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Chapter 07: Introduction to Qualitative Research
LoBiondo-Wood: Nursing Research in Canada, 4th Edition
MULTIPLE CHOICE
1. Which of the following distinctions is characteristic of qualitative research methods?
a. Data are in text form.
b. Data are dichotomous (either yes or no).
c. Qualitative research does not generate data.
d. Data from qualitative studies are inappropriate for analysis.
ANS: A
Feedback
A This is the distinctive characteristic of all qualitative design studies.
B Dichotomous data are nominal-level quantitative data.
C All research studies generate data.
D Data generated by qualitative studies are appropriate for content analysis.
DIF: Cognitive Level: Knowledge
MSC: NCLEX Client Care Needs Category: Safe and Effective Care Environment; Health
Promotion and Maintenance
2. Which of the following statements is consistent only with qualitative research methods?
a. The focus of qualitative research is measuring one or more human characteristics.
b. Qualitative research methods attempt to control or eliminate variables that interfere
with what is being studied.
c. The basis for all qualitative interactions is the belief that a human being is a
composite of many body systems.
d. The focus of qualitative research methods is the study of human experiences that
occur within a person’s natural setting.
ANS: D
Feedback
A Qualitative research does not measure any data, including human characteristics.
B Variables are analyzed in quantitative research; qualitative research focuses on
human experiences.
C Qualitative research does not compartmentalize human beings, especially as
body systems.
D Qualitative research is constructivist, that is, all of the participants’ experiences
are interpreted and acknowledged.
DIF: Cognitive Level: Comprehension
3. What should be the determining factor for a researcher to conduct a qualitative study?
a. The need to test a theory

b. The nature of the research question
c. The age and gender of the study participants
d. The availability of valid instruments to measure the phenomenon
ANS: B
Feedback
A Theory testing is not a sound reason for selecting a qualitative design.
B The nature of the research question is the determining factor in the choice
between a qualitative research study and a quantitative research study.
C The variables of age and gender would not be a deciding influence in the
selection of a qualitative design.
D Qualitative research does not entail the use of instruments to measure
phenomena.
DIF: Cognitive Level: Application
4. In which of the following instances should a qualitative research design be used instead of
a quantitative research design?
a. When time for data collection is limited
b. When the research questions are clinical in nature
c. When the goal is to view the experience in the same way as those who are having
the experience view it
d. When the researcher is a novice and has minimal experience or skill in scientific
problem solving
ANS: C
Feedback
A Extended periods are required to complete some qualitative studies.
B Qualitative and quantitative research designs may be used to answer research
questions that are clinical in nature.
C This describes qualitative research designs; the interpretive, naturalistic
approach values experience from the perspectives of participants and informants.
D Novice researchers are challenged by both qualitative and quantitative research
studies.
5. A qualitative nursing research approach will be most suitable for which of the following
research topics?
a. Experiences of elder abuse among diverse ethnic populations
b. Reduction of prehospital delay in the face of acute coronary syndrome symptoms
c. Examining trajectories of depressive symptoms among young adults
d. Perceived risk and willingness to interact with individuals with HIV or AIDS
ANS: A

Feedback
A Qualitative research focuses on what experiences mean to people.
B Reduction of prehospital delay in the face of acute coronary syndrome
symptoms suggests an experimental research design study.
C Examining trajectories of depressive symptoms among young adults suggests a
nonexperimental design study.
D Perceived risk and willingness to interact with individuals with HIV or AIDS
suggests an ex post facto or correlational design study.
6. What basic belief is represented when a nurse asks a 38-year-old woman, “When was your
last menstrual period?” and the patient replies, “Oh, I don’t remember because it isn’t
important”?
a. A failure of communication
b. A difference between the received view and the perceived view
c. Cultural insensitivity on the part of the nurse and the health care system
d. Lack of awareness and knowledge on the part of the patient
ANS: B
Feedback
A In the context of research, the example suggests different paradigms, not
communication problems.
B The example suggests different paradigms, the positivist and the constructivist.
C Not finding it important does not indicate cultural insensitivity.
D The nurse cannot presume lack of awareness and knowledge on the part of the
patient.
7. Which part of the following research question constitutes its context?
“What is the grief experience of women over 30 from rural Saskatchewan who have
experienced a late-stage pregnancy loss?”
a. Late-stage pregnancy loss
b. Women over 30
c. Grief experience
d. Saskatchewan
ANS: D
Feedback
A This aspect of the experience focuses the research question on a specific period
when the pregnancy ended before term.
B These variables—gender and age—identify the demographic characteristics of

participants.
C Grief experience is the phenomenon being studied.
D This location identifies where the experience occurred for the participants.
8. Which of the following aims of research is characteristic or appropriate for qualitative
research methods?
a. Control
b. Prediction
c. Explanation
d. Understanding
ANS: D
Feedback
A Control, prediction, and explanation are the goals of quantitative or empirical
research.
B Control, prediction, and explanation are the goals of quantitative or empirical
research.
C Control, prediction, and explanation are the goals of quantitative or empirical
research.
D Meaning and understanding of human experiences are characteristics of
qualitative research.
9. Which of the following factors in a research report indicates that the study used a
qualitative design?
a. Hypotheses are stated.
b. The sample is described as convenient.
c. Study participants are described as informants.
d. Participants were asked to complete a forced-choice questionnaire to measure their
understanding of the topic.
ANS: C
Feedback
A Hypotheses are stated in correlational and experimental quantitative research
studies.
B Some, but not all, qualitative research studies include convenient samples, which
are sometimes used in quantitative research studies as well.
C The word informants points to a qualitative study, specifically ethnographic
design studies.
D Forced-choice questionnaires suggest survey research or tests to measure
knowledge.

10. How are values managed in qualitative research studies compared with quantitative
research studies?
a. In both types of studies, the goal is to separate values from the research process.
b. In quantitative studies, the values of the researcher are considered study variables.
c. In qualitative studies, the values of the participant are considered an outcome of
the study.
d. Although values are acknowledged by both types of research, the quantitative
approach uses statistical methods to remove or minimize the impact of values.
ANS: D
Feedback
A Quantitative research separates values from the research process.
B Quantitative studies do not consider the values of the researcher study variables.
C Qualitative studies do not consider the value of the participant an outcome of the
study.
D Values are excluded from the aims of the study, as they are thought to detract
from it.
11. Which of the following study purposes and methodological procedures is inappropriate for
qualitative methods?
a. Testing of a new hypothesis
b. Using an intensive approach to data collection
c. Using inductive analysis with the captured data
d. Examining individual responses to a nonmodifiable situation
ANS: A
Feedback
A Different quantitative, not qualitative, design studies test new hypotheses.
B Both quantitative and qualitative studies use intensive data collection
approaches.
C Inductive analysis is appropriate for some types of qualitative studies.
D The effect of a treatment on a group of participants is studied in a qualitative
study.
12. A Naturalistic settings typically include
1. the researcher’s office.

