"Betty," whispered Moppet, so low that she was evidently alarmed at her
own daring, "why can't we let him go free and never tell Oliver a word
about it?"

"How did you come to think of that?" said Betty, astonished.

"I am afraid it is the devil prompting me," said Moppet, with a sigh,
partly over her own iniquity, and part in wonderment as to whether that
overworked personage was somewhere soaring in the air near at hand; "but
I always thought the British were big ogres, with fierce eyes and red
whiskers, and I am sure my good, kind gentleman is very like ourselves."

Betty was betrayed into a low laugh. Moppet was always original, but
this was delicious.

"No, child," she said softly, "the British are some bad, some good, and
there are no doubt cruel men to be found in all wars. Moppet, as you
came by the north door, whom did you see on guard in the hall?"

"Josiah Huntington," said Moppet promptly; "but you heard what Oliver
said at supper?"

"Yes," answered Betty, "Oliver was so weary that Josiah was to watch
until twelve o'clock; then, at midnight, Reuben was to guard the hall
until four in the morning, when Oliver would take his place until
breakfast. Did you note the time on the hall clock?"

"It was half past eleven," said Moppet; "the half hour sounded as I
rapped."