“I reached the house safely enough,” went on the unhappy story-teller, “and found the purse upon the table. I opened it to see if the contents were safe and discovered at the bottom, besides the gold, a tiny embroidered copy of General Washington’s new flag, with its union jack in the corner and its thirteen stripes of red and white. Cousin Betsey, loyal soul, had heard of our new banner and had made this one to carry always with her. As I stood with it in my hand, I remembered passing a building used for soldiers’ barracks where there was no guard outside and where there was a great sound of revelling and roistering coming from within. So I thought, like a clever lad, how excellent it would be to pin this flag on the outside of the door and write beneath, ‘With the compliments of General Washington’s Army.’ I turned Cousin Betsey’s workbox upside down to find a piece of chalk and set off in high glee.”
“Ah,” exclaimed Clotilde, “how I should like to have seen the faces of the soldiers when they found it!”
“The face to see was mine,” said Miles ruefully, “when, just as I was scrawling my impertinent message, a hand fell upon my arm and a voice said:
“‘Put that flaunting banner in your pocket, man, and come with me.’
“I turned and recognised the same officer who had looked at me so long and earnestly near the Common. I thought of knocking him down and making a run for it, but such an act would have brought a whole regiment about my ears in a moment, so I could only grind my teeth and submit. He slipped his arm firmly through mine and led me to a house near by, where he unlocked the door and led me upstairs to his room. There he bade me sit down and himself stood looking at me long and in silence. Had his expression been a mocking one, I vow so great was my rage that I would have sought to slay him on the spot, but he looked only grave and thoughtful. Strange it is, Master Sheffield, but it flashed across my mind that his face was somehow familiar and that, in a certain way, he was like you.”
“Like me?” repeated Stephen in amazement, and then laughed again. “Surely I would make a fine figure for a British soldier!”
“He was like you, whatever you may say,” Miles affirmed stoutly, “his eyes were yours to the very life. We say in Hopewell ‘There is no blue like Sheffield blue,’ for the colour and fire of your eyes and your mother’s and your sister’s are things of which we often speak.”