"The furriner that went by just now, was
it he that frightened ye, Ma'am?"
Mrs. Polwhele nodded.
"But what put it into your head that he's a Frenchman?"
"Because French is his language. With these very ears I heard him
talk it! He joined the coach at Torpoint, and when I spoke him fair
in honest English not a word could he answer me. Oh, Calvin, Calvin!
what have I done--a poor weak woman--to be mixed up in these plots
and invasions?"
But my grandfather couldn't stop to answer that question, for a
terrible light was breaking in upon him. "A Frenchman?" he called
out. "And for these twenty-four hours he's been marking out the
river and taking soundings!" He glared at Arch'laus Spry, and
Arch'laus dropped the brazen ewer upon the pavement and smote his
forehead. "The Devil," says he, "is among us, having great wrath!"
"And for aught we know," says my grandfather, speaking in a slow and
fearsome whisper, "the French ships may be hanging off the coast
while we'm talking here!"
"You don't mean to tell us," cried Mrs. Polwhele, sitting up stiff in
the pew, "that this man has been mapping out the river under your
very noses!"
"He has, Ma'am.
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