On March 22, 1765, the British Parliament passed a new tax that required all colonists to pay a tax on every printed piece of paper they used. This was called the Stamp Act. That same year I was caught in a snowstorm and was very cold. I rode my horse up to a small cabin. It looked warm and welcoming, so I knocked on the door. The door opened a crack. I could almost feel the warmth of the fire in the home. “ Yes?”, a man asked. I couldn’t see his features but, I could tell that he was very protective of his property. “ I’m cold, lost and hungry, sir. I’m a long way from home and I would have much gratitude if I could spend the night in your home.”, I said, my teeth chattering. The man hesitated, “ Just a moment, please.”, he closed the door. I could hear talking from inside the house. The door opened fully this time, “ Please come in.”, he said with a smile. I could not see his fetchers, he had sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
…show more content…
The warmth of the fire was glorious. “ What is your name, miss?”, asked a young lad with shaggy, sandy blonde hair and a bright mix of green and blue eyes. around the age of four. “ Emmaline Adams. What is your’s?”, I asked the energetic young lad. “ Shay Miles.”, Shay giggled. A woman with bright green eyes and caramel hair came up to me. “ I’m Caroline Miles and this here is my husband Edward Miles.”, she said with an british accent. “ Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home, Mr. and Mrs. Miles.”, I said. “ We don’t mind at all … Miss. Emmaline Adams, is it?”, asked Mrs. Miles. “ Yes, and I promise I will not be a bardon.”, I said. After I had gotten settled in the Miles’s house, it was small but not cramped and it was very cosy, I could hear the Miles talking at their dining table about the Stamp Act the British had put on us. “ This bloody Stamp Act is going to make us go into poverty!”, Mr. Miles
The warmth of the fire was glorious. “ What is your name, miss?”, asked a young lad with shaggy, sandy blonde hair and a bright mix of green and blue eyes. around the age of four. “ Emmaline Adams. What is your’s?”, I asked the energetic young lad. “ Shay Miles.”, Shay giggled. A woman with bright green eyes and caramel hair came up to me. “ I’m Caroline Miles and this here is my husband Edward Miles.”, she said with an british accent. “ Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home, Mr. and Mrs. Miles.”, I said. “ We don’t mind at all … Miss. Emmaline Adams, is it?”, asked Mrs. Miles. “ Yes, and I promise I will not be a bardon.”, I said. After I had gotten settled in the Miles’s house, it was small but not cramped and it was very cosy, I could hear the Miles talking at their dining table about the Stamp Act the British had put on us. “ This bloody Stamp Act is going to make us go into poverty!”, Mr. Miles