2. one that people live in everyday.
3. a convenient meeting place for the researcher.
4. homes, schools, communities, health care settings.
a. All of the above
b. None of the above
c. 2 and 3
d. 2 and 4
ANS: D
Feedback
A Not all of the answers are correct.
B There are correct answers.
C A convenient meeting place for the researcher is not correct.
D Homes, schools, communities, and health care settings are examples of places
that people live in every day, and are naturalistic settings.
13. How should the number of participants be determined for a qualitative study that uses a
grounded theory approach?
a. Data are collected from new participants until no new information is generated.
b. The number of participants needed is equal to the number available at a specific
location.
c. The number of participants needed is equal to the number available within the
researcher’s specified time frame.
d. The number of participants needed is determined through a power analysis of data
generated in a pilot study of similar participants.
ANS: A
Feedback
A Data are collected until saturation is achieved.
B No set number of participants is necessary.
C No set number of participants is necessary.
D The number is determined by data saturation being achieved at a certain point of
the study.
14. By what process does the nurse researcher set aside personal biases in order to avoid
leading the participant to issues that may be important to the researcher?
a. Inference
b. Avoidance
c. Bracketing
d. Restructuring

ANS: C
Feedback
A Inference, used in both qualitative and quantitative research, does not represent
setting aside presuppositions.
B Avoidance makes no sense in the context of research.
C Bracketing helps researchers be aware of and examine their prejudices or values
and set them aside so that they can see the experience as the persons having it.
D Restructuring does not describe the setting aside of biases.
15. When an author does not commit to a particular research method it is often referred to as
a. observational.
b. mixed methods.
c. grounded theory.
d. naturalistic design.
ANS: D
Feedback
A Although this used a part of qualitative research it is not considered a method.
B Normally a mixed-method study requires a commitment to two or more research
methods that are combined.
C This is a particular research method.
D Naturalistic design adheres to the general tenets of qualitative research.
16. In what section of the study does the researcher typically describe new conceptual
conclusions from the study?
a. Abstract
b. Conclusion
c. Data Analysis
d. Literature Review
ANS: B
Feedback
A There may be a sentence or two describing the new conclusion but not a full
discussion.
B The Conclusion is where the new conceptual findings are described.
C Data Analysis does not include conceptualization of the data.
D Literature Review may include discussion of conceptual conclusions that
informed the development of the study but are not new.

17. The term triangulation refers to
a. a mathematical technique.
b. combining different methods, theories, data sources, or investigators.
c. information collected becoming repetitive.
d. possible applications of the results of qualitative studies.
ANS: B
Feedback
A It is partially true that triangulation is a mathematical technique, but the term
refers to research methods.
B Triangulation combines different methods, theories, data sources, or
investigators.
C Information collected becoming repetitive describes saturation and grounded
theory research.
D Possible applications of the results of qualitative studies are not a description of
triangulation.
18. Metasynthesis involves
a. developing typologies as results of qualitative investigations.
b. different hierarchies of evidence as compared with quantitative studies.
c. interpreting various qualitative studies to reveal similarities and differences.
d. a systematic review of the literature involving classic and recent studies.
ANS: C
Feedback
A Typologies are sometimes results of qualitative studies.
B Qualitative studies are sometimes ranked lower in a hierarchy of evidence.
C Interpreting various qualitative studies to reveal similarities and differences is
meta-synthesis, useful in qualitative studies.
D A systematic review of the literature involving classic and recent studies does
not describe meta-synthesis.

Other documents randomly have
different content

A sharp report rang out. A stinging pain in his left hand made
Robert reel, but he forgot it when he saw Mason, who had run
toward them in a last effort to separate them, sway and fall over.
The ball which had gone through Shirtliffe’s hand had found a
resting place in the old man’s breast.
“Coward!” shrieked Robert, “I was unarmed;” then kneeling beside
Mason he moaned, “he is dying! Leave us alone, he comes from my
town, I have something to say to him.”
The pleading face touched the young Englishman’s heart. “I only
did my duty,” he muttered, “but I’m sorry about him. Remember you
are my prisoner, if I leave you for a time, may I trust you to remain
here?” Robert nodded, and Morley strode away. When he had
passed from sight Shirtliffe bent his head over the whitening face
upon his knee. Kisses and tears he showered upon it, and the touch
brought consciousness back to the dying man.
“Lad,” he whispered, and Robert saw that he still mistook him for
Morley; “go to Plymouth and find Debby Mason. Tell her that her
father died—like—a—soldier. Tell her only that. Don’t let—her—know
—that I failed—I tried for—her sake—but I failed. I always failed.
Then there was”—the weak voice trembled, “something I wanted to
tell her, but I can’t remember all. Her mother had a twin sister, as
like as you—and—my girl! It is so strange, so strange, where is that
other lad?”
Shirtliffe almost dropped the heavy head upon his arm. “Kiss me!
Kiss me!” he sobbed, “oh! do not leave me!” But Mason’s life blood
was gushing out and he was going fast. “Quick,” he gasped, “when I
am dead, they will give Debby a chance—they always said if I—were
out of the way they would look out for Deb and her mother—I’ll
soon be out of the way”—a wan smile flitted over the ghastly face;
“there’s no one now, but Deb.”
The evening shades were beginning to close in the dull March day,
and in the gloom the dying man raised a last look to the face so near
his own. For one moment near things lost their hold upon him; he
was back in the old life with his neglected little girl. “Debby, child,

I’ve been drinking again, to—morrow I’ll tell you the story. Kiss
father, Deb, and good night!”
The rigid upturned face seemed the only thing in God’s universe to
the boy looking down upon it.
“Good night!” he sobbed, kissing the icy lips—“good night, good
night!”
The words died away on the chill wind. Robert stood up and
turned his face toward the direction Morley had taken, “and now I
must wait,” he sighed.

