that for a while at least it would be best to be cautious. As soon as he returned home he would repeat the Indian’s warning. He smiled as he reflected on the alarm that it would bring to Obid Dawkin.
In the early afternoon, skirting the mud flats and oyster banks below the town, he made landing at Blackstone’s Point, giving his canoe into custody of an Indian who dwelt in a hut close upon the water, and made his way up the hill, there being nothing in the way of a road save a cart track that wound deviously. His way led him presently along the slope of Valley Acre and thence into Hanover Street above where stood the house that had been the home of Governor Endicott before his death ten years ago. To David the sights and sounds of Boston were engaging indeed, and it took him the better part of an hour to complete his journey afoot. Many windows must be looked into that he might feast his eyes on the goods for sale within, and the signs hanging above the narrow streets were a never-failing source of interest. Even the sober-visaged citizens held his footsteps while he amused himself in wondering about them. There were strangers to be met as well, and these could be easily
