Toliver's Secret by Esther Wood Brady

Ellen groped for some kind of answer. “From—from Mr. Murdock’s farm.”
    â€œYou a bound boy there?” asked the man in the fur hat. Ellen jumped and turned to see him pull the muffler down from his mouth. He had tipped his headto one side and was watching her carefully.
    The blacksmith grunted. “I’ll wager that wife of his would send a boy out on a night like this. She’s a strange woman—Mistress Murdock.” He began beating the curved piece of red-hot iron with his hammer.
    â€œWill you tell me the way—” Ellen began.
    Suddenly the horse stamped his feet on the wooden floor and the big man jumped up and patted his nose and rubbed his ears to quiet him. He was the tallest man Ellen had ever seen.
    As she waited for the man to quiet his horse, she took off her mittens, leaned forward and held out her cold hands to the fire. She quickly clutched her jacket when she felt the loaf of bread start to slip down.
    â€œWhat’s that under your coat?” the big man spoke up quickly.
    â€œIt’s nothing,” said Ellen.
    â€œMust be a sack of gold,” he said. “Do you think it is a sack of gold, Smithy?” Ellen looked to see if he were serious, but she could not tell.
    â€œNo,” said the smith, “but I’ll wager it’s a bag of good English coins.”
    â€œPerhaps he’s a paymaster for the redcoats,” said the big man.
    â€œOr a runaway thief.”
    Ellen thought they must be teasing her. She looked from one face to the other. The smith was serious. The other man’s eyes were laughing. She hugged the bread close to her chest.
    It seemed to her the tall man’s eyes looked right past the brass buttons of her coat. She was sure he could see the loaf of bread underneath. But she was not going to show it to him.
    â€œDid you steal something from the redcoats?” he asked as he leaned forward and peered at her across the room. Perhaps he wasn’t teasing after all.
    The smith grumbled. “Lots of stealing around here—horses—saddles—blankets. You can’t trust anyone these days. Not since the British came. Now bring up the horse,” he said to the man with the muffler.
    Ellen backed into the corner on the far side of the fireplace while the old horse was led to the blacksmith’s side and tied to the wall.
    â€œMy horse is too old for any redcoat to steal,” said the owner. He patted the horse’s nose while the smith lifted a hind leg and steadied it on the leather apron that covered his knees. With a sharp knife he began to slice off small bits of the hoof before he attached the iron shoe.
    â€œNow,” said the man in the muffler, “what’s under your jacket, boy?”
    â€œNothing,” cried Ellen. “Nothing at all.”
    â€œIt must be right valuable,” said the man, “from the way you are hiding it.”
    â€œIt’s nothing but a loaf of bread,” Ellen called over her shoulder as she dodged around him and darted to the door. She almost choked over the words, she was so tired and upset. Maybe they were only teasing her, but she wasn’t sure. She did not know who this tall man was or why he was so curious about what was under her jacket, but she had had enough trouble for today. She did not need any more.

Twelve
    S
he was out in the cold black night again. And now there was no spot of light ahead to give her courage to push on. Everything had gone wrong today. Over and over again! She was so miserable she wanted to sink down in the snow and go to sleep.
    She heard some horsemen come galloping down the road and quickly dodged out of the way. She could not see them as they disappeared in the dark, but she could hear them round a bend in the road ahead and then suddenly stop. Far away she heard a burst oflaughter, as if a door had been opened and closed again.
    â€œThat might be the tavern!” It was almost too much to hope