S
CHAPTER V.
WHILE MOLLY WAITED, HE LISTENED.
hirtliffe waited beside the road, until the pain in his hand turned
him sick, but Morley came not.
Then a strange fear crept into his numb heart. Suppose he should
faint and be found unconscious by either friend or foe! The thought
made him dizzy. He must hide. If he were conscious when Morley
returned he could come out to meet him, if not—well in that case he
were better out of sight. Painfully and slowly he clambered up the
embankment and crouched behind a rock hidden among
underbrush.
Then he drew forth his hand to examine the wound. One look,
and he lay as dead to sight and hearing as the man by the roadside
below.
The cutting winds of the March evening swept o’er him. Morley
returned, and not seeing his prisoner gave a sneering smile and
hurried away. Still, Robert lay among the bushes heeding not.
But at last he revived, and turned vaguely about, a voice from the
road fell on his ear. It was not Morley’s voice.
“The fellow’s dead, I tell you. Shot through the breast. It looks like
an American’s nasty trick. Morley was to watch this road to-day. I
wonder where he is?”
A second voice drawled out: “Morley’s too young to be given much
rope, he needs watching. As for those rebels, my Lord Howe is too
lenient with them. I’ll shoot everyone at sight from this day on. Are
you rested Dick, by Gad! we must hurry on with the news, and bad
news it is.”

“I could go on,” replied the first speaker, “though every bone is
aching, but look at the horses.”
Shirtliffe peered over the ledge and saw a sorry pair of horses
jaded and panting and near Mason’s body stood the riders, travel
stained and weary. They were Britishers and had evidently ridden
fast and far upon important business.
“While we wait,” said the man called Dick, “let us carry this man
behind the bushes since we cannot bury him. I wonder if there is
anything on his body to identify him by. Here lend a hand Norton
and search the old fellow.”
Robert shuddered.
“There’ll be little time for burying,” said the man addressed, “when
Washington and his ten thousand men make for Dorchester Heights.
“Fourteen thousand,” broke in the first speaker, “yes: there’ll be
hot fighting. I wish every reb was as stiff as this one, and that we
were back in England. What was that?” The two men started
nervously as a stone rattled down the embankment. Robert, in his
excitement at what he had heard, had made a misstep and
dislodged it.
The listeners could take no chances, however. “Speak or I’ll fire!”
called the older man whose name was Norton. Shirtliffe leaned over
and showed himself deeming it the safer action. The men saw him
and in the waning light took him, as Robert desperately hoped they
might, for Morley.
“Hello!” cried the man called Harding, “what are you doing there,
Morley, hurt? you’re as white as a sheet.”
The strange resemblance was to serve him well, now, if only the
Englishmen were not too intimate with the real man, and the
darkness and his keen talent for mimicry would help him out. He
must chance it at any rate; so slowly descending he made his way
toward the men.
“By jove!” laughed Harding, “he’s in Continental dress, his officers
say he’s always up to some deviltry, what are you doing now,
Morley?”

“On the King’s business!” answered the boy clinging to the shadow
of the hill.
“While you have been riding for days to find out Washington’s
movements, I’ve gleaned information nearer home.”
Norton looked searchingly at him. He had heard of the daredevil
boy Morley from others in camp, this was his first encounter. “You
could hardly get your news from yon dead Britisher,” he said,
“perhaps you will be kind enough to explain yourself and your new
uniform.”
“Oh! the uniform is all right.” Robert gave a dry laugh, “it got me
inside the American lines, As for him”—the boy gave an agonized
glance at the dead man, “he is no Britisher. Look under his coat and
see what uniform he wears.”
They bent and turned back the long coat, and sure enough there
was the tattered Continental suit, which, during his time of
backsliding, Mason had had neither chance or inclination to change.
“Upon my soul!” cried Harding springing to his feet, “this looks like
mischief!”
“I was trying to capture him”—Shirtliffe’s thoughts had never been
clearer, and his words seem to flow unconsciously,—“when a
cowardly knave fired at me”—
“From ambush?” asked Norton keenly.
“How, else?” Shirtliffe replied, “but as I was saying, when the ball
went through my hand I saw my prisoner falling; I quite forgot my
own hurt until all was over, then I went up the bank to”—
“Here’s some water, Morley,” Harding interrupted, taking the thing
for granted, and producing his bottle, “you’d find little water up
there, everything’s frozen stiff. Let’s see your hand, boy. There is
mischief on foot, and we must hurry on.”
Shirtliffe, keeping his face turned as if wincing at the touch, gave
the wounded hand to the young officer.
Every moment was precious. The real Morley might return at any
minute, Robert did not know he had come and gone—and although

he had promised to wait until his return, under the circumstances he
must try and get away, and not be taken into the camp of the
Britishers and presented to them who knew the true Morley better,
and to Morley himself. That would mean sure death, and in Robert’s
breast lay a secret which would give life and hope to the suffering
army of men in General Lee’s command.
“You shiver like a girl, Morley,” laughed Harding, as a nervous
tremor went over Shirtliffe’s body; “the men in your regiment have
talked of your nerve: it can not all have oozed out of this little hole.
There, I’ll wrap it in my handkerchief until you get to the surgeon.
Better go on slowly, we’ll overtake you. You look fit to faint.”
“Perhaps Morley better take one of our horses and ride on; he’s
lighter than you or me. My horse is about done for, and can go at a
trot at the best.” Norton looked sharply at the boy, “The sooner you
get back to your own officers, the better, lad, you’re too young to be
trusted far; you’ll get into mischief yet. Go as fast as you can, tell
General Howe that Washington is advancing with fourteen thousand
men. His aim is at—”
“Yes, yes,” Robert broke in, for a rustling among the dead leaves,
added to the pain in his hand, made him quiver.
“I know, Dorchester Heights, you forget I have listened too! Which
horse! Quick! anything more?”
He sprang to the saddle, and the tired horse jumped as the weight
touched his sore flesh. It was none too soon. The rustling among
the leaves was no scurrying animal, as Shirtliffe, with bowed head
dashed on, Morley on his return beat, came up to the group:
“My God!” cried Norton and Harding gazing open mouthed at him.
“Who was that riding away so fast?” asked the new comer, a
sickening sensation creeping over him.
“It was—it was—great heavens! how do we know! We thought it
was you, Morley!” The boy ground his teeth: “It was an American,”
he hissed.
“And by thunder!” roared Norton, “we’ve sent him into his own
camp with the news of Washington’s advance, on the only good

horse among us!”
The situation was too much for the three men. In silence they
gazed into each other’s faces and grew sick with apprehension.

