The chief justice flung out his hands with a gesture, as if he were bestowing a parting benediction on his countrymen.  He had now reached the southern portion of the town, and was far within the range of cannon shot from the American batteries.  Close beside him was the broad stump of a tree, which appeared to have been recently cut down.  Being weary and heavy at heart, he was about to sit down upon the stump.

Suddenly, it flashed upon his recollection, that this was the stump of Liberty Tree!  The British soldiers had cut it down, vainly boasting that they could as easily overthrow the liberties of America.  Under its shadowy branches, ten years before, the brother of Chief Justice Oliver had been compelled to acknowledge the supremacy of the people, by taking the oath which they prescribed.  This tree was connected with all the events that had severed America from England.

“Accursed tree!” cried the chief justice, gnashing his teeth:  for anger overcame his sorrow.  “Would that thou hadst been left standing, till Hancock, Adams, and every other traitor, were hanged upon thy branches!  Then fitly mightest thou have been hewn down, and cast into the flames.”

He turned back, hurried to Long Wharf without looking behind him, embarked with the British troops for Halifax, and never saw his country more.  Throughout the remainder of his days, Chief Justice Oliver was agitated with those same conflicting emotions, that had tortured him, while taking his farewell walk through the streets of Boston.  Deep love and fierce resentment burned in one flame within his breast.  Anathemas struggled with benedictions.  He felt as if one breath of his native air would renew his life, yet would have died, rather than breathe the same air with rebels.

And such, likewise, were the feelings of the other exiles, a thousand in number, who departed with the British army.  Were they not the most unfortunate of men?

“The misfortunes of these exiled tories,” observed Laurence, “must have made them think of the poor exiles of Acadia.”

“They had a sad time of it, I suppose,” said Charley.  “But I choose to rejoice with the patriots, rather than be sorrowful with the tories.  Grandfather, what did General Washington do now?”

“As the rear of the British army embarked from the wharf,” replied Grandfather, “General Washington’s troops marched over the neck, through the fortification gates, and entered Boston in triumph.  And now, for the first time since the pilgrims landed, Massachusetts was free from the dominion of England.  May she never again be subjected to foreign rule—­ never again feel the rod of oppression!”

“Dear Grandfather,” asked little Alice, “did General Washington bring our chair back to Boston?”