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Shamus O’Moore took his young master’s horse and his own to a neighboring stable where they were in the habit of putting them up, and then returned to the state house. Ethan was busy with a huge portfolio of Mr. Jefferson’s papers in a small room at the south end; from the hall came the murmur of voices and now and then a steady flow of words which showed that some member was addressing the Congress.

“They do be after talking it over, Master Ethan,” said the ex-dragoon. “And it’s mighty glad they all are.”

“And no wonder,” said Ethan Carlyle, looking up from his work with a smile. “A victory now means a great deal. Defeat has followed defeat so closely, Shamus, that they, in spite of their hopeful front, began to despair of ever seeing success crown the American arms.”

“Well, they’ve got a murderin’ big slice of success this time,” said the Irish soldier, with great satisfaction. “And it’s pleased I am at that same; for every true son of Erin, Master Ethan, wants to see the Saxon beat.”

Ethan laughed, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he remarked:

“Why, if you dislike the British so, you old fire eater, how came you to be so taken with my poor dead father? He was an Englishman.”

The old dragoon scratched his head in a rather awkward fashion, and then made reply:

“Your father was the finest gentleman I ever saw, and it was no fault of his that he was an Englishman. Sure no man can choose the country he’s to first see the light in. But he showed his quality when he resigned from the English army and came to America. If he were alive and able to hold a sword and head a regiment to-day, he’d be in the thick of it for freedom and the new land, so he would.”

There came a dimness to the boy’s eyes and he patted the old trooper upon the back.

“You cared a very great deal for my father, didn’t you, Longsword?”

“I did,” said the other steadily, looking straight before him with unwinking eyes, “and I think as much of your father’s son, faith.”

“I know that, old friend. You’ve been with me through everything. You even gave up your hopes of meeting the British in battle to be with me here in Philadelphia.”

“It was a hard wrench,” spoke Shamus, a note of regret in his voice, “but the war is not over, Master Ethan, and I have hopes that we two will see service yet.”

There was some more talk of a like nature, and then Ethan went back to his work upon Mr. Jefferson’s papers, while the ex-dragoon went outside the south door and paced slowly up and down in the warm sunlight. Ethan’s father had been a British cavalry major who sold out and emigrated to Virginia. Upon a visit to New Orleans he met and married the daughter of a French merchant and engaged with the old man in his business. Clarette & Co. had many ships in the Gulf, and Ethan was practically raised on board of them, as his father was continually voyaging from one place to another in search of trade. In those days the Gulf and the Caribbean swarmed with buccaneers, and every merchantman was armed and strongly manned; the ships of Clarette & Co. were often called upon to defend themselves from these rovers, and some of Ethan’s most vivid recollections were of shot-swept decks and men leaping back from the cut of Shamus O’Moore’s mighty brass-hilted sword.

The Irish dragoon had been his father’s orderly in the English army, and had come to America with him; Major Carlyle was an Oxford man, and attended to his son’s education himself while at sea; but it was the grim, hard visaged Shamus that taught him how to develop his muscles to the hardness of steel, and how to use cutlass, sabre, pike, bayonet and small-sword. The Irishman had spent years in the study of arms; his sword-play had been the marvel of the British army when he served in the Inniskillens, and had earned for him the name of “Longsword.” Day by day this master of fence had drilled the boy in sword-play. But in spite of his aptness, Ethan never drew a word of praise from Longsword, who continued to labor with him, between decks, in the dog watches, relentlessly, remorselessly, mercilessly. The boy could close his eyes in his bunk, during his watch below, and still see the angular, powerful figure of the dragoon before him; he could see the light from the ports falling upon the scarlet scar that crossed his face, he could see the flashing of the heavy double-edged sword and the constant movement of the tireless arm. He never complained at the labor of the drill.

But one day as they were in the midst of a lesson that had lasted above an hour, Ethan in a sudden burst of impatience had refused to give way before the dragoon’s heavy attack; a desperate rally ensued, and to the astonishment of the watching sailors, the boy actually drove Shamus back before a storm of lightning-like blows. And then Longsword threw down his blade, uttered a wild Irish whoop that rang through the ship, sprang forward and clutched his pupil in a bear-like hug.

“At last!” he exulted. “Ye’ve done it at last. I’ve taught ye all I know, and I’ve only been waiting to have ye use it on meself to get the feel of it. There will be no more lessons, Master Ethan; all ye need is strength and weight, and then faith, even Shamus O’Moore will be careful how he stands forninst ye!”

These things were running through Ethan Carlyle’s head as he sorted over the papers of Mr. Jefferson. At last Congress adjourned, and the members streamed out of the building and down the quiet street. Then Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Hancock entered the room with quiet steps. The boy arose and bowed and then was about to go on with his work, when his employer said:

“Never mind that for a time, Ethan; there is something which we desire to say to you.”

