The Spy: Condensed for use in schools. James Fenimore Cooper

a few minutes after receiving the commands of his young mistress, Cæsar reappeared, ushering into the apartment a man above the middle height, spare, but full of bone and muscle. At first sight his strength seemed unequal to manage the unwieldy burden of his pack; yet he threw it on and off with great dexterity,[8] and with as much apparent ease as if it had been filled with feathers. His eyes were gray, sunken, restless, and, for the flitting moments that they dwelt on the countenance of those with whom he conversed, they seemed to read the very soul. They possessed, however, two distinct expressions, which in a great measure characterized the whole man. When engaged in traffic, the intelligence of his face appeared lively, active, and flexible, though uncommonly acute; if the conversation turned on the ordinary transactions of life, his air became abstract and restless; but if, by chance, the revolution and the country were the topic, his whole system seemed altered—all his faculties were concentrated;[9] he would listen for a great length of time without speaking, and then would break silence by some light remark that was too much at variance with his former manner not to be affectation. But of the war and of his father he seldom spoke, and always from some obvious necessity. To a superficial[10] observer, avarice[11] would seem his ruling passion.

      On entering the room the peddler relieved himself from his burden, which, as it stood on the door,[12] reached nearly to his shoulders, and saluted the family with modest civility. To Harper he made a silent bow, without lifting his eyes from the carpet; but the curtain prevented any notice of the presence of Captain Wharton. At length, Sarah, having selected several articles, observed in a cheerful voice:

      “But, Harvey, you have told us no news. Has Lord Cornwallis beaten the rebels again?”

      The question seemed not to have been heard, for the peddler, burying his body in the pack, brought forth a quantity of lace of exquisite[13] fineness, and, holding it up to view, he required the admiration of the young lady. Finding a reply was expected, he answered, slowly:

      “There is some talk, below, about Tarleton[14] having defeated General Sumpter[15] on the Tiger River.”[16]

      “Indeed!” cried the exulting Sarah; “Sumpter—Sumpter—who is he? I’ll not buy even a pin until you tell me all the news,” she continued, laughing and throwing down a muslin she had been examining.

      For a moment the peddler hesitated; his eye glanced toward Harper, who was yet gazing at him with settled meaning, and the whole manner of Birch was altered. Approaching the fire, he took from his mouth a large allowance of the Virginian weed, and depositing it, with its juices, without mercy to Miss Peyton’s andirons,[17] he returned to his goods.

      “He lives among the colored people in the south, and he has lately had a scrimmage with this Colonel Tarleton”—

      “Who defeated him, of course?” cried Sarah, with confidence.

      “So say the troops at Morrisania.”[18]

      “But what do you say?” Mr. Wharton ventured to inquire, yet speaking in a low tone.

      “I repeat but what I hear,” said Birch, offering a piece of cloth to the inspection of Sarah, who rejected it in silence, evidently determined to hear more before she made another purchase.

      “They say, however, at the Plains,”[19] the peddler continued, first throwing his eyes again around the room and letting them rest for an instant on Harper, “that Sumpter and one or two more were all that were hurt, and that the rig’lars[20] were all cut to pieces, for the militia were fixed snugly in a log barn.”

      “Not very probable,” said Sarah, contemptuously,[21] “though I make no doubt the rebels got behind the logs.”

      “I think,” said the peddler, coolly, again offering the silk, “it’s quite ingenious to get a log between one and a gun, instead of getting between a gun and a log.”

      The eyes of Harper dropped quietly on the pages of the volume in his hand, while Frances, rising, came forward with a smile on her face, as she inquired, in a tone of affability[22] that the peddler had never witnessed from the younger sister:

      “Have you more of the lace, Mr. Birch?”

      The desired article was produced, and Frances became a purchaser also.

      “So it is thought that Colonel Tarleton has worsted General Sumpter?” said Mr. Wharton.

      “I believe they think so at Morrisania,” said Birch, dryly.

      “Have you any other news, friend?” asked Captain Wharton, venturing to thrust his face without the curtains.

      “Have you heard that Major André[23] has been hanged?”

      Captain Wharton started, and for a moment glances of great significance[24] were exchanged between him and the trader, when he observed, with affected indifference, “that it must have been some weeks ago.”

      “Is there any probability of movements below, my friend, that will make travelling dangerous?” asked Harper, looking steadily at the other in expectation of his reply.

      Some bunches of ribbon fell from the hands of Birch; his countenance changed instantly, losing its keen expression in intent meaning, as he answered slowly: “It is some time since the rig’lar cavalry were out, and I saw some of DeLancey’s[25] men cleaning their arms as I passed their quarters; it would be no wonder if they took the scent soon, for the Virginia horse are low in the county.”

      “Are they in much force?” asked Mr. Wharton.

      “I did not count them.”

      Frances was the only observer of the change in the manner of Birch, and on turning to Harper, he had resumed his book in silence. She said, blushing with a color that suffused[26] her neck:

      “I thought the Southern horse had marched towards the Delaware.”

      “It may be so,” said Birch; “I passed the troop at a distance.”

      Cæsar had now selected a piece of calico, in which the gaudy colors of yellow and red were contrasted on a white ground, and, after admiring it for several minutes, he laid it down with a sigh, as he exclaimed: “Berry pretty calico.”

      The party sat in silence for many minutes after the peddler had withdrawn, when the stranger suddenly broke it by saying:

      “If any apprehensions[27] of me induce Captain Wharton to maintain his disguise, I wish him to be undeceived; had I motives for betraying him, they could not operate under present circumstances.”

      The younger sister sank into her seat colorless and astonished. Miss Peyton dropped the tea-tray she was lifting from the table, and Sarah sat with her purchases unheeded in her lap, speechless with surprise. Mr. Wharton was stupefied; but the captain, hesitating a moment from astonishment, sprang into the middle of the room, and exclaimed, as he tore off the instruments of disguise:

      “I believe you, from my soul, and this tiresome imposition shall continue no longer. Yet I am at a loss to conceive in what manner you should know me.”

      “You really look so much better in your proper person, Captain Wharton,” said Harper, with a slight smile, “I would advise you never to conceal it in future. There is enough to betray you, if other sources of detection were wanting.” As he spoke, he pointed to a picture suspended over the mantelpiece, which exhibited the British officer in his regimentals.

      “I had flattered myself,” cried young Wharton, with a laugh, “that I looked better on the canvas than in a masquerade. You must be a close observer, sir?”

      “Necessity has made me one,” said Harper, rising from his seat.

      Frances met him as he was about to withdraw, and, taking his hand between her own, said with earnestness, her cheeks mantling with the richest vermilion[28]: “You cannot—you will not betray my brother!”