CHAPTER X.
THE FUGITIVE AND HIS CHILD.
"Adieu! adieu! My native shore Fades o'er the waters blue.
The night winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew." At the close of a July day in the year of the restoration, a man, travelling on foot and leading a little girl six years of age, entered the town of Boston.

The few inhabitants on the streets and at their doors and windows regarded the travellers with amazement and even suspicion, for both were strangers in this part of the world.

It would be difficult to meet wayfarers of more wretched appearance.

He was tall, muscular and robust, and in the full vigor of life.

His age might be anywhere from thirty-five to forty-five, for while his eye possessed the fire of youth, there were streaks of gray in his long hair and beard.
His ruffled shirt of well-worn linen was met at the neck by a modest ruff faded and torn like the shirt, and both sadly in need of washing.
On his head he wore a round black cap which, if it ever had a peak, had lost it.