t
man, evidently the host, a comfortable-looking Dutchman, bustled in and
out, giving directions in a perfectly audible aside to a maid, who wore
a queer straight cap and brought in trays of beer to the thirsty party
of traders. A little boy in one corner was playing with some nails and a
pewter plate; each time he dropped the nails, making a jingling noise,
the landlord said, "Hush, there, Hans," in a loud whisper, to which the
child paid no attention. Betty wondered if it was his son, and felt as
if she would like to go over and play with him; and then thought, with a
half-homesick longing, of Moppet and the dear New England home. Far, far
away ran Betty's thoughts, as minute after minute sped along and no one
came to disturb her reverie. So engrossed was she that not even a low,
but distinctly spoken "_hist_," which came from the settle near her,
aroused her until it had been given the third time. Then she started;
there was something familiar in the sound--was any one speaking to her?

"Hist! do not look this way," whispered a voice which came from the
pair opposite her on the other side of the chimney. "Contrive to pass
near me as you go out--be cautious!"

"All ready, Betty?" said Mrs. Seymour's gay voice, as she came across
the room toward her. "Where is Mr. Verplanck?"

"Here," answered Gulian, from the other door. "Hasten, Betty; the horses
are eager to be off."

"I am coming," replied Betty, as she rose hurriedly and dropped her silk
reticule directly in front of the mysterious pair on the settle. The boy
darted up, giving the bag a furtive kick which sent it under the bench.

"I'll reach it for you, madam," he said aloud, diving down for it as
Betty paused a brief second. The old man stirred sleepily, raised his
head from his bundle, and keen bright eyes that Betty knew well flashed
into hers as he whispered rapidly:--

"Show no alarm, Betty, but no matter how or where you see me, make no
sign of recognition."

"Here's your bag," said the boy, springing to his feet. But Betty,
never stopping to thank him, ran rapidly across the room, out of the
door, and darted into the waiting coach, afraid to even glance behind
her, her heart sinking with dismay, for the voice and eyes of that
ragged old man were those of her brother Oliver!

CHAPTER XI

ON THE COLLECT

"Peter, Peter," said Grandma Effingham in a tone of gentle remonstrance,
"if thee would only let the ball alone Tabitha would keep quiet