W
CHAPTER VI.
HOW MOLLY BORE THE NEWS.
ith lowered head, and throbbing nerves, Shirtliffe dashed on in
the direction of Boston, but as soon as safety permitted he
turned the jaded animal, and breaking into a woodland road,
retraced his steps, and with a sobbing appeal to the disappointed
brute, struck out for the American camp.
“Good horse!” he pleaded, “get me there in time! only that and
then we shall both rest!”
For one moment he thought of the quiet figure by the road which
he was leaving forever, but he dared not give a second thought.
Wrapped in the costume of two countries, poor Bill Mason might, or
might not find a grave dug by stranger hands; be that as it might it
was now the duty of Robert Shirtliffe to bear to the suffering,
hopeless patriots the news for which they were yearning.
What were his hopes and sorrows now?
It was in his power to put strength in sick bodies and joy into
hundreds of sad hearts!
On, on, plunged the great brown horse. Night fell, and the moon
shone calmly down on the tired boy urging and coaxing the animal
to its uttermost. The distance, by direct route, from where Robert
had left the men, was probably not over seven or eight miles, but in
the wood road, it was longer, and to the excited boy the miles
seemed endless. Every noise made him chill and hot in turns. A
feeling of weakness frightened him. He had fainted once that day,
God keep him from another attack! At last he reached the American

lines, and a sentry stopped him. He gave the countersign and
dragged on.
A strange dizziness came over him as he neared his destination.
He had never known such exhaustion before. A laugh startled him,
and he was even more startled to realize that it was his own laugh.
“This must be death,” he thought, remembering the death he had
but lately seen. “I can not think clearly.” Then he knew that he could
not wait to reach General Lee’s headquarters, and oh! he had
wanted to so much! He must make the best of what time and
strength he had left.
“He’s coming!” he shouted sitting upright in the saddle.
“Washington and fourteen thousand men! We are saved, saved!
saved!” Again the wild laugh, his laugh, made him shiver. The horse
too, took fright and dashed ahead forgetting its weariness.
“He is nearing Dorchester Heights! Hear me! hear me! We are
saved, we are saved! Ha! ha! ha!”
Hear him? Why the world had heard.
White, haggard faces clustered about him. Lean hands clutched at
the bridle of the foam covered horse. Torches flashed from every
quarter, and questions poured upon him. Only one answer he
returned, “Washington is near. We are saved. I swear to God!” And
every time he repeated the words they became more distracting
until he laughed and sobbed them out again and again.
“See, he is falling! Some one catch Molly. God bless the boy!” The
faces clustering around him faded into a quivering circle of white;
the torches flickered and went out; an awful agony took possession
of his last conscious thought,—he was dying among all those men!

Molly.
“He’s coming.... We are
saved! Saved! Saved!”
“Just a drop more, lad, now put back your head.” Shirtliffe
swallowed the burning drop, and felt it thrill through his cold, numb
body. He was too weary to open his eyes or to care what became of
him, but suddenly a voice from among the others first startled, then
stilled his breath.
“He comes from our town. Let me take him—I tell you we—were—
boys—together!” Robert opened his eyes. Near by stood a new
volunteer, ragged, pinched and worn. They were constantly working
their way into camp, but the sight of this one caused Shirtliffe both
joy and despair.
He smiled feebly into the anxious face of the boy pleading to be
allowed to care for him.
“Hello! Martin,” he whispered, “I’m all right. When did you get in?”
The men standing around, seeing that the fainting spell was over,
turned to join the excited groups and discuss Robert’s wonderful
news. Sick men had become strong, weak hearts, brave, and over
the entire camp a joyful atmosphere of expectant waiting pervaded
everything.

Seeing themselves comparatively alone, Shirtliffe motioned the
new volunteer nearer.
“I’m Robert Shirtliffe,” he whispered, “call me Bob, you can
remember that?”
“Yes,” replied the boy, “and oh; but I am glad to see you Bob!”
“That’s right,” Shirtliffe gave a half laugh, “if you ever think you
are going to forget, Jack Martin, run away or do something—you
understand?”
“Ye—e—s Bob!”
“Did you have a bad time getting here?”
“Ye—es, Bob—I’ve been trying for months. Have you found him?”
Jack bent closer. In the darkness he could not see Robert’s face, but
he felt the boy grasp his hand, then a hot tear startled him.
“What’s—the—matter—Bob?”
“Bend down, Jack, let me cry just once. He’s dead, Jack, dead! He
was shot by a Britisher who looks so like me, that I have got to find
him. There isn’t anything left in all the world Jack, except for me to
find the other boy!”
“Some one is coming! Here, Bob—laugh, swear,—do anything,—
but cry.”
Robert sat up, and threw off the blanket which thoughtful hands
had laid over him. The man approaching was an officer and had
come to thank the boy who had ridden so nobly and so well to bear
the welcome news; but ere he reached the crouching pair upon the
ground a volley of distant firing rent the still air. Again, and again it
came.
The men listened until the truth broke upon them. The rumor was
indeed true, the siege was over, the new general had come in time
to save them!
Shirtliffe never received the thanks of the approaching officer, the
universal cry of “Washington” from those hundreds of weary, ill-fed
men was return enough for all that he had dared and done.

No one thought much of him during the next few days. He
recovered with the care of the new recruit, Jack Martin—as well as
might be expected, and the excitement kept up his spirits.
The relieving army marching toward the Heights of Dorchester
made themselves heard by their continuous firing. The sound put
new life in the hearts of Lee’s men and the men shut up in Boston,
but it made anxious the besieging Britishers. There was to be no
skirmish this time. This meant battle, and a big one.
Lord Percy, after receiving the news which had been delayed by
Shirtliffe bearing it to the enemy, set his men in order and proceeded
to Castle Island. He intended opening battle upon the afternoon of
his arrival, but a great storm came up. The wind blew and the rain
fell and a thick fog covered all. My Lord Percy thought best to wait
until the following day before beginning the attack. Washington, who
ever made his successes out of other men’s failures, lost no time. He
went among his men personally, exhorting them to avenge the
Boston Massacre of a year before, and drawing a vivid picture of the
waiting patriots now looking to them for aid. His words fell on eager
and willing ears. All the day and night of the terrible storm they
worked and planned; strengthening their fortifications and planting
their guns in favorable positions.
When Lord Percy looked forth after the storm he beheld such an
imposing defense that all thought of an assault was abandoned, and
my Lord Howe was driven to the sad extremity of giving up Boston
to the foe.
But Washington was noble in his bloodless victory, he permitted
the British to leave the city without an attack, providing they did not
burn the town.
To this they consented and on the 7th of March they sailed out of
the harbor. On the 20th of March, Washington entered the city at the
head of his army and was greeted, as perhaps no other general had
ever been before, by the ragged loyal men who had suffered so
bravely for the good cause.

