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 He grasped her hands, then, and pumped them up and down.

"Well, well!" he beamed. Tis you, Hitty! John told me naught o' your intended visit to Morris Town!"

"Forsooth, Young Cy," returned Mehitable dryly, looking over her and Charity's old playmate and neighbor with affectionate eyes, however, "I thought, mayhap, ye'd decided I was but another chair or table or something!"

"Nay, Hitty, ye jest!" said Young Cy, blushing. "I was but greeting Cherry—it has been so long since I saw you—her, I mean—you—you—understand."

"Aye, I understand!" thought Mehitable, looking after him as, blushing more than ever, Young Cy rushed away. She went over to Mistress Lindsley, beside whom Charity was already kneeling.

"What—Americans!" Mistress Lindsley was saying in a bewildered manner. She sat up, shaken and trembling. "They be not red-coats, ye say, Cherry?"

"Nay, dear Mistress Lindsley, they are a few of His Excellency's guard sent down from headquarters," responded Charity soothingly.

"Then there must be danger o' attack from the red-coats, an we are to be protected!" groaned Mistress Lindsley, passing a dazed hand over her brow.


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 "But think how much better we'll feel an the guard be near!" encouraged Charity. She got to her feet. "I think I had better go upstairs and appraise poor Cousin Eliza o' our relief!"

"Now, why could not I have been the one to think o' doing that!" murmured Mehitable to herself. "Here have I been standing like a great stupid, with never a thought o' poor Cousin Eliza lying frightened upstairs!"

She was about to follow Charity, after assuring herself that Mistress Lindsley was over her fright, when Young Cy, looking tall and handsome without the greatcoat, which he had removed and was carrying over his arm, reëntered the kitchen. After his first eager glance had told him that Charity was no longer present, he seemed to be able to turn his mind to other business, and looked worriedly at Mehitable.

"Know ye aught o' the powder mill's whereabouts, Hitty?" he asked in a low voice. Tis that I be sent to watch. I find, upon questioning my men, that no one is present who can lead us thither. I, myself, but recently arrived in Morris Town, do not know how to reach it!"

Mehitable hesitated. It seemed strange to her that General Washington could have sent out a guard for such an important building as the powder mill without adequate and explicit directions for reaching it. Had Young Cy been a stranger to

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 her, she would have doubted him, perhaps even dubbed him spy, and would have defended the secret of the powder mill's location to the best of her ability. But knowing him as she did, she was sure he was telling the truth.

Mistress Lindsley, however, busily lighting the candles in their tin holders on the chimney-shelf, now turned around.

"The powder mill, sir?" She looked at Young Cy very keenly as she came forward and in her eyes Mehitable read suspicion, which at once became spoken words. "It seems not right that His Excellency should have sent a man in charge o' such an expedition who did not know how to reach his destination," she remarked unbelievingly.

Young Cy's cheeks flushed, and he drew himself up. Mehitable had to grant him both dignity and manly charm as he looked his questioner straight in the eye.

"It be true, nevertheless, madam. I am the officer in charge o' this guard, and I do admit my ignorance how to reach our destination," he answered, his firm young voice trembling a little with anger. "I understood from His Excellency that Major Lindsley would lead us thence!"

Mistress Lindsley, at that, bit her lip. "Mayhap ye be right, young sir," she admitted, after a pause. "Major Lindsley is absent from home just now upon personal business, of which His Excel-


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 lency may not have been informed, which would account for his so telling ye what he did."

Mehitable started forward impetuously. "Nay, I can vouch for Young Cy! Why, he has been our friend at home since—since we played mud pies together!" she exclaimed, with a little breathless laugh. "I know that he—and his father, also—be true patriots!"

Both she and Young Cy stood for a moment with their gaze riveted anxiously upon Mistress Lindsley's face until she turned to him with sudden disarming graciousness.

"Ye must pardon a nervous, suspicious woman, sir," she apologized frankly. "I will lead ye and your guard to the powder mill."

Mehitable sprang after her. "Let me lead them!" she begged. "Nay, why should you expose yourself this night to cold and darkness when I am young and strong! I know the way—Tabbie did show me, ye mind!"

Mistress Lindsley hesitated with her hand upon her cape, as it hung upon its peg behind the door. "But you were only there once, my child. I fear ye would find it hard to retrace your steps at night an it is dark!"

