morning to laugh! But he sobered as he looked back over his shoulder.
"I have word that the Tories intend to hold a meeting there to-night," he said in a grim tone. "Think of it. Cherry! Holding one of their treasonable gatherings right there in the Parson's own building!"
"But Parson Chapman has, despite his own patriotism, a great many Tories among his congregation," answered Charity reasonably. "I suppose they think 'tis their right to use the meeting house an they choose."
"Well, 'tisn't," denied Young Cy vigorously. "That meeting house was built to worship God in and it isn't worshipping God to hold a Tory meeting there and—and" He faltered and groped for words to finish his meaning.
"And worship the devil!" finished Charity with unexpected daring. "Oh, la, Young Cy!" she laughed. "Let us discuss more pleasurable things this lovely morn than Tory meetings."
As they neared the fields and meadows outlying the farms on the west of Newark an hour or so later the two young travelers gazed in pity at the meager herds of cattle and flocks of sheep grazing there. The planters who, like Squire Condit, lived back in the Newark mountains, had been more beyond the reach of the raiders who had swooped across into New Jersey—the seizures of stock and supplies had been less frequent there.
"Why, that be Matthew Crane's meadow. Young Cy," observed Charity, pointing. "I remember the enormous herd of cattle he used to have there!"