It was at this point that a serious question arose between Robert
Shirtliffe and Jack Martin.
Washington’s first step after entering Boston was to make stronger
its defences, and among the men appointed to assist in the task,
was the regiment in which both the boys served. Jack was well
pleased at the idea of not being sent far from all that had meant
home to him, but Robert had but one desire left—he must find
Morley! Mason’s dying words rang in his ears day and night, and the
strange resemblance meant a mystery he must fathom. After that?—
well nothing mattered after that.
“But I say,” Jack pleaded, “after all I went through to find you, it’s
a burning shame for you to go away.”
“If I live, Jack, I’ll soon be back. I’m sure to find Morley and then
—there will be nothing left but for me to come back.”
“Suppose you should get hurt again? You need me.”
“I have thought of that,” Robert’s face grew serious, “I think of
that all the time, old fellow, and there is only one way. If I am hurt a
little, I can bear it—alone—if it means a big thing—I have this!” And
Shirtliffe drew out a pistol he had recently gotten.
“You dare not!” cried Jack in startled tones, “if you talk like that I’ll
—I’ll tell!”
“No you won’t, you’ll stand by me to the end, even if I am far
away. I won’t do anything foolish, but I’m going to find that boy, I’ve
got to, Jack. His life and mine is all confused, and I’m going to try
and find out. It may help Debby Mason, you know. I’d rather like to
help Debby;” a quick smile lit up the boy’s earnest face, “the folks in
Plymouth town did not think much of Debby, but I’d like to save her
from—Mrs. Lane, and give her one more chance. Shake hands, old
friend, when I come back we’ll go and find Debby Mason together.”
Silently Jack gave his hand, and the two parted.

R
CHAPTER VII.
A STRANGE CHRISTMAS.
obert Shirtliffe sat beside a frozen stream binding a cloth around
his frosted feet. The shoes were in tatters, and the bare flesh
showed through the gaping rents in many places. His clothing, too,
was worn and thin and but poorly protected him from the cutting
blast. As he bent over his painful task, for one moment his strength
faltered, and he almost wished that he had gone back to New
England, with the other men whose term of enlistment had expired,
and whose faint hearts had not been loyal enough to again pledge
themselves for further service. The wish was but a fleeting one. Go
back? What had he to go back for? All that he had in life to look
forward to, lay near—if it existed at all. For during the time which lay
between his leaving Boston and now as he sat beside the Delaware
river in New Jersey, Shirtliffe had not seen, or heard of Morley. But
even with the memory of disappointment and bitter suffering to
keep him company on this Christmas eve, Robert was proud to think
that he had been one of the three thousand men who had remained
with their glorious leader. For never was general loved by his
soldiers, more than was Washington. What they suffered, he shared.
When their hearts grew faint, by his inspired courage he lifted them
to new heights of loyalty and hope. Where danger threatened, there
was he at the front. His massive form a target for every enemy’s
bullet, and a mark of nobility for his followers. From afar Robert had
seen and worshipped. In his young heart the love for this great man
amounted to a positive passion. To serve him, though his services
might never be known, was the daily wish of the poor New England

boy. The wish was strong within his heart now and helped to keep
back the stinging tears of agony which by near his tired eyes.
The men with whom he had been tramping in search of food, had
gone on ahead, and Robert sat alone. Presently a step startled him,
and he glanced up. Down the shadowy road, leading his weary
horse, strode a tall figure with bowed head, and moving lips. The
boy on the path sprang up, all pain and misery forgotten; he stood
ready to salute, for well he knew that gallant form. Never before had
he been so near. The moment was fraught with keenest joy. But the
approaching man saw him not. He was praying. It was no new thing
for Washington to plead for help from a mightier power, all his men
knew, and honored him, for his childlike faith.
“Bless us with wisdom in our councils, success in battle, and let
our victories be tempered with humanity. Endow, also, our enemies
with enlightened minds, that they may be willing to restore liberty
and peace. Grant the petition of thy servant for the sake of him thou
hast called thy beloved Son; nevertheless, not my will, but thine be
done. Amen.”
The splendid head was raised and in the gloaming the clear eyes
rested upon the boy saluting by the road.
The great general paused: “Good evening lad,” he said, “’tis but a
sad Christmas time for young boys like you.”
Robert tried to reply but his voice failed him.
“Were you wishing for home? You look ill and worn. I will send you
back.”
“No, no, sir!” Shirtliffe found strength at last. “I was but binding
up my feet, my shoes are not thick enough for these rough roads,
but I am strong and loyal!”
Washington smiled, and then looked pityingly down upon the
wrapped foot, the blood already was showing through the new
bandages.
“Here, my son, take my handkerchief,” he murmured, “it will help
until you can procure better, and take this coin; when it is possible,
buy strong shoes.”

Robert accepted the gifts with flowing tears, and put them in his
breast.
For a moment there was silence, then the deep voice added, “The
Marblehead fishermen are down the river about five miles, could you
reach them in an hour with a message?”
“Yes, sir,” Robert’s chance had come. He would deliver the
message in an hour or die in the attempt.
“Well, simply tell them we are ready.”
Robert bowed, saluted, and then stifling a groan as he hurried
away on his bleeding feet, he ran into the gathering twilight and was
lost to sight.
In less than an hour he had reached his destination. The
Marblehead men understood the message. They had done splendid
service in the war before when bravery on the water was needed,
they were ready now. They set to work to get every boat in their
possession in readiness and all that night and the next day, soldiers
on horse and foot advancing from every direction made for the river.
The plan had been worked out in secrecy, and now upon this
Christmas night the entire army enlarged by recent reinforcements
was to be ferried over the icy Delaware in order to attack the British
in Trenton on the morrow. It was a mighty and daring attempt, but
not a patriot questioned the leader who had planned it. For ten
hours the brave fishermen rowed to and fro in the darkness bearing
their suffering loads. But,—even while many were frozen—and all
endured untold agony from exposure and scanty covering, not a
complaint was heard to pass the brave lips. The army was divided in
three parts, but with joy Shirtliffe saw that he was in the command
under Washington which was headed for a spot nine miles above
Trenton, from which point they were to bear down upon the
unsuspecting Britishers, then making merry over their Christmas
cheer. Shivering and crouching in the stern of one of the boats,
Robert thought of all the Christmas nights he could remember. There
had been a few which had been bright and joyous—but this one so
full of pain and loneliness, was the proudest one of his life.

