Englishmen hold so dear.”

Chapter Two.

While the young man was speaking, the stranger and his son had worked their way close to the stout soldier-like man who has been described. The stranger’s eye fell on his countenance. He touched his son’s shoulder. “An old comrade in arms!” he whispered. “A truer man than Captain William Mead,—trusty Bill Mead, we used to call him,—never drew sword in the cause of liberty. If I can but catch his eye and get a grip of his honest hand, I will ask him who that young man can be,—a brave fellow, whoever he is.” In another instant the two old comrades had recognised each other.

“What, Christison! Nicholas Christison! is it thou?” exclaimed Captain Mead, examining the stranger’s countenance. “Verily, I thought thou wast no longer in the land of the living; but thou art welcome, heartily welcome. Come with me to my house in Cornhill, at the sign of the ‘Spinning Wheel,’ and thou shalt tell me where thou hast been wandering all this time; while, may be, we will have a talk of bygone days.”

“With all my heart,” answered Christison; “but tell me who is that noble youth addressing the people? He seems by his dress and bearing not one likely to utter such sentiments as are now dropping from his mouth!”

“Verily, he is not less noble in deed and word than in look,” answered Mead. “He is William Penn, the son of the admiral who fought so well for the Commonwealth, and now serves a master about whom the less we say the better.”

“I remember him well; a brave, sagacious man, but one who was ever ready to serve his own interest first, and those of his country afterwards. I should not have expected to find a son of his consorting with Quakers.”

“No, verily; as light from darkness, so does the son differ from the father in spiritual matters,” answered Mead. “The son has sacrificed all his worldly prospects for the sake of his own soul and for those of his fellow-creatures. In a righteous cause he fears no foes, temporal or spiritual; and is ready to lay down his life, if needs be, for the truth.”

“A brave youth he must be, by my troth,” observed Christison. “Wenlock, my boy, I pray Heaven you may be like him. I would rather have thee a thorough true-hearted man, than the first noble in the land.”

At this moment, Mead, who had been stopped by the crowd from making his way towards the place where William Penn was 

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