"I am not silly. Thee would not dare say thee was not thinking of her.
She thinks of thee."

"How does thee know?"

"Because she gives me bread and jam if I so much as mention thy name."

This did not offend the young plowman, to judge by the expression of his
face; but he said nothing, and, stooping down, loosened the chains of
the whiffletree and turned the faces of the tired horses homeward. The
cavalcade moved on in silence for a few moments, but nothing can repress
the chatter of a boy, and presently he began again.

"Uncle Dave, was it really up this very valley that Mad Anthony Wayne
marched with his brave soldiers?"

"This very valley."

"I wish I could have been with him."

"It is an evil wish. Thee is a child of peace. Thy father and thy
father's fathers have denied the right of men to war. Thee ought to be
like them, and love the things that make for peace."

"Well, if I can not wish for war, I will wish that a runaway slave would
dash up this valley with a pack of bloodhounds at his heels. Oh, Uncle
Dave, tell me that story about thy hiding a negro in the haystack, and
choking the bloodhounds with thine own hands."