“They tell me,” said Joel, in an aside to the miller, “that law is as good as done with in the Bay colony, already; and you know if the law has run out there, it will quickly come to an end, here.  York never had much character for law.”

“That’s true, Joel; then you know the captain himself is the only magistrate hereabout; and, when he is away, we shall have to be governed by a committee of safety, or something of that natur’.”

“A committee of safety will be the thing!”

“What is a committee of safety, Joel?” demanded the miller, who had made far less progress in the arts of the demagogue than his friend, and who, in fact, had much less native fitness for the vocation; “I have heer’n tell of them regulations, but do not rightly understand ’em, a’ter all.”

“You know what a committee is?” asked Joel, glancing inquiringly at his friend.

“I s’pose I do—­it means men’s takin’ on themselves the trouble and care of public business.”

“That’s it—­now a committee of safety means a few of us, for instance, having the charge of the affairs of this settlement, in order to see that no harm shall come to anything, especially to the people.”

“It would be a good thing to have one, here.  The carpenter, and you, and I might be members, Joel.”

“We’ll talk about it, another time.  The corn is just planted, you know; and it has got to be hoed twice, and topped, before it can be gathered.  Let us wait and see how things come on at Boston.”

While this incipient plot was thus slowly coming to a head, and the congregation was gradually collecting at the chapel, a very different scene was enacting in the Hut.  Breakfast was no sooner through, than Mrs. Willoughby retired to her own sitting-room, whither her son was shortly summoned to join her.  Expecting some of the inquiries which maternal affection might prompt, the major proceeded to the place named with alacrity; but, on entering the room, to his great surprise he found Maud with his mother.  The latter seemed grave and concerned, while the former was not entirely free from alarm.  The young man glanced inquiringly at the young lady, and he fancied he saw tears struggling to break out of her eyes.

“Come hither, Robert”—­said Mrs. Willoughby, pointing to a chair at her side—­with a gravity that struck her son as unusual—­“I have brought you here to listen to one of the old-fashioned lectures, of which you got so many when a boy.”

“Your advice, my dear mother—­or even your reproofs—­would be listened to with far more reverence and respect, now, than I fear they were then,” returned the major, seating himself by the side of Mrs. Willoughby, and taking one of her hands, affectionately, in both his own.  “It is only in after-life that we learn to appreciate the tenderness and care of such a parent as you have been; though what I have done lately, to bring me in danger of the guard-house, I cannot imagine.  Surely you cannot blame me for adhering to the crown, at a moment like this!”