But Mehitable begged so hard that she at last yielded, and a moment or so later, the young girl was out beneath the starless heavens. Straight as a fox to his lair she led Young Cy and his men,


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 although there was a pause at the start while the young officer protested at her walking ahead of his horse.

"I cannot find the way, otherwise," Mehitable explained patiently.

"I like it not!" Young Cy shook his head. "To let you walk while I ride, Hitty! It seems like a man and his slave! Yet must I take my horse and the men must have theirs, in case o' sudden attack!"

"Of course!" Mehitable started off. "Do not be foolish, Young Cy!" she threw back over her shoulder.

They were an odd procession—quite a company of men and horses following the slim, debonaire figure of the girl. Once through the thickets, Young Cy placed his guard around the mill and held out his hand.

"There are no words to thank ye, Hitty!" he said steadily. "Had ye not come to my rescue, my first important assignment might have been a failure!"

"Nay," smiled Mehitable, "Mistress Lindsley could not have withstood your honest face for long. She would doubtless have been convinced! 'Twas only a question o' time!"

"Yet in that time," pointed out Young Cy triumphantly, "the British might have found and blown up the powder mill!"


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 "Think you there is serious danger of attack this night, then?" asked Mehitable quickly.

"As long as there is a powder mill here, and war exists, there will be danger o' enemy attack," answered Young Cy simply. "I will inform you, for your comfort, however, that it was only a very vague rumor of British approach which did reach General Washington and it be almost a certainty that nothing will come of it. And mayhap you perceived I posted two sentry around Mistress Lindsley's house, so tell Cherry not to fret."

"I will, Young Cy," promised Mehitable, and nodding again, she ran across the bridge and plunged recklessly through the thickets. It was not long, then, before she was back at Mistress Lindsley's house, before she was snuggling, once more, down beside Charity in their great feather bed. The last thing they heard as they drifted off to sleep for the second time that night was the tramp, tramp, tramp of the sentry's feet beneath their window.


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T BE from John!" announced Mehitable, in atone of quiet but profound satisfaction.

She and Charity were hanging over a note which they had spread open upon the table in Mistress Lindsley's kitchen. Charity, all excited ftutterings from her cap ruffles to the ripples in her linsey-woolsey skirt, had just brought it to her sister from the door, where a messenger had placed it in her hand.

The bright sunshine streaming across the sanded floor, the cheerful snap and crackle of the fire, the home song of the teakettle—all these sounds were in utter contrast to the terror and excitement of those hours a few nights previous, when the ominous dread of intimate warfare had hovered over the house. Now it seemed as though that memory were a bad dream and only hope and happiness could exist.

"Let us tell Cousin Eliza at once!" proposed Charity. "She will be so pleased to know we are invited, Hitty! And then let us look at our party gowns!"


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 "Stay! Stay!" Cousin Eliza looked from one to the other in laughing dismay when, bursting into her room, the two eager voices tried to tell her at once about the note, and Mehitable and Charity fairly pranced around her bed with girlish rapture. "I can understand nothing! Nothing at all! Now, Hitty, you may tell me, since you evidently possess the note!"

"Cherry really thought o' telling you," began Mehitable honestly; but at her cousin's little frown and Charity's quick, "That be all right—you tell her, Hitty," she rushed on. "I'll read it, coz, then you can judge for yourself an we have cause for joy! Ahem!" She cleared her throat and, looking over the edge of the paper, pompously read her note in a deep, impressive voice.

Charity clapped her hands as Mehitable ended the note, and their Cousin Eliza seemed scarcely less pleased.

"Ah, I was hoping ye would have opportunity to attend one of the assemblies!" she exclaimed in great satisfaction. "Now, what are ye to wear?"

"Our mother hath seen to that!" answered


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 Mehitable proudly, and forthwith told the tale of Mistress Condit's little sacrifice. Charity ran to fetch one of the dresses for her cousin's inspection who, if she had any criticism to make of the simple creation, did not express it. She did, however, insist upon their accepting certain articles of adornment from her own wardrobe—dainty slippers, fans, ribbons, and a fine lace kerchief for Mehitable. The latter immediately tried her slippers on and regarded the shining buckles that graced the toes with blissful eyes.