The division under Washington reached the opposite shore with
slight delay, the others were less fortunate, but by eight o’clock the
next morning Washington’s command and one under Sullivan dashed
down upon the astonished Britishers, who were just resting from
their revels, and shook the town by their yells and shots.
The maddened Hessians sprang to line and tried to resist the
oncoming foe. Wild excitement prevailed, and above the whizzing of
shot rose the triumphant shouts of the ragged, half-frozen patriots.
In the thickest of the fray rode always the mighty commander, his
clear voice calmly calling out orders, and his steady hand pointing
his sword. With eyes ever fixed on that brave form, Shirtliffe
stumbled and struggled after, hoping that standing or falling, at the
end he would not be far behind his hero. And another thought
mingled with that,—he must keep one bullet, in case he fell badly
wounded,—he never forgot that.
The fight was fierce, but short; in an hour a thousand of the foe
were begging for mercy; the others had fled toward Bordentown at
the first alarm.
So Washington gathered his forces in Trenton and the British fell
back to Princeton. Cornwallis then took command determining that
the “old fox,” meaning Washington, should not find him napping and
get away, he, the great Cornwallis meant to put an end forever to
the exploits of this daring rebel! And indeed it seemed likely that he
might be successful for sickness and cold were enfeebling the patriot
army day by day. Their splendid courage strengthened by their late
victory bore them up during the after days of suffering, but
Washington realized that he must act promptly and wisely if he
wished to hold what he had so hardly won.
He could not recross the river. His proud spirit quailed at the
thought of retreat, but to engage in another battle just then might
mean ruin. In his extremity he called a council of war.
“Cornwallis is advancing,” he said calmly, “our skirmishing lines
have but driven the British back this afternoon. At daybreak the
attack will be renewed. There is but one thing for us to do.” The

eager men listened breathlessly. The glaring red torch lights showed
their faces pinched and wan. What was it Washington wanted them
to do? Every man was ready to do it!
“We have but five thousand in camp,” the calm voice went on, “we
must leave to-night, make a circuit to the east, pass the enemy’s
flank, and make an attack upon the detachment in Princeton before
Cornwallis can return to help them.”
A mighty cheer went up. Robert from his place wedged in among
the excited patriots, glowed and thrilled as he heard the daring plan.
This was a general worth following.
A man to be loved!
“But”—he was still speaking, though the shouts had drowned, for
the moment, his voice, “there is one thing more to do, and for that I
want volunteers.”
Robert’s heart almost choked him. Could there be any deed too
great for him to undertake?
“While we steal away under cover of the darkness, others—
perhaps fifty—must remain here to keep the fires burning and by
beating the drum at intervals, deceive the enemy. At sun rise you
may try to escape and join us. If you are taken it will probably mean
death! Now who volunteers?”
The rich voice fell with a sad cadence, and for an instant no one
spoke. Then, “I! I! I!” forty or fifty men disentangled themselves
from the mass and pressed nearer. And from these a slim boyish
form stepped close to Washington.
“Sir!” he said simply. “I have been a drummer since the war
began, may I remain?”
For a moment Washington eyed the boy.
“I remember you,” he said, “you have served me before. You are
young to attempt this service. There are enough without you.”
“But sir, I can drum!”
“So he can,” called out a man from the crowd, “no one can drum
like Molly!”

“And you wish to remain?” the general asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Your name, my lad?”
“Robert Shirtliffe.”
“Age?”
“Seventeen.”
“Your home?”
“I come from Plymouth, Massachusetts.”
“Have you parents?”
“I have no one sir.”
“You are a brave lad, and worthy of your country. Report to me as
soon as you can”—the clear eyes grew misty—“you and these other
loyal fellows shall be rewarded according to the quality of your
sacrifice.”
They saluted gravely. Then the stealthy arrangements began.
Silently through the night, the men marched away bearing the stores
and ammunition.
On their beats the British sentinels marched to and fro, feeling
sure of the enemy.
And during those long solemn hours a handful of men kept alive
the fires in the deserted camp, and a weary, but unflinching boy,
beat almost constantly upon his drum. His feet pained him piteously
and his stiff fingers could barely grasp the sticks, but his heart was
staunch and true. As the night wore away his exhausted brain grew
unsteady. All memories came to haunt him, and fill the empty hours.
He saw a still form beside a lonely road, he heard the last words
of the dying man, “Go to Plymouth and find Debby Mason, tell her
that her father died like a soldier!”
He could never find Debby now, perhaps. Ere another day had
passed he too might be lying dead. He might never find the boy for
whom he had searched since he left New England, never know the
story!

Something like a sob mingled with the drum beats.
March British sentinels at your posts!
Behind those gleaming camp fires is a weak foe indeed. See the
morn breaks, the handful of men, forgetting the boy, have already
departed to rejoin their comrades, only the faithful drummer
remains!
Sleep well, oh! my Lord Cornwallis your last peaceful sleep for
many a weary night. The old fox has caught even you napping and
is now well on the way to intercept the force which you are so
confidently expecting.
Molly.
“For a moment
Washington eyed the
boy.”
Beat the drum bravely, Molly my boy! See the sun is tinting the far
east. Go with the others. Your task is done, and in the future loving
hearts will arise to call you blessed for this night’s work!

