “Father, I will try to be a good son to you, too!”

“Thank God!” sobbed Janie, kneeling by the chair, and drawing Andy within the circle of her new hopes.

The old clock ticked and ticked contentedly.  The hissing of the kettle on the fire recalled Janie to her happy tasks, and Martin and his son wondered what the future would bring.

CHAPTER IX

PEACE

“Only the cane now, Andy.  The days of crutches are over!”

“Yes, Ruth, the country, the dear free country and I can nearly go alone now.”  Andy stood up proudly and beamed upon the pretty girl standing by his mother.