"John owns the only nice buckles in our family," she said frankly. "They be heirlooms which my father gave him on his eighteenth birthday. I do hope"—she wriggled her foot anxiously—"I do hope these buckles be fastened securely."

"I think the catches are good." Cousin Eliza glanced at them reassuringly. "Though I should hate to have ye lose them, Hitty, for they were my wedding buckles and possess a sentimental value not covered by money," she added.

"Oh, la, coz!" Mehitable looked at her in distress. "I fear me, then, I had better not borrow them!"

"Nay, what could happen them!" laughed Cousin Eliza. She put up her hand when Mehitable would have removed the slippers. "Ah, wear them!" she implored. "I like to think of the pretty things being worn where there is dancing


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 once more. I shall carry the blame an ye lose them!" And so the matter was settled.

How long that day seemed to the girls! The household tasks, which they shared as a matter of course and which had become heavier since the responsible Tabitha's departure, reading aloud by turns to the sick woman, running her errands—none of these duties seemed to make the hours pass more swiftly this day. Mehitable, thinking this and drumming nervously upon a frosty window pane about five o'clock, turned in relief at Mistress Lindsley's hurried entrance. Somehow, her manner boded a break in the monotonous hours.

"Hitty," she said, "I wonder an ye can help me out!"

"Aye," responded Mehitable cordially. "What is it?"

"Why, I clean forgot that this afternoon I was to send biscuit to headquarters! Tabbie generally bakes them and takes them to Mistress Ford's, and with her being away, the matter slipped my mind!" explained Mistress Lindsley.

"I shall be glad to take them for ye!" exclaimed Mehitable delightedly.

"That is well!" Mistress Lindsley heaved a sigh of relief as she went toward the pantry. "Though it do be growing dark," she added, stopping to glance worriedly out the window. "Such short


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 days, now!" she said fretfully. "And when ye are going to the assembly to-night—nay"

"Nay, I be glad to go!" interrupted Mehitable. "I shall be glad o' the opportunity to visit the headquarters, ye mind," her honesty compelled her to add. "Mayhap I shall see His Excellency!"

"I fear not!" Mistress Lindsley hastened to disillusion her. "Ye will be expected at the kitchen door, Hitty!"

For a moment, Mehitable's face was a study of distaste and hurt pride; then her native sense was in evidence. "Oh, well," she said jauntily, "at least I shall see the outside o' the mansion John has told me so much about! Where be the biscuits?"

Not fifteen minutes later, she was approaching the stately home which Colonel Jacob Ford, Jr., had built about three years before, and which, now occupied by his widow and family, had been offered by Mistress Ford to General Green as headquarters and personal residence for General Washington this winter.

Mehitable, staring curiously at the ten or twelve log huts built for the guard across the lane from the Ford grounds, was about to enter the gate when a rough voice bade her halt, and she raised her startled eyes to find herself confronted by a sentry.

"Please," she said timidly, "I desire to convey this to the kitchen." She pointed to the package


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 of biscuit she was carrying and handed the soldier a note Mistress Lindsley had written as a pass.

The man read it, scratched a puzzled head, stared again at the note, and shook his head dubiously. "Ye had best leave the package with me, and I will take it up later, myself. They like not young females traipsing around the grounds!" he said.

Mehitable drew herself up. "Sir!" she said grandly.

"Nay," the soldier shook his head phlegmatically. She might have as well spoken to the stormy sunset in the west. "Nay—ye had best leave the package with me, and I"

"Nay!" Mehitable shook her head.

"—I will take it up later, myself. They like not young females traipsing around the grounds!" he repeated. "I will be off duty soon," he added unexpectedly.

This, of course, would have been acceptable to Mehitable had she not desired a closer view of the Ford mansion.

"That will not do at all!" she said firmly now. She was ready to stamp her feet between vexation and impatience. "The—the biscuit"—she had a happy thought—"the biscuit are to be served at His Excellency's table for supper, and of course, ye might not get them there in time!" She smiled brilliantly. But it was all wasted, for the guard,


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 while a little shaken by her logic, remained fixed in his obstinate refusal to allow her entrance. He was, indeed, commencing to grind out his neat little speech, which he evidently regarded with pride, when a new voice broke into the midst of it.

"How now, sir? What be the trouble here?"