“I’LL DO IT,” SAID ETHAN PROMPTLY

The lad looked at the great Virginian wonderingly; then as he and Mr. Hancock seated themselves at a table near a window, he crossed the room and stood beside them.

“Sit down,” said Mr. Hancock, pointing to a chair.

The boy did so, and then the president of the Congress went on.

“There is a service which you can render Congress and your country if you will.”

Ethan’s eyes lit up.

“Then consider it done, sir, if the power to render the service rests in me.”

Both the statesmen smiled; and Mr. Hancock proceeded.

“At this time there is at Portsmouth a new sloop-of-war being made ready for sea. She is called the Ranger, and is to sail under the mastership of Captain John Paul Jones.”

The boy drew in his breath and the grasp of his hands tightened upon the arms of the chair. The story of the wonderful cruises of this new sea-king in the Providence and Alfred was ringing through the land; he had spread such terror by his deeds upon blue water that British merchants feared to send their vessels to sea, and British frigates were scouring the Western waters in search of him like a pack of fierce, baffled hounds.

“The Ranger is to sail for France,” said Mr. Hancock, “and Captain Jones is to deliver an important document into the hands of Mr. Franklin, our commissioner in that country.”

Mr. Jefferson here laid a packet, sealed with great splotches of red wax, upon the table. As he did so there came a slight rustling among some thick bushes that grew beneath the window, and a dark, foreign looking face appeared, and a pair of burning black eyes looked into the room. So interested were the three at the table within that the man’s presence was unnoticed.

“We want you to proceed to Portsmouth and deliver this packet to Captain Jones,” spoke Mr. Jefferson.

“I’ll do it,” said Ethan promptly.

“And, further, you are to sail with him in his ship and accompany him to Paris.”

“Very well, sir,” answered the lad, quietly.

“As every person knows who is at all interested in the welfare of the country,” said the president of Congress, “our sole hope of success in this war lies in the possibility of securing the aid of France against our enemy. But France has seen us go down in defeat after defeat; she has feared that we are not strong enough to continue the fight, and so far has refused to ally herself with us. But this victory of General Gates will put a different face upon matters. If the news that we send here, and the secret instructions that accompany it, are placed in the hands of Mr. Franklin at Paris, the help of France and her fleets are almost assured us.”

The boy’s eyes gleamed as he watched the white fingers of Mr. Hancock tapping the red-sealed packet; and the dark, strange face peering in at the window was filled with an expression of triumph.

“Let the contents of these documents, however, come under the eyes of Lord North, or any other member of King George’s ministry, and all would be ruined. None but the very highest British officials would understand their meaning; but these would grasp it instantly, and a condition for which we have striven for months would at once be changed, and France would find it to her disadvantage to take sides with us.”

“All this means that the instructions are to be guarded carefully,” said Ethan.

“As you would guard your life,” said Mr. Jefferson, laying his hand upon his young secretary’s shoulder.

“As my life be it,” answered the boy with a resolute lift of the head.

“It will take some little time for you to reach Portsmouth,” said Mr. Hancock, “and Captain Jones must be all but ready to put to sea.”

“Then I go at once?”

“Yes; there is a schooner called the Island Queen which sails for Portsmouth at the next tide.”

“Which will be at ten to-night,” said Mr. Jefferson.

“I will be ready,” returned the boy as they arose to their feet, and Mr. Hancock handed him the packet.

“No one aboard the Ranger will know of this packet but yourself and the commander,” said the Virginian. “That is why we desire you to accompany the vessel; it will have another pair of eyes to watch over it.”

“There will be still another pair, if O’Moore is permitted to go with me,” said Ethan, anxiously.

“We had not thought of depriving you of the service of the faithful Longsword,” smiled Mr. Jefferson.

As the Virginian spoke, there came a terrific uproar from without, and Longsword’s voice was heard shouting:

“You thief of the world, to be listening at daysint people’s windows! Take that! and that! and that! ye bla’gard!”

And looking through the window they saw the grim dragoon tearing across the green behind the state house in pursuit of a dark, foreign looking man, while with every “and that,” he aimed a vigorous kick at him.

“Listening at the window!” cried Mr. Hancock.

“A spy!” echoed Mr. Jefferson. “He must be seized!”

Ethan, at these words, shot through the door and sprang away in pursuit; he cried out to Longsword, who at once strove to lay hands upon the man. But the fugitive was a fleeter runner than either of them; full speed toward the river he went, and in a little while was lost in the alleys and winding streets of that district.