Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 111: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CHAPTER XII MYSTERY Tom’s baritone rang out boldly on the midnight. He sang with a will. His errand was done. Mrs. Grattan’s letter to Mrs. Anderson was in his pocket. A young officer, a friend of the Anderson family, was to be smuggled to Philadelphia. Lucy Grattan’s fine energies were enlisted. By daylight “the Colonel’’ would be on the road to Phila- delphia. What a load had fallen from ‘Tom’s shoulders! From the moment his prisoner fell into his hands the boy had been eaten up with anxiety. He no longer wondered at himself because Arthur stood next to Troupe in his esteem. The days before he ever set eyes on the young Englishman seemed somehow a remote and lonely time. “Yet I’ve known him only six weeks! Thank God he’ll soon be safe!” What was that moving shadow among the tree-trunks? Ma’y Jane plunged. “Hold on, you Shawnee nigger! Don’t scare this fool mule!” “Dat you, Marse Tom?” Ah, but it was an ill wind that blew the Black Thistle there! “What are you hiding there?” Billy whimpered. Unwillingly, he held out his prize. A horse-pistol! No mean weapon; nor ill kept. Tom could hardly believe his eyes. At that time firearms were things of consequence; legacies, usually. Their characteristics were studied. ‘heir fine points and foibles were house- hold words. Tom could have named every weapon in the gun-case at Oxheart. “Old Hundred” had belonged to the Paul forbears. “‘The copper-bound” had been “busted over the snout of a bear.” “Long Sally” played her ball a CORNICLMOO® eS (C©) mn