To Mehitable's surprise, for her back had been turned to the road, the sentry flushed a bright pink, while his hand flew to his forehead in a stiff salute. But her confusion was fully as great when, wheeling, she fairly bumped into a party of gentlemen who had approached unnoticed on foot. She managed to drop a curtsey, however, despite her overwhelming embarrassment and the pans of biscuit she carried, and the leader of the group, a stately, serious-faced man, who had addressed the sentry, looked down at her.

The next instant, recognition dawned in his fine eyes, for the fortunes of warfare had caused them to meet before, and his face lighted up benignly.

"Good-evening, my child!" he greeted her in his deep voice. Tis my little friend o' Newark Mountains, is it not?"

Mehitable swept him another curtsey, "Aye, Your Excellency, and—and—I come from Mistress Lindsley's—where I be visiting and—and—whence I am to go to—the—the rout this night—well, I come from there—Mistress Lindsley's, ye mind,


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 with a—with some pans o' biscuit for your supper, sir!" she stammered.

General Washington, listening to her patiently, answered her as kindly. "Come with us, then, my child. Mistress Thompson, our housekeeper, will wi'out doubt welcome this contribution to the supper. This young lady may pass," he added to the guard. "Now and in the future!"

Red of face, hating herself for having blurted out the silly little speech, poor Mehitable turned silently and stumbled along beside General Washington, his aides falling a step behind. As they proceeded up the driveway, he summoned one of the young soldiers forward, however.

"This is little Mistress Condit, Colonel Hamilton," said His Excellency. "The sister of one of our young surgeons, John Condit, ye mind."

Mehitable, acknowledging the young secretary's bow, was aware of a tall, slim figure, of a pair of handsome dark eyes and—whimsical generous mouth, and instantly liked Alexander Hamilton.

"But won't Cherry die o' envy when I tell her!" she thought, laughing to herself.

There was barely time for a polite sentence or two between the young people across the broad buff and blue form of His Excellency, who listened with a kindly, absent look, before they reached the front steps of the mansion. The wide door, with its beautiful side lights, was opened by a Negro,


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 and Mehitable passed breathlessly into the wide hall of the headquarters.

To her country-bred eyes, vast rooms seemed to lead off in every direction. People seemed to be passing through the hall in a constant procession, and the hum of busy voices came to her ears. It was a house of business. Nothing homelike in the stately parlor to the left of her. Nothing intimate in the glimpse she had of dining room to the right of her. Life was here; but life in its most soulless, systematic, formal phase. One became aware of that at once. A quiet-eyed woman in homespun advancing to meet them was a single note of relief in the atmosphere of pressing routine.

"This be a young friend o' mine from near Newark Mountains," said General Washington, glancing kindly at the young girl. "I will turn her o'er to your care now, Mistress Thompson. And I will bid ye good-evening, my child."

Mehitable curtseyed to him and to Colonel Hamilton as they went toward the rear of the hall to a small room beneath the stairs. Then she turned bashfully to the housekeeper.

"I be Mehitable Condit, from Mistress Lindsley's. I have brought biscuit," she began.

"Ah—good!" Mistress Thompson interrupted her briskly. "Let us take them to the kitchen. I know His Excellency will enjoy them for supper."

Once inside the big kitchen, they came upon a


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 scene of confusion. People and yet more people—the room seemed to be filled. At least three persons were engaged before the immense fireplace, all trying not too successfully to keep out of one another's way. Mistress Ford, herself, was present, directing the preparation of a special dish for her son Timothy who, home wounded and ill, had an appetite which must be tempted. There were eighteen in General Washington's official family, or would be when Mrs. Washington, with her servants, would arrive at the end of the month—and all of Mistress Ford's family and servants, the housekeeper told Mehitable in a low voice.

"It is extremely hard for us to manage," she went on. "His Excellency hopes to be able to build a log room on this end of the house for our kitchen, in the near future, and another room of logs on the other end for his office," she added. She curtseyed to Mistress Ford, at that moment passing. "This is Captain Condit's sister, madam," she said, putting out a hand to stop the lady.

Mistress Ford paused. She was a graciously formed, sweet-faced woman, the daughter of Parson Johnes who toiled and preached and lived a life of fine example in Morris Town at that time.