H
CHAPTER VIII.
ANOTHER MESSAGE FOR DEBBY.
e was alone! The others had departed. Washington had said
that at break of day they might rejoin the army. The sun was
streaking the sky and a chiller air stirred the bare trees.
Robert knew in what direction the army had gone, and, after
eating the dry rations left over from his evening meal he hung his
drum around his neck, and staggered away. His head ached dully
and his body was stiff and sore, but he must not be found in the
deserted camp. That would mean—certain death!
He laughed weakly,—certain death! if he could only be sure of that
he would not fear so greatly, but suppose he was only wounded—
and carried away a prisoner? Ah! God! that he could not stand! He
pressed his hand against the pistol in his pocket, it was safe,—and
his gun? Yes, it was loaded and in order. Sick and exhausted as he
was he must make a break for safety. See! the sun shone among the
trees!
Was it too late? A new strength came to him with the horror of the
thought, and he bounded into the shadow and made for the
direction the army had taken. On, on he ran hearing as he went the
movement and stir of a distant body of men. It was the enemy
awakening to the daily duties, and the lines would soon be pushing
forward. Robert’s brain reeled, and in coming to a cross road he
paused to consider his course. There was a certain rock to guide
him, but in his bewilderment and dazed condition he could not find
it, and so took the wrong road.

“Who goes there?” The voice drove the blood from Shirtliffe’s
heart. After all this time, there in the lonely Jersey woods, he was to
meet again the boy who had shot at him, and killed old Mason in
New England.
“’Tis I,” he faltered, as the oncomer bore down upon him.
“You!” Morley dropped the gun he had leveled at the foe and
gazed in amazement at the face so wondrously like his own; “you!
here! My God! are you a ghost to haunt me so? What do you want?”
“I want to get back to my people.”
“Back to your people, you rebel fool!” Morley laughed the old
scornful laugh; “your people are behind you! You are running away
from them my brave lad. But it little matters, we have them tight
and safe, come along with me, your people will join you later!”
“If I go,” Robert’s voice rang clear, “you will have to carry me
dead. When we met before I was unarmed; like a coward you shot
at me, and killed an innocent man. I am prepared now, let us fight
honestly.”
“Honestly?” Morley sneered, “much you know of honor. I trusted
you once, and a nice trick you played me. I trusted the old fellow I
shot, I put him on sentry duty, but he got drunk, the knave, while I
turned my back. A fine lot you are, confound you!”
“Again I ask you. Will you fight?” Shirtliffe straightened himself.
Time was passing. He would have given anything in his power to
have solved the mystery of the identity of the boy before him. But
what had he to give? His life. There was no time to ask or answer
questions now. It was his life or the young Englishman’s. He must
protect himself and report to Washington if it were possible. He was
young, and with all the misery life was sweet.
“Fight with you?” again the maddening laugh, “fight a traitor?
Surrender, or I promise you my aim will be truer this time.” Morley
raised his gun, but Robert was as quick, and the two weapons
pointed at the same instant.
A flash! a sharp report—and then, silence! When Shirtliffe came to
himself he was lying on his side across a fallen log. A dull pain

throbbed in his left shoulder. He put up his right hand and felt that
his coat was soaked with blood. The dampness and the pain made
him faint, and again he lost consciousness. After a moment, though,
the chill air revived him and he sat up. He would not touch the damp
coat or think any more than was possible, of the wound, and
perhaps he might get on to Washington. That was his first
connected thought.
Then he remembered Morley. Where was he? Gone perhaps,
thinking he had at last killed his enemy.
Well, the enemy was not dead. There might be time for another
meeting, and an explanation. In the meantime he, the boy
Washington had trusted, must try to gain the American ranks and
claim his reward! He arose, swayed, but gradually grew less giddy.
He was young, and hope was stronger than his wound. Another
effort; and this time he stood upright.
How lonely it was! The bleak wind swept among the gaunt trees
making them moan and creak. If he should die there, who would
ever bear the word to General Washington that he had faithfully
performed his duty?
No! he must live, and get away from that fearsome place, the
stillness was driving him mad!
“Help! for God’s sake help!” It was not the wind moaning. Shirtliffe
started. Again came the cry, “Help! help!”
Some one needed aid, he must find him and do what he could.
Stumbling forward he reached a clump of leafless bushes, and there,
lying at full length where he had crawled after he was wounded, lay
Morley!
Forgetting all, but his pity for the dying boy, Robert knelt beside
his late foe.
He knew death when he saw it now, and in gentle patience he
smoothed the curly hair from the clammy brow and waited for the
last words. There was always something to be said.

“I thought you were dead that time!” Morley gasped the words,
then gave a groan.
“Can I trust you with a message?”
“Yes.”
“Well, since there is no one else I must, for I’m—done,—for!”
Robert shuddered.
“Write to Mrs. Deborah—Morley—Fountain Terrace—London—can
you remember?”
“Yes; yes.”
“My mother! Tell—her—I—died—like—a—soldier,—like father!”
Shirtliffe shook his head to free his eyes of the blinding tears.
“Tell—her—” the voice was but a whisper now, “that I did not find
—Debby Mason, and if”—here the boy rallied and made a last effort,
“if you ever go near Plymouth, find a girl named Deborah—Mason
and say that—by going—or writing to my mother—all will—be
forgiven. You hear me?”
“Yes I hear.” The tears could no longer be shaken away.
“Where are you?” the groping hands found and clung to Robert’s,
and the boyish mouth smiled as sweetly as if the dearest face on
earth were bending over him. “Good bye,” he whispered, “you won’t
forget—anything? and I can trust you?”
“You may indeed.” Shirtliffe bent and kissed the cold face as
tenderly as a woman might have done. Reverently he clasped the
slim hands over the still breast, and closed the lids upon the smiling
eyes. In the future he was to tell a heart-broken mother in England
of how her boy died, and he thanked God for that smile.
Under the wintry sun Morley lay sleeping, and beside him sat
Robert, lost in dazed thought. There were two messages now for
Debby Mason, and there was a report to make to General
Washington. He must be up and doing. But still he sat there with his
eyes fastened on the young face smiling so placidly in its unbroken
sleep.

