well knew, kind and even tender. He wore his hair shorter than was then the prevailing fashion, and his beard longer. His father, for whom David was named, had come to the Plymouth Colony from Lincolnshire, England, in 1625, by profession a ship’s-carpenter, and had married a woman of well-to-do family in the Colony, thereafter setting up in business there. Both he and his wife were now dead, and of their children, a son and daughter, only David’s father remained. The daughter had married William Elkins, of Boston, and there had been one child, Raph, who still lived with his father near the King’s Head Tavern. When David had ended his recital, his father shook his head as one in doubt.
“You did well to tell me, David,” he said. “It may be that Tanopet speaks the truth and that we are indeed destined to suffer strife with the Indians, though I pray not. In Boston I heard much talk of it, and there are many there who fear for their safety. I would that I had myself spoken with Tanopet. Whither did he go?”
“I do not know, father. Should I meet him again I will bid him see you.”
“Do so, for I doubt not he could tell much
