was rather weak. ‘Change your coat, or I change my will’ was old Camp’s next saying, and the young man’s answer to this was more wavering still.”

The old Tory had also said that there still remained a few days more to effect the change he desired.

“And it would seem,” thought the young New Englander, indignantly, “that he’ll get his wish. This young man spoke of principle yesterday; it seems that he’s thought better of it to-day. Sixty thousand pounds has been too great a lure to resist; his greed was greater than his patriotism.”

However, despite his indignation, he went calmly on with his meal; and while he ate, Herbert Camp continued in the same attitude, apparently thinking deeply. Both were engaged in this way when there came a bustle from the road before the inn; glancing through the window, which was on line with his table, he saw in the light of several lanterns a queer looking man mounted upon[104] a tall, bony horse and carrying before him a huge pack. Both Mistress Trout and the hostler, Job, had gone out to receive the newcomer, who slid awkwardly from his pad-saddle, dragging his pack along with him.

[104]

From his gestures, George saw that the man was making quite a speech regarding the caretaking of his bony nag; Job listened with great patience, and led the animal carefully to the barn when its owner had done. Then the man, staggering under the pack, followed the landlady to the inn.

Into the public room he shambled; depositing his burden in a corner he stood erect, his breath coming in deep gasps.

“Time was,” said he, “when I could have borne that load and not made half the ado.”

He was a square-built, stocky man, with thick, bowed legs and a partially bald head. He had prominent outstanding ears and tremendous hands, corded and knotted like those of a giant.

“You do very well as it is, sir,” spoke the landlady. “There’s scarce a man in Harlem that could carry so much.”

The man mopped his bald head with a[105] yellow handkerchief and laughed. “Ah, good lady,” said he, “you’ll be seeking to get the better of me in a trade before I’m gone. Sweet words mean only one thing to a man of my business—they seek to take the place of halfpence.”

[105]

“Indeed, then,” cried 

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