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coward?”
    â€œNow, Matthew, there’s no question of that,” Gifford soothed. He had grown accustomed to the quick, impulsive shifts in the young man’s behavior, so now he reasoned with him carefully. “First of all, this isn’t your home. What happens here isn’t your battle—except perhaps in prayer. Secondly, you are not alone now. If you were single, that might be a different story, but as Mr. Bacon has said, ‘He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune.’ You must consider Lydia. And thirdly, you must have been under constant burden concerning your mother. You must see that going back to Plymouth would be the wise thing to do.”
    â€œPerhaps so, but you forget one thing,” Matthew responded quickly. “You and I have had long talks, have we not, about my preaching? Am I to leave that, too? And don’t tell me there’s preaching to be done at Plymouth, Pastor Gifford! I will quote you one scripture, and you tell me how I may without peril to my soul ignore it: ‘He that putteth his hand to the plow and turneth back, is not fit for the kingdom of God!’ ”
    Pastor Gifford gaped open-mouthed at the fiery ardor of young Winslow. Then he gave a short laugh and threw up his hands. “I leave him to you, Edward!”
    â€œWell, that’s no good, either,” Edward smiled, and for that moment the lines of his face softened and he looked much like the young man before him. “The Winslows have alwaysbeen fool-stubborn, and I see this one is no different. His father is that way himself—and so am I, I suppose.”
    Matthew stood there, so tall that his head almost brushed the rough beam over his head. He smiled down at Gifford. “It would be so much easier if it were a real war with swords and pikes, wouldn’t it? Just go out slashing and hacking—then you either killed or got killed. But this isn’t like that, is it?”
    â€œNo, our weapons are not carnal, but mighty to God to the pulling down of strongholds,” Gifford stated emphatically. “And it’s a mighty stronghold that lies before us—the realm of England will be set to crush every Puritan and Separatist to powder, and very soon.”
    There was a silence as Gifford’s wife came to the table with trenchers full of meat. “Well,” the younger man said, “Lydia is expecting me.” He took his uncle’s hand. “You’ll come to our house for supper tomorrow night, will you, sir?”
    â€œDone!”
    â€œGood day, then. I’ll read the book by Mr. Hooker before our study tomorrow, Pastor.”
    He left the room hurriedly, and as the two men began to eat, Edward asked, “What’s your judgment, John, on that young man?”
    Gifford chewed a morsel of meat slowly, swallowed, then said, “He’s either going to be a great man—” He paused, then with a shrug of his narrow shoulders, finished by saying, “He’s got the raw material, Edward, but the crucible we’re all going to be in soon will test him out.”
    â€œIt would kill Gilbert and Humility if he failed,” Edward remarked with sadness in his old eyes. “He’s all that’s left of the House of Winslow, isn’t he? If he goes down, it’ll be like there never were any of us.”
    â€œNo! He won’t go down!” Pastor Gifford said suddenly, his usually mild expression twisted to an explosive anger. “This king may think to wipe us out, but he shall not do it, not by all that’s holy! You and I have fought, but we are old.It’ll be young men like your nephew who’ll have to stand in the gap this time!”
    â€œAmen!” Edward Winslow agreed loudly. Then he looked at the door and said in a prayerful whisper, “Amen!”
    ----
    The tiny house on the edge of town was like a doll’s house, having only one room for cooking, dining, eating,