"How do you do, my dear," she greeted her. "Staying with Mistress Lindsley?" she repeated in answer to her own question. "I see! Well, ye must come up sometime and see my son Timothy.


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 Poor lad, time hangs so heavy upon his hands! Gabriel"—she turned to a boy who, sniffing hungrily, had stuck his head in at the door—"go you home with Mistress Condit, dear. This is my second son, Gabriel," she introduced him smilingly. "Nay, it is dark, now, and not proper for a young woman to be out alone and the soldiers be about," she answered Mehitable's protest that she was not afraid to return alone.

Mehitable, smiling to herself as she thought of that adventurous trip through the woods to the powder mill with soldiers the night of the threatened British attack, now made her adieux. Escorted by the tall, awkward lad, she soon arrived at Mistress Lindsley's home. On the way, however, she learned various interesting bits of harmless gossip about life at the headquarters and much about Colonel Hamilton, to whom Gabriel seemed devotedly attached.

"But, oh, Cherry!" mourned Mehitable, when she had bade her youthful escort farewell at the door and she had tripped into the house to find Mistress Lindsley and Charity awaiting her arrival rather anxiously. "Oh, Cherry, Colonel Hamilton is betrothed! To a very lovely lady, Master Gabriel says—a Miss Elizabeth Schuyler—daughter of General Schuyler and niece o' Mistress Cochran. Doctor Cochran is surgeon general, ye mind, and is staying at the same house, Dr. Jabez


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 Campfield's, that John is staying at. Mayhap we will meet Mistress Schuyler—though 'tis doubtful she is here in town just now, for she lives in Albany."

Charity did not seem as cast down by news of Colonel Hamilton's engagement as might have been expected. "Didst see Young Cy?" she asked with apparent irrelevance, and when her sister shook her head, she added staidly, "Well, no doubt we'll see him this night at the rout!"


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FTER their early supper came the fun of getting ready for the rout! This pleasant duty took place in Cousin Eliza's room, where, lying in bed, she gaily superintended their dressing, advising them in the art of powdering their pretty hair and the placing of sundry coquettish black patches near smiling dimples.

"Put it near her mouth, Cherry—no, no, at the corner, so!" cried the lady smilingly. "And mind ye keep the corners quirked up in your nicest smile, Hitty, to go with the patch!"

"I doubt an Mother would like these patches!" observed Mehitable soberly. "I have heard her say she likes neither powder nor patches!"

"Not at ordinary times, my child," returned her cousin rather tartly. "But this be a rare occasion! Think, ye lucky lass, ye are actually to attend a party at which His Excellency might be present, though, of course, he will not dance an he come. And I know his lady will not be there, since she hath not yet arrived in Morris Town. Yet I doubt an it will be as grand as that ball the Hessians


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 gave at my house in Trenton," she went on, referring to the memorable night when Washington crossed the Delaware and, surprising her "guests," took them prisoners.

"Master Gabriel told me Mistress Kitty Livingston, the daughter o' Governor Livingston, has come up from Liberty Hall in Elizabeth Town for the party, as have some o' her friends, and that she be an intimate o' Miss Schuyler's," said Mehitable, uttering a tremulous sigh of relief as Mistress Lindsley slipped the party gown over her head without disarranging her lightly powdered hair. Tis not as splendid as some o' your gorgeous ball gowns, Cousin Eliza," went on the girl a little wistfully, gazing at herself in the mirror as her hostess painstakingly played ladies' maid. For somehow, with the prospect of being seen in company with the Governor's daughter, her own simple little gown began to seem almost impossible!

"Nay, it is very nice, and you and Cherry, both, will look sweet and dainty, Hitty!" comforted Cousin Eliza. "Though I do wish we had my maid, Felice, here to deck ye out! She hath the French knack o' taking a bit o' ribbon and a bit o' lace and evolving a wondrous gown out o' them! Yes, I wish she were here!"

"So do I, Lizzie!" interrupted Mistress Lindsley, sucking a stuck finger and gazing rather dryly at her friend lying there in bed. "I vow, since I


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 hath been making bread, my fingers are all thumbs!"

"Nay, ye are doing excellently well—the bodice be hard to fasten!" Mehitable assured her, concealing her impatience under a mantle of politeness. "However—mayhap Cherry could see better—the candle flickers so!" She turned to Charity who, in white shift and petticoat, stood patiently awaiting her turn to be helped into her gown.

