“You must have had many wondrous adventures,” sighed Stephen. “I can scarcely wait until I become a man and can have them too.”
“Look, look,” Peter interrupted them again with a joyous shout. After two vain launchings, his little boat, trimmed by Stephen’s skilful hand had at last put to sea successfully and was rocking upon the waves as merrily as a duckling.
“Good,” called Sergeant Branderby, “our Stephen knows how to fashion a boat, does he not, Master Peter?”
In great excitement Peter ran off down the beach, following his boat as it drifted with the wind.
“I should think,” continued Stephen, going back to their former talk, “that it would be hard to learn loyalty to so many Kings and Queens, following so quickly one upon another.”
“Love of the King has gone somewhat out of fashion in England,” returned the soldier. “Once in the golden times of great Queen Bess, folk were all of one heart and one blood, nobles and gentry, Kings and commoners, Englishmen all. But now that we have taken to trying this foreigner and that upon our throne, monarchs seem to have less value in our eyes.”
He paused and through the quiet could be heard Peter’s shouts to the two girls to stop and admire the prowess of his vessel.
“When I see how little you people of New England regard who is, or who is not, upon the throne,” Branderby went on, “when I see those splendid ships of yours lying at anchor or rotting at their docks, when I hear the growing murmurs of discontent and questioning where once men accepted the King’s will and thought he could do no wrong, I wonder, lad, I wonder what will come of it. The signs of great changes are in the air, but I cannot read their meaning.”
He was silent again, musing upon the question that so perplexed his mind. He and Stephen both heard, presently, footsteps upon the sand, coming toward them from beyond the great stone. They had seen, in the distance, a shabby woman of Hopewell digging for clams, aided by her ragged boy. The footsteps were evidently of these two, coming home again since now the sun was dropping low. Unseen and not observing the soldier and the boy, they passed by on the further side of the high grey rock.
“Mother,” the boy’s voice was saying, “I have heard that Stephen Sheffield is getting well at last. Will he be able to play at Indian scouts with me soon again, think you?”