aid in that impressive manner which rather too many glasses is
apt to give, "Ipswich. Crown and Anchor. Very important indeed. At once.
Wait till he comes."

"That will do very well, Ezekiel. But not a word more, mind!"

"Tight as a rat-trap," replied the old man--and he turned his skeleton's
head, and went up the road towards Thomas Putnam's.

Joseph felt certain that this would take his brother to Ipswich. Both of
them were greatly interested in a lawsuit with certain of the Ipswich
people, regarding the northern boundary of the Putnam farms. Thomas was
managing the matter for the family; and was continually on the look-out
for fresh evidence to support the Putnam claim. In fact, bright Master
Raymond had once said that, between the Salem witches and the
Ips-witches, Master Thomas seemed to have no peace of his life. But this
was before the witch persecutions had assumed such a tragical aspect.

When Ezekiel had found Thomas Putnam and delivered his brief message,
without dismounting from his skeleton steed, Master Putnam asked at once
who sent the message.

"Ipswich. Crown and Anchor. Very important indeed! At once. Wait till he
comes," repeated the old man, with a face of the most impassive
solemnity, and emphasizing every sentence with his long fore-finger.

And that was all Master Thomas could get out of him. That much came just
as often as he wished it; but no more--not a word.

Mistress Ann Putnam had come out to the gate by that time. "He has been
drinking too much cider," she said.

This gave a suggestion to Ezekiel.

"Yes, too much cider. Rum--steady me!"

Mistress Putnam thought that it might produce an effect of that kind,
and, going back into the house, soon reappeared with a rather stiff
drink of West India rum; which the old man tossed off with no
perceptible difficulty.

He smiled as he handed back the tin cup which had held it. "Yes--steady
now!" he said.

"Who gave you the message?" again asked Master Putnam.

Ezekiel looked solemn and thoughtful. "Who gave 'im the message,"
replied Ezekiel slowly.

"Yes--who sent you to me?"

"Who sent yer--to--me?" again repeated Ezekiel. "Ipswich. Crown and
Anchor. At once. Wait till he comes." Then the old man's countenance
cleared up, as if everything now must be perfectly satisfactory.

"Oh there is no use in trying to get any more out of him--he is too much
fuddled," said Mistress Putnam impatiently.

"More rum--steady me!" mumbled Ezekiel.