“No, sir. I would not.”

“You would not?” Knox leaned across the table, and the effect was as if the moon had passed between the earth and sun, so enormous was the face blocking the light from the window. “Why would you not?”

“Because you include”—Will did not to mention his brother—”men who are neighbors of mine. I know their spirit to be constructive.”

Knox worked his lips together. “Would one of these neighbors be Daniel Shays?”

“Yes, sir.”

Knox grew angry at the mention of the name. “A leveller. An anarchist. You’d do well to stay away from him. He and his ilk will bring our American experiment to ruin. I’m writing as much to General Washington.” Knox picked up his quill and began to scratch out a few more words.

It had been said that the uprisings had greatly disturbed Knox, and his sudden change of mood suggested the depth of his emotion.

But Will had not come to defend Shays. So he held his peace until Knox paused to dip his quill again, then asked, “May I speak of my father, sir?”

“You already have.” Knox kept his eyes on the paper. “If your father is allied with Daniel Shays, there’s nothing I can do for him.”

“My father is allied with the cause of America, sir.”

Knox stopped writing. “And your brother? It’s known he marches with Shays.”

“My brother follows his conscience, sir. I follow mine.”

“If yours dictates debate rather than riot, you’re the better for it. But desperate factions are at work here, son. Mind that they don’t work upon you.” Knox went back to writing, as if to set down the thoughts that Will had inspired in him before they fled.

“My father is part of no faction, sir, except your own.” Will stood and swept his hat from the table. “He even wore his Continental uniform to prison.”

Knox’s quill stopped moving. For a moment, he kept his eyes on the paper. Then he sat back, emotion ebbing at last. “These are difficult times, Will Pike. We are threatened on all sides. But your father was a good man. I’ll speak for him. On my word.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And … I take interest in the children of my men. What do you see as a future?”

Will clutched his hat before him. “I hope to make a mark, sir, among men who matter … as a barrister, perhaps. But I first must apprentice in the law.”

After a moment’s thought, Knox took a new sheet of paper, wrote a letter, sealed it with wax. “Do you know Rufus King?”

“I know of him, sir … a Massacusetts delegate to the Confederation Congress in New York.”

“A fine lawyer, too, in need of a new apprentice at year’s end. This letter states how well you hold your own in argument. It goes out in my next post to Congress.