"As you say, Mr. Horseshoe," answered the dame, as she turned round to leave the room; "but I am sure I can't suspicion what you mean to do."
In a few moments the woman returned with the weapons, and gave them to the sergeant.
"Where is Andy?" asked Horseshoe.
The hostess went to the door and called her son, and almost immediately afterwards a sturdy boy of about twelve or fourteen years of age entered the apartment, his clothes dripping with rain. He modestly and shyly seated himself on a chair near the door, with his soaked hat flapping down over a face full of freckles, and not less rife with the expression of an open, dauntless hardihood of character.
"How would you like a scrummage, Andy, with them Scotchmen that stole your mother's chickens this morning?" asked Horseshoe.
"I'm agreed," replied the boy, "if you will tell me what to do."
"You are not going to take the boy out on any of your desperate projects, Mr. Horseshoe?" said the mother, with the tears starting instantly into her eyes. "You wouldn't take such a child as that into danger?"
"Bless your soul, Mrs. Ramsay, there ar'n't no danger about it! Don't take on so. It s a thing that is either done at a blow, or not done, and there's an end of it. I want the lad only to bring home the prisoners for me, after I have took them."
"Ah, Mr. Robinson, I have one son already in these wars—God protect him!—and you men don't know how a mother's heart yearns for her children in these times. I can not give another," she added, as she threw her arms over the shoulders of the youth and drew him to her bosom.
"Oh! it ain't nothing," said Andrew, in a sprightly tone.
