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— "Franklin!"

I had hoped that the Reverend Mr. William Smith had not seen me as I walked down a corridor, but he had.

— "Yes, Sir?"

— "I heard that you were planning to learn something about the Boston Massacre. Have you?"

— "Yes, Sir."

— "How many victims?"

— Five, Sir."

— "And the name of the commanding officer?"

— "Captain Preston, Sir."

— "Do you see any consequences of the episode that might come into play these days?"

Oh, dear, there we go. Careful, Temple.

— "I would say, Sir, that mobs have gained consciousness of their potential power and that a lot will depend on the quality of their leaders."

— "Not bad. How old are you?"

— "I'll turn sixteen in March, Sir."

— "You are the Governor's son, aren't you?"

— "Yes, Sir." A pause. "His natural son, Sir."

There, I said it, looking him straight in the eye. Do I see a shadow of a smile flickering across his face? Will he remark sarcastically that I am in the family tradition? Does he think I should have said "illegitimate" rather than the more polite "natural"?

— "Have you met your father yet?"

— "I spent the summer with him and his wife in Perth Amboy, Sir."

— "And what did you do there?"

— "We went riding, Sir, my father and I, and when in the countryside we sketched side by side."

— "No political talk?"

— "No, Sir, but I know my father's stand."

— "A courageous stand, young man. You may well be proud of him."

— "Thank you, Sir."

We parted with a nod. Come to think of it, life can be so strange. I have been lamenting the discord between my father and his own father but now, just now, it was an asset for me that my father is a Loyalist, like the Provost himself. Temple, you have a foot in each camp. You can't lose!!!