Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

A BirtTHpay Party 83 that he might be safer. I’m his friend, — Ill swear to that, — whatever his name may be,” laying a hand on the Eng- lishman’s shoulder. The gesture smote through and through Sarah Ander- son. An alien under her roof was not all. Here, in her own house, was an influence with the pull of a planet. It wasa bitter discovery. But this was no time to consider it. She ee her grandson “make a clean breast of it.” He id. And then the alien, his face as haughty as her own, spoke up. “Madam, your prisoner is Arthur Leslie, eldest son of Sir Edward Fortescue Leslie, of Leslie Park, Sussex. More than this | am not at liberty to tell.” “Well, I’Il be dog-gone! Not Tarleton?” exulted Tom. The Englishman smiled. ‘But when you believed me Tarleton — you saved me. Nerve, courage, merciful cares brought Tarleton back from the pit. Eh, Tom?” ‘Tarleton be hanged. God keep Arthur Leslie! It’s too late for your name or the color of your coat to cut you off from us;— and we'll stand by you to the last ditch.” “Fresh candles, Dilsey,’’ said Mrs. Anderson abruptly, ‘and — lock the doors.”’ “Dar!” whispered the black, “Miss Sa’ah inter it, too!” A bit before the storm came up, Peachy Lewis had loped up the avenue. “Go tell your Marse Tom to come here, Billy,” hurriedly. The Fool whined, “Mer haid most too big ter hunt de whi folks,’ but he came close to Peachy’s stirrup; his ogre face full of mystery. “Knows whar Marse ['roupe, I does. Will yer say, “Hope I mer die, en’ de buzzards pick mer eye, ef I tells’? Say dat, en’ I tell yer whar Marse Troupe ts.” Two minutes later Peachy was sitting by the fire in Mrs. Anderson’s room. Of course Peachy had heard about the visit of the Vigilance Committee to Oxheart. Some ru- mor afoot of a British fugitive. A hoax, of course. CONRNICLMOO® SS) (C©) im