L
CHAPTER IX.
THE LAST OF MOLLY.
ong did Shirtliffe sit beside Morley, repeating the messages over
and again. No fear of forgetting them, he could remember
naught else. As the day wore on he began to realize his condition
and he knew if he ever expected to reach Washington’s army, he
must move on. In the distance he heard heavy firing and the sound
guided him. He felt sure that the Americans had met the
reinforcements coming from Princeton and that a battle was in
progress. The thought stirred his blood, and he struggled to his feet,
gave a last glance at Morley and went on mumbling to himself, “Tell
Debby Mason!” Weaker and weaker he grew and as his mind
cleared, a sense of his danger absorbed him. Was this death? This
strange, unusual weakness? At any moment he might fall and be
unable to rise.
The firing was growing less, the battle perhaps was over, fleeing
parties of either friend or foe might soon be passing.
Never had life seemed so precious, as now when it was going so
fast. Dimly he recalled how he had saved one bullet for this hour,
should he use it now? Oh! no. “Help! help!” he sobbed, falling on his
knees, “help! help!” He had walked further than he had realized, and
the men who in the morning had left the deserted camp without
him, later in the day missed him, and were even now searching the
woods in hope of tracing him. They heard his weak cry from afar,
and, guided by the second call, reached his side a moment after he
had fallen.

“It’s Molly!” said one of the two men who found him, “look at the
blood!” cried the other, “the boy is terribly wounded.”
“This is an ugly wound,” said the first, noticing the dry blood,
“here, take his feet, Hall, let’s get him to the surgeon’s. He stayed
behind to beat the drum, didn’t he? Brave little chap, I suppose the
devils found and shot him.”
Very slowly and tenderly the men bore their burden to the rough
field hospital, and the surgeons in attendance, after a hasty
examination, said quietly: “The boy is done for; make him
comfortable over yonder, there is nothing else to do for him, poor
fellow.” Their hands were too full to permit of them wasting time
over uncertain cases.
So it was that Robert was laid upon a rough cot, covered with a
coarse blanket and left to pass out of life as calmly as he might. One
of the surgeons, however, did not forget him. He was a young man,
full of ambition and was to return in a week to Philadelphia with a
record of bravery and courage to cheer him during his furlough of
rest. As he went about his duties, Shirtliffe’s white face haunted him,
“There might be a chance for the boy,” he thought, “as soon as I can
I will take a look at him again.”
The opportunity came late at night, and then as quickly as he
could he sought the bed upon which Robert lay.
A nurse in passing saw him pause, and stopped to say, “Bob’s
gone, Doctor Bell.”
The surgeon bent over the cot. A smoking lamp shed a yellow
light over the fair face on the coarse pillow. Fair it was, but not with
death’s pallor.
No breath seemed to come through the closed lips, however, and
Doctor Bell put his hand over his heart.
Then with a start he drew back! The nurse had gone on, he was
alone!
Again he bent close. A faint flutter stirred against his hand, and
under a bandage bound firmly around the body!

Doctor Bell rose to his feet. “Nurse,” he said sharply, “help me
bear this—boy—to my tent, I’m going to save—him!”
It was the hardest struggle the young surgeon ever had. He gave
up the long looked for furlough, and beside his other duties cared for
and watched the boy in whom he had grown so interested. No hand
but his operated on the ghastly wound, or touched the suffering
body afterward.
For two days Shirtliffe knew not what was passing around him, but
on the third day at sunset he became conscious.
Doctor Bell was beside him, his finger upon the weak pulse.
As memory returned a puzzled, then a horrified expression grew
upon Robert’s face.
His eyes fastened themselves upon the physician’s bowed head,
and a tremor shook him like a chill.
“What will become of me?” he groaned.
“Nothing;” the calm voice filled the quiet place.
“Get well now, as soon as you can be moved I am going to take
you to my mother!”
“But, but—”
“It is all right. Trust me.”
In a few days Shirtliffe’s splendid constitution regained its tone,
and he began to improve rapidly. Then Doctor Bell further surprised
those who had time to observe him by giving up his comparatively
comfortable quarters to the lad he had saved from death. How
Robert appreciated this considerate act, no one but himself could
know. To meet the surgeon as seldom as he now did, was torture
untold. He knew that he must speak, but day after day he put off
the painful task. At the close of the second week, one day, Doctor
Bell came in to make his accustomed call; he saw at a glance that
Shirtliffe had reached the uttermost bound of endurance and with a
courtesy for which his memory should be enshrined, he took the
boy’s thin feverish fingers and said simply:

“Your bravery and courage must win the respect of all. You have
served your country nobly. Why you entered the army under a false
name, you best know, I respect your reasons and thank you for the
service you have rendered.”
Robert bowed his head and wept over the friendly hand.
“And now,” the sympathetic voice sank lower, “what may I call
you?”
“Just Debby Mason!” For a moment not a sound broke the silence
but the sobs from the figure now kneeling at the feet of the doctor.
Then very calmly the man’s voice went on: “Debby Mason,
Washington has sent for you to thank you for what you did at
Trenton, He will probably promote you for bravery; of course, you
cannot remain in the army, it now is left for you or me to explain
why an honorable discharge should be given you. Which one of us
shall do it?”
Poor Debby could face death, had done so many times; she could
bear cold and suffering but the idea of facing her hero and explain
to him her awful deceit, was more than she could dare. But Debby
was no coward even in this extremity,—availing herself of one of the
privileges of her almost forgotten sex, she found a new way out:
“Write it for me,” she begged, half smiling through her tears,
“write it all, then I will take it and bear my punishment like—a man!”
“And afterward?” Doctor Bell questioned, “have you a home? any
where to go?”
“No.” The one word echoed through the early twilight like a moan.
“I had only one on earth to love—I followed him to the war—my
father lies in an unknown grave near Boston—he died on my arm—
but he never knew!”
Something blurred the surgeon’s eyes.
“And then,” in Debby’s low voice there was little left of Shirtliffe’s
bravado, “there was one other, a young man in the British army—he
looked so like me that my own father could not tell one from the
other. That boy was looking for—Debby Mason—he died—by—my—

bullet”—a dry sob choked the words—“but I have his mother’s
address. I think—from bits of an old story—and from his strange
likeness—that that mother will have something to tell—me. But”—
and a shudder passed over Debby, “how can I break the news to
her, that even in self defence—I took her boy’s life?”
The broken talk had interested Doctor Bell so much that now,
when the tale was ended he drew a long sigh of relief. His thoughts
were becoming burdensome. Strange relationships between British
and American families were not as uncommon to his experience as
to simple Debby’s. He saw in the girl before him a heroine of no
every day romance, and he meant to see the end of it. She had
become an object of absorbing concern to him during the last few
weeks, and he did not intend to let her slip out of his life without an
effort to restrain her.
“I will write a full explanation, Debby,” he said, “we can trust
General Washington’s good heart. After you have seen him, come
back to me. I am going to take you to my mother, she is expecting
you; and then we will write to England.”

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