As the sloop swept past the massive battlements of Crown Point where they guard the narrowing channel of the lake, Job said to his young comrade:

“We’re getting towards home.”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking of home and mother and sis. Guess I needn’t be afraid of ol’ Toombs any longer, but I don’t know as I could keep my hands off’n him. I always meant to give him a thrashing when I could.”

“Mebby you could, now, but he’s a cordy critter and a soople one; but mind what I tell you, you never will.”

Nathan’s answer was a short, incredulous laugh, as he helped Job make ready for disembarkation. As they marched in straggling ranks toward Fort Ticonderoga, Nathan was accosted by one of the young Newtons, who had remained there during the northern expedition.

“Look a-here, Nate,” he said, drawing him aside, “there’s some trouble to your mother’s. She’s sent word for you to come right home. Old Toombs is dead or run off to Canerdy, or something. I don’t know the rights on’t. But, anyhow, she wants you bad.”

Either the death or the absconding of his stepfather was too good news to be true, and his first duty was to serve his mother. He and Job readily obtained leave of absence, though it was scarcely needed, so lax was the military discipline of the crudely organized forces. The two at once set forth, and an hour’s paddling of the light birch canoe brought them to the landing in the creek.

As they emerged from the shadow of the woods into the broad sunlight of the clearing, their first glance sought the house standing in the midst of green grass and springing grain. The scene was in such apparent peace and quietude as it might have been lapped, if all the turmoil of war and strife were a thousand miles removed. As Nathan’s eyes ran over the familiar fields in which he had spent so many hours in the companionship of his father, his heart was softened with the sad and solemn memory. Then it hardened in a fire of wrath that flamed up at the remembrance of what he had suffered from his father’s successor, and he felt if he should meet the wretch he would wreak summary vengeance upon him.

Soon they were at the open door and looking in upon the homely kitchen. It was empty but for the figure of a man slouching inertly in an armchair before the fireplace. There was no mistaking the shock of grizzled red hair, nor the brawny shoulders, though they were stooped and curved together.

The light tread of Nathan’s moccasined feet did not disturb the melancholy figure, with its drooping head and vacant eyes staring into the fire, nor did it move till he laid his hand on its shoulder. Then the face turned upon him a slow, dazed stare, that as slowly kindled into recognition, then froze into a rigid glare of inexpressible terror. An inarticulate cry came from the white lips, while the helpless form strove to arouse itself from the living death of palsy.

Nathan cast upon Job a look of appalled, beseeching inquiry. As he met its answer in the awed face of his friend, resentment of past injuries faded out of his heart, as he realized that a mighty hand had forestalled his revenge, and he felt nothing but pity for the abject being that crouched before him.

“It’s come out about as I told you,” said Job, “but I wan’t expectin’ nothin’ like this, poor critter. He thinks you’re a spirit come to haunt him.” Then he called loudly to the figure, “It’s the boy. It’s Nathan, alive and well. Don’t be afeared, he won’t hurt ye.”

There were footsteps at the threshold, and Ruth and Martha entered, pausing a moment with wondering faces, which presently kindled with joy, and Nathan was clasped in their arms. When the first flush of joyful meeting was spent, Ruth explained in answer to her son’s whispered question and his nod toward the dumb figure:

“He sort o’ broke down after the guard went away, an’ t’other day we found him all of a heap down by a big hemlock log that he never got round to cut up. He hain’t seemed to sense much since. He’s been dreadful worried about you, Nathan, all along, ever since you went away.”

She did not know the terrible cause of the speechless self-condemnation the wretch had suffered, nor did she ever learn it.

“I wouldn’t tell her,” counselled Job. “She’d feel bad, an’ that wouldn’t pay any more’n it does to nurse a grudge. Vengeance don’t belong to us, poor critters.”

Thenceforth, till Silas Toombs sank from his living death to eternal sleep not long after this, his stepson gave him thoughtful and kindly care.

At length the young frontiersman took his place among the defenders of his country. By the side of his old comrade and guardian, he fought in the losing fight of Hubbardton and helped to win the glorious victory of Bennington. Yet he is best remembered by the descendants of the old Green Mountain Boys as the guide who led their fathers in the conquest of Ticonderoga.

Where once stood the pioneer’s log house, spacious farm buildings now stretch their comfortable quarters. From it, away to the southwest, across meadows, thrifty homesteads, low woodlands, and the narrowed waters of Lake Champlain can be seen rising against the foothills of the Adirondacks the hoary ruins of Ticonderoga. Within the house, upon a pair of massive moose horns, rests the old flintlock once filled with beans, “good enough for Yorkers,” and later loaded with a leaden death message for Tory and Hessian. Cherished with as fond pride by its fair possessor, is a worn pocket-piece—the silver shilling given her ancestor by the beautiful lady of Fort Ticonderoga.

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