“Nay, my lad, methinks you have earned a season of rest as well as our gratitude. Bide you here. Doubtless Mistress Farwell will find you Christian apparel of sorts. And that were well since your present state is like to fright the maids out o’ their wits!”
The Major smiled and turned away. Already the room was empty save for a few, and through an open casement David could see the company preparing to mount.
“Sir, the odds be greatly against us at Brookfield, for Philip and the sagamores who fight with him have fully four hundred savages against much less than a hundred of the English, and I am no poor hand with a musket.” David interposed himself between the soldier and the door and spoke earnestly. “Every one who can fight will be needed, sir. I pray you provide me with a musket and let me return with you.”
Major Willard frowned. “’Tis plain your perseverance has survived the task you set it, David, but I doubt your father would look kindly on me were I to grant your request. Besides, horses are few—”
“I can go afoot,” exclaimed David eagerly.
“Nor am I certain that a musket could be found for you.”
