The return of the apprentice, leading a plow horse by the bridle, put an end to the talk. So George mounted and, gathering up his reins, said:

“The ‘Wheat Sheaf’ is not very far away, I believe?”

“A matter of a half mile,” answered the mechanic.

“I’ll dine there, like as not,” said George. And then he added, with a laugh: “Perhaps it will be as well for me to keep my eyes open also; I may see something upon my own account.”

Then he waved his hand in a good-bye and set off along the road once more. The patriot batteries mounted upon the Heights were in view through the dusk when he sighted the “Wheat Sheaf,” which was a large rambling structure with a veranda upon two sides of it and a great number of small-paned windows through which the lights were already beginning to glint.

No one was visible, and George called loudly as he pulled up at the door:

[92]“Ho, the house! Landlord!”

[92]

From somewhere in the rear, a sharp-faced woman made her appearance. She was very tall and angular, her movements were awkward, and when she spoke her voice was high.

“Hoighty toity!” she cried, “and must we make all this noise at a decent inn? What is your wish, young man?”

“I’ll have some one take my horse, mistress,” replied George, “and I desire him rubbed and given a good feed of clean grain.”

The woman turned toward the barn and called shrilly:

“Job!”

She had repeated the cry several times before there was any response; then a man came out of the barn, rubbing his eyes and shuffling his feet.

“You’ve been asleep again,” charged the woman. “You are the most idle, good-for-nothing rascal in Harlem, I really believe.”

The man blinked ill-humoredly. “Fair words, Mistress Trout,” spoke he. “They go farther than the other sort.”

“Don’t answer me back, you wretch,” cried[93] Mistress Trout. “Don’t do it. And you’d better mend your ways, sir, or I’ll turn you off; and you’ll have a time of it getting 

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