Toliver's Secret by Esther Wood Brady Page B

stumbled over to the fire and sat down on a low stool. On a spit before the fire a roast of mutton was sizzling and sputtering. But not even the smell of a good hot roast made her hungry. She was too tired and upset and numb with shock.
    As she watched the leaping flames, her head whirled with memories of the day. They went past her eyes in a dizzy parade—the boat full of soldiers, the crowded streets of Amboy, the woods, that awful pig! And for what? For nothing! Mr. Shannon wasn’t here! All that she had endured meant nothing in the end! She could sit here and wait all she liked, Mr. Shannon wouldn’t be back for two days.
    Angrily she kicked off her wet shoes and shoved them toward the fire. She leaned forward, doubling up over the loaf of bread inside her jacket, put her head on her knees, and let her arms flop down. She was tootired to move. The noise of the tavern swirled about her, but Ellen barely heard it.
    Before long she felt a tap on her shoulder and saw the woman with the flag in her hair beckoning to her. Very slowly she got up. “I don’t think she’s really Mistress Shannon. She’s too friendly with the redcoats,” Ellen said to herself. But she hugged the loaf of bread under her jacket and followed her, just the same.
    They passed the bar and quietly slipped into a room at the back. The woman locked the door behind them. It was a small room, lighted only by a fire of pine knots and rather crowded with a large bed in one corner and two big chairs by the fireplace. The heavy red curtains at the windows were tightly drawn.
    In the dim light Ellen saw a man rise from one of the chairs. To her surprise, she recognized the tall man in the fur hat and the plaid muffler. His eyes were grave as he pulled the muffler from his long chin.
    â€œYou’re a quick one,” he said. “You ran away too fast.” When he unwound the muffler and took off his hat, his thick white hair fell to his shoulders.
    Ellen liked his face, now that she could see it clearly. It was a strong face with a good wide mouth and ruddy cheeks. She remembered his eyes under his whiteeyebrows. They had seemed to bore through her jacket in the blacksmith shop, but now they were smiling. He was so tall and rugged he made her think of a great oak tree in the woods.
    â€œThis is Mr. Shannon,” whispered the woman. “He has come back sooner than I expected.”
    Was he really Mr. Shannon? Ellen wondered. How could she be sure? She thought Mr. Shannon would be a round and jolly innkeeper in a long green apron. She thought he might look like her grandfather, since they were good friends. And why would Mr. Shannon go after ale for the soldiers if he were expecting an important message? And that woman who said she was his wife was wearing a little British flag in her hair. It was rather odd.
    â€œIs that a loaf of bread you are hiding in your jacket?” Mr. Shannon said.
    â€œYes-s-s,” Ellen answered slowly.
    â€œIs it a present for my birthday?”
    â€œYes, it is,” she cried in surprise.
    â€œFrom Van Horn, the barber in New York?”
    Now she was sure. Only Mr. Shannon would know about her grandfather.
    â€œHere it is, Mr. Shannon!” she said eagerly as she slipped the loaf of bread from her jacket. Standingthere in her stocking feet, she curtsied as she handed him the bread and said the words she had carried in her mind all day. “I have brought you a present for your birthday.” Then she added, “My grandfather hurt his ankle this morning and he couldn’t walk at all. So he sent me.”

    As she gave the loaf of bread to Mr. Shannon she felt as if a great load had been lifted from her shoulders. She had delivered Grandfather’s message! In spite of everything, she had delivered the message! Her face was beaming.
    â€œBut how did you get here from New York?” Mr. Shannon looked puzzled. “You were walking, weren’t you, when you