Israel glanced inquiringly upon the Squire; then upon his companions;
and meeting the expressive, enthusiastic, candid countenance of Horne
Tooke--then in the first honest ardor of his political career--turned
to the Squire, and said, "Sir, I believe what you have said. Tell me now
what I am to do."

"Oh, there is just nothing to be done to-night," said the Squire; "nor
for some days to come perhaps, but we wanted to have you prepared."

And hereupon he hinted to his guest rather vaguely of his general
intention; and that over, begged him to entertain them with some account
of his adventures since he first took up arms for his country. To this
Israel had no objections in the world, since all men love to tell the
tale of hardships endured in a righteous cause. But ere beginning his
story, the Squire refreshed him with some cold beef, laid in a snowy
napkin, and a glass of Perry, and thrice during the narration of the
adventures, pressed him with additional draughts.

But after his second glass, Israel declined to drink more, mild as the
beverage was. For he noticed, that not only did the three gentlemen
listen with the utmost interest to his story, but likewise
interrupted him with questions and cross-questions in the most
pertinacious manner. So this led him to be on his guard, not being
absolutely certain yet, as to who they might really be, or what was
their real design. But as it turned out, Squire Woodcock and his friends
only sought to satisfy themselves thoroughly, before making their final
disclosures, that the exile was one in whom implicit confidence might be
placed.