In spite of fumbling fingers, and secret forebodings on Mehitable's part, at least, the girls were ready and waiting when John Condit and Young Cy arrived at the time stated in the note. And soon, with a girl seated upon a pillion behind each young man, they were trotting off up the lane toward Arnold's Tavern.

"Many o' the routs are held at the 'Continental House,' I am told, Cherry," chatted Young Cy as they went along. "That be the army storehouse General Washington hath built here in Morris Town. There is a vast room the length o' the building on the second floor, over the warerooms, which serves well for an assembly. But, of course, it is much nicer to have them at the Arnold Tavern, though more expensive," he added frankly.

Both girls stared in excited interest as they approached the inn. The three-cornered building, with its enormous chimney at each end and a long


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 porch which extended the entire breadth across the front, with guests and yet more guests constantly arriving in the flaring lights of the lanthorns hung out for welcome, seemed very imposing to their country-bred eyes. As their escorts reined in their horses, they watched with interest, too, the fine ladies stepping out of sedan chairs, other mufiled forms being helped out of carts and down from pillions like their own, while many guests were approaching on foot, for carriages were very rare in those days.

Entering the wide hallway which divided the center of the house from back to front, John Condit led them up the stairs to a long room built over the kitchen and dining room in a rear extension. Adjoining this assembly room were two small rooms which, during the winter of 1777, when General Washington had had his quarters at this inn, he had used as a bedroom and office. Entering one of these rooms, now, the girls pushed their way through a crowd of chattering, silken-clad women to a mirror where they endeavored to smooth their hair and to repair the damage wintry winds had inflicted. Then, rather shyly, they met their escorts, who, sets for a minuet being formed at that moment, led them directly upon the dancing floor.

At one end of the big room were stationed the fiddlers. Around the hall, attended to by various persons who had attained admittance for the pur-


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 pose, were placed tallow candles. These candles kept going out, had to be snuffed, trimmed, were constantly being replaced, so that half the time the place was but dimly lighted. In spite of drawbacks like this, however, the fiddles scraped mertrily, here was a lively hum of happy voices. Scattered French phrases met the girls' ears, for there were encamped at Morris Town many charming young Frenchmen who helped to plan social events.

Groups for a quadrille followed those of the minuet. Mehitable wondered where Captain Freeman was keeping himself. It was not until the evening was well advanced that, during a lull in the music, she looked up to see him standing near her, talking to a lady. Not once, however, though he was facing her as she leaned back in her chair, fanning herself with a trembling hand, did his eyes meet hers. Instead, they were fixed upon the countenance of his partner, a young lady dressed in the height of fashion who, simpering, seemed much flattered by his attention.

"How now, Tony?" Coming up behind him at that moment and obviously thinking him there to ask Mehitable for a dance, John Condit laughingly clapped Captain Freeman upon the shoulder. "Where hast been hiding thyself? Art besieging Hitty, here, for a dance?"

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 Hitty," answered the other gravely, turning in a manner of studied courtesy toward them for a moment. "I dare not ask her for a dance!"

"Nay," cried John blunderingly, "ye must have one o' mine, then, Tony! I have at least three more wi' Hitty. What say ye to this minuet, which is but now forming on the floor?"

Captain Freeman, flushing a little, shook his head, however. "Nay," he returned, waving his hand negligently, "I would not deprive Mistress Hitty o' her brother's company for mine own poor one!" And bowing ironically, he was gone with his partner.

John Condit gave a low whistle. "Well, Hitty—what hast done?" he asked, giving her a curious look.

"Ye heard what he said!" Mehitable's head was held high. "It seems he does not wish to dance wi' me, forsooth!" And she faced the room with blazing cheeks, through a blur of tears, as John good-naturedly led her out for the next dance. How she walked through that minuet she never knew. Swaying, circling, curtseying—mechanically, she went through the pretty dance, praying that her wet lashes might not be noticed.

As though the gods were letting loose all their wrath, poor Mehitable had further hurts in store for her that night. John, seeking a glass of eggnog, had left her standing momentarily beside a


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 group of gayly dressed young girls. They were arrayed, Mehitable was swift to notice, in the latest mode, with lavishly decked hair, with jewels and fans that bespoke wealth. Meeting their combined gