Mistress Streep’s left eyebrow shot up, and the Hewson girls looked equally shocked by Lily’s unladylike gesture.

  “About your journey,” Master Hewson broke in. “With the harbor so restricted, I am surprised you were able to make it to shore at all.”

  “Well, we sort of came in the back way,” Lily replied, trying to look away from the untouched tongue on her plate.

  Mistress Streep gave the twins a sideways glance. “I am sorry to say I am not acquainted with your family.”

  Lily lowered her eyes and nervously ate another spoonful of her pudding.

  “But tell me how it is that you young ladies have come to travel so far without an escort?” asked Master Hewson.

  Lily took a deep breath. “What I’m going to tell you is the truth,” she began.

  Master Hewson nodded. “Always a wise choice.”

  “The truth is, we weren’t supposed to get into the boat at all,” Lily admitted.

  “You mean to say your parents don’t know of your whereabouts?” Mistress Hewson exclaimed. “They have no idea that you are here in the colonies?”

  “They don’t have a clue.” Lily sighed.

  “I wish they were here with us right now,” Emma said, her lip trembling. “They’re so far away — so very far….”

  “Oh, my stars! You poor lambs!” Mistress Hewson ran over and hugged them both. “I can only imagine how you must miss your dear mother.”

  The twins burst into tears.

  “Perhaps Papa could play a song to cheer our guests,” Hope suggested.

  “I should be happy to,” her father said. He was about to reach into his waistcoat pocket for the pennywhistle he always kept there when his wife’s stern look stopped him cold.

  “Play music at the table?” she exclaimed. “Why, Master Hewson, whatever has come over you? I’m quite sure our guests would find such a display most impolite.” She smiled nervously at the twins. “You must forgive my husband. His fondness for music can be quite unreasonable at times.”

  She proceeded to fill the awkward silence that followed with her own chatter about the upcoming ball and the “many fine people” who would be attending. The candles were nearly melted down to their candlesticks when Mistress Hewson excused her daughters from the table. “Go on up and entertain poor little Katie. I do hope her ankle heals quickly. And check on the baby as well,” she said.

  “We’ll go with you,” Lily and Emma offered as they scrambled to get away from Mistress Streep.

  “But you’ve hardly touched your food,” Mistress Hewson objected, guiding them back to their seats. “I’m afraid we’ve kept you both talking so much you haven’t had time to eat. Please do stay and finish your meal.”

  “Yes, please, do stay,” Mistress Streep replied with a sharp glint in her eye. “’Tis not often we get to dine with such esteemed company.” She drew out the words “esteemed company” so long that Lily’s heart skipped a beat.

  As they watched the Hewson girls leave the table, the twins knew that there was only one way out of the dining room. They would have to eat the tongue!

  “Your accent is most unusual,” Mistress Streep remarked, staring straight at them. “I must say in all my years in England I have never heard such an accent as you girls have.” Then she looked through the corner of her eye. “In these dangerous times, there are so many impostors going about looking to steal the very linen off your beds. Why, you just can’t be too sure. Of course, that kind of riffraff will end up at the whipping post. They always do.”

  Lily almost choked on her mouthful of tongue. The fork slipped from Emma’s trembling fingers, hitting her plate with a loud clatter. All eyes were on them when Mercy rushed back into the dining room.

  “Oh, Mama,” Mercy cried. “Do come quick! ’Tis Patience! Her face is flushed, and she’s burning up with fever!”

  Mistress Hewson flew from her seat and followed Mercy out of the room. Meanwhile, Mistress Streep covered her nose and mouth with her napkin. “Fever? In this house!” she exclaimed. “Good God, boy, don’t just stand there!” she screamed at the butler, who had backed away from the table. “Go out and tell my driver to bring up my carriage at once.”

  “I beg you to remain calm, my dear Mistress Streep,” Master Hewson said, getting to his feet.

  “Calm? Only a fool would stay calm with pox in his house!” she shrieked, hurrying for the door.

  Master Hewson looked at the twins and smiled a tight smile. “Silly woman, jumping to conclusions,” he said. But Lily could see that his eyes weren’t smiling. His eyes were not smiling at all.

  MATT AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING TO A tickle on his cheek. He opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with a small brown mouse! It turned and squeezed itself into a small chink in the wall.

  It took Matt a moment to remember where he was. But as soon as he saw Tony, Hooter, and Q curled up beside him in the cold, dark mill, it all came flooding back to him.

  Where were Katie and the twins? How was he ever going to find them? What kind of danger were they in?

  These questions haunted Matt as he and the others spent the next three days under the rebels’ strict and watchful guard. Although the mill was icy cold, Moses built fires when he could. But food was another matter.

  The boys were hungrier than they’d ever been in their lives. Their meals consisted of moldy oatcakes and cheese for breakfast and moldy oatcakes for lunch and supper, with the occasional dried apple or onion.

  Hooter took to daydreaming aloud about tacos, guacamole, and French fries, while Matt and Tony played game after game of tic-tac-toe on the dusty windows. Q made a thorough inspection of the grindstone and tried to calculate the amount of grain the miller could grind per day.

  But the boys’ attempts to distract themselves were tempered by an unspoken fear. At the end of each day, as the sun sunk behind the trees and the mill grew darker and darker, the four friends huddled together, wondering in silence what was to happen next, and if they’d ever get home.

  Finally, the fourth day of their captivity came. Moses was ready for his mission across town with Matt. The old man now wore a clean white shirt and a brown wool jacket. His long gray hair was tied back with a black ribbon. He carried a large leather bag over his shoulder and a black felt tricorn hat in his hands.

  “It is time we left,” he told Matt. “You’re to stay by my side at all times and do as I say if you want to be reunited with your sister and your friends.”

  Matt swallowed hard. He’d been anxiously waiting for this moment. But now that it had arrived, the thought of going off with the old spy into enemy territory suddenly filled him with dread.

  “Hurry, we’ve no time to waste,” Moses said gruffly. “Travel through the city has become most dangerous. The King’s soldiers are everywhere, looking to rout out Patriots. From here on in, I am Master Hastings, a Latin teacher, running a school for orphans. And you, young Matthew Carlton, are my prized student. From now on, you will address me only as Master Hastings. Understood?”

  “Understood,” Matt answered.

  Moses turned to Hooter, Q, and Tony. “You three will remain in the mill until we return.”

  As Moses stepped outside to talk with his men, the four friends huddled together to say their good-byes.

  “Watch out for the redcoats,” Hooter warned. “And don’t get hit by a musket ball.”

  “Actually,” Q said matter-of-factly, “most deaths during the Revolution were not caused by musket balls but by infection.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Matt asked.

  “Don’t worry, chief,” said Tony. “We’re not going anywhere. We’ll be here when you get back.”

  Matt felt a lump in his throat. “You guys are the best, and whatever happens,” he whispered, “we’re all going home together.”

  “Together!” they cried. “Together!”

  Without another word, Matt followed Moses out of the mill and down the narrow frozen road.

  A short while later, the bare branches of the arching oaks and sturdy maples glistened in the stark afternoon light. The air was raw and biting cold. Matt kept a constant lookout over the open fields for Katie and the girls. As the mill disappeared into the distance, Matt grew more and more anxious. He was not at all sure he could be as brave as Moses needed him to be.

  A rabbit rustled through the brush beside them. Matt suddenly jumped at the loud rat-a-tat-tat that punctured the quiet.

  “It is only a woodpecker,” the old man assured him. “Look up there in that hemlock tree.”

  Matt looked up to see a redheaded bird pecking on the bark of the evergreen.

  “Ever make a bow and arrow from the wood of a hemlock?” Moses asked.

  Matt shook his head no.

  “Or a whistle from the wood of a chestnut?” The old man pointed to another tree.

  “I don’t really know much about wood or trees,” Matt admitted.

  Moses’s eyebrow arched. “How is it you come from the west and do not know trees?”

  “We don’t spend much time outdoors, the way you do here,” Matt told him. He thought about all the time he and his friends spent inside, watching TV or playing video games or being driven to the mall.

  Moses nodded. “Ah, I’ve heard the Indian tribes are fierce in the western parts. ’Tis a shame. My brother and I always loved the woods.”

  “What about your sister? Did she follow you into the woods, too? My little sister, Katie, is always following me around and getting into trouble. It’s because of her that we’re lost out here now.” Matt became quiet at the thought of Katie.

  But the old man frowned. “I said I had a sister. She is dead to me now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Matt said. “How did she die?”

  “She married a Tory. That is how. And from the moment she vowed to love the Crown as well as her husband, she ceased to be my sister,” Moses said grimly.

  “At least you’ve still got Harry,” Matt said.

  The old man’s face softened, and he smiled a wistful smile. “He was quite the rascal in our childhood, but today, there is no man I could call a better friend than my brother, Harry. His heart is as big as his smile. You will see how special he is.”

  “What do you mean?” Matt asked.

  “We are meeting him in the city,” Moses told him. “That big coat you are wearing is for him.”

  Matt fingered the wooden buttons on the coat. “Is your brother a Patriot, like you?”

  “Oh, aye, and he took to soldiering like a duck to water. He loved to play the warrior as a boy. He’d wield his little wooden sword and call himself Harry the Brave. Now he carries a musket and fights redcoats. And like me, he would send all of them packing back to England, if he could.

  “Think of it, Matthew, a country without the tyranny of a king, where every man is free to make his own destiny.” His voice suddenly sounded so energetic and youthful, Matt almost forgot what an old man he was. “Can you imagine living in such a land, lad?”

  Matt smiled to himself. “Definitely,” he said.

  Moses laughed. “Well, my young friend, it seems you’ve the vision of a Patriot and the spunk of a spy. I knew I had the right boy for the job the moment I laid eyes on you. Matthew. That’s a good strong name you’ve got there. With Harry the Brave joining us, I’ll wager we three could set the world right, aye? Look out, King George! Here we come!”

  The two walked on in silence, but Matt could hardly contain his excitement. He was no longer just an ordinary fifth-grade boy from Essex Elementary School in Rumson, Nebraska. He was Matthew Carlton, a Patriot spy about to meet a brave warrior! About to set the world right! Look out, King George, look out!

  AS THE TWO WALKED SIDE BY SIDE, THE LANDSCAPE gave way to narrow cobblestone streets lined with weathered houses, brick shops, and wooden fish stalls. The people who passed them on the footpaths and the shopkeepers who stood in front of their wares all seemed grim-faced and wary. The air was full of mistrust.

  “My brother will be meeting us in front of the apothecary shop,” Moses said, leading the way up a hill.

  Matt was eager to meet Harry the Brave. But when three soldiers in red coats and black hats suddenly appeared, Matt grabbed hold of the old man’s sleeve.

  “Keep your eyes lowered, and let me do the talking,” Moses whispered as the soldiers approached.

  “Good day to you, sir,” one of the soldiers said.

  Moses didn’t flinch but returned a confident nod.

  “Your grandson?” the soldier asked, nodding to Matt.

  “My student,” Moses corrected him.

  Matt held his breath and stared down at his feet. He stole a look at Moses, whose face remained a mask of calm. The sentry looked as if he wanted to question them further, but his attention turned to a pretty girl who was passing by. When the hem of her skirt suddenly caught on the nail of a barrel beside a cooper’s shop, the soldier sprang to her rescue.

  Weak with relief, Matt once again followed closely behind Moses. Geese waddled over the cobblestone street, and Moses pushed Matt aside as a housemaid emptied the contents of a chamber pot from a second-story window. Afterward, men in white wigs, long coats, and silver-buckled shoes dodged the spots of newly-colored snow.

  As they walked on, Matt was struck by the strange, eerie stillness and quiet of the streets that lacked the sounds of car and truck engines.

  “Stay close,” Moses cautioned again as they approached a small crowd gathered before the apothecary shop. The shop’s door was boarded over like many of the other stores on the street. The large glass jars and assorted vials in the window were empty and covered in dust. Many Patriots had left the city, abandoning their homes and businesses.

  They waited anxiously as the restless crowd grew larger. A baby cried in her mother’s arms. Matt looked down the street. Everyone was straining to see what was happening.

  “They’re coming! They’re coming!” a boy hollered down from the lamppost he had climbed.

  “I want to see the faces of those lobsterbacks so I can spit on them,” shouted a man who stood close by.

  The loud syncopated slap of leather on stone suddenly rang out in the chill morning air. Matt felt every muscle in his body tighten. What was happening? The people in the crowd held their breath. And then he saw them: the bloodred jackets and high black boots on the well-drilled soldiers marching in step down the middle of the street. People pushed onto the footpaths to get out of their way.

  “Murderers!” someone taunted from the crowd.

  “Blasted bloodybacks, go back home!” another hollered.

  But if they hoped to get a rise out of the soldiers, they were to be disappointed. The men’s chiseled faces above the trim red coats showed no emotion. Their eyes peered neither to the left nor the right but were locked forward.

  It was the loud rumble of a wagon’s wheels that brought the crowd to a deadly silence. Matt leaned forward to look and was horrified by what he saw. For the wagon was rigged with a wooden frame. Hanging from the bar atop the frame were three large butcher’s hooks that held the dead bodies of three young men! From each of their necks hung a sign painted in bold red letters that said TRAITOR!

  Matt felt sick to his stomach at the horrible sight. The crowd gasped. An old woman clicked her tongue. “Look at the one in the middle,” she said, pointing a gnarled finger. “Even all bloodied, you can see what a handsome lad he must have been. ’Tis a crime to see such a fair face end up on the end of a meat hook.”

  “Fair or ugly, the Crown would see all Patriot faces rot the same in the ground,” someone else shouted.

  “King George has a heart as cold as a headstone,” said another.

  It was then that Matt felt Moses’s trembling hand on his shoulder.

  “What is it?” Matt asked, seeing the old man’s face crumple. He followed Moses’s gaze back to the body of the handsome young rebel in the wagon. “Do you know him?”

  “Aye,” Moses whispered. “I know him well. For he is” — his voice cracked as he struggled to get the words out — “my little brother.” Moses hung his head. “Oh, Harry, what have they done to you?” he cried. “My God, what have they done?”

  MOSES CLUTCHED HIS CHEST AS IF HE’D BEEN stabbed in the heart. His wrinkled face contorted with grief. Matt stole another look at the lifeless body on the cart.

  Was that really the brave and wonderful Harry? It was too horrible to imagine. No wonder Moses and Dr. Franklin wanted to rid the colonies of the King’s men for good.

  “What ails the old man?” someone asked.

  “Does he know one of the dead Patriots?” asked another.

  Matt led Moses away from the crowd and down a narrow, dark alley. The air was foul with the stink of stale rum and rotting garbage. But they were safe there, hidden in the shadows. Matt found two wooden crates. “You can rest here,” he told Moses.

  “I should have been with him. I should have protected my brother,” Moses whispered hoarsely. He made a fist, the veins in his neck bulging as his voice rose in anger. “But I promise you this, young Matthew. My brother will not have died in vain. I’ll see those bloodthirsty redcoats rooted out of our colonies once and for all. It’s what Harry fought for and what he died for. And I’ve nothing but this ache in my gut and hole in my heart to steer me now.” His voice cracked once more.

  He didn’t speak for a long time after that. Together the two went back out to the street, where they found people going about their usual business. There were no signs of the soldiers or the wagon anywhere. They walked four long blocks in silence before they heard the call of a bugle and the sound of marching feet.

  Matt feared that it was the same ghastly procession again, but it turned out to be a small battalion of soldiers doing their daily drill. He was following Moses to a corner where a coach was parked when a soldier came up behind them.

  “Keep walking. Do not look back,” Moses whispered, walking away from the coach. “This way,” he said, turning to the left. Matt did as he was told, but he could hear the soldier’s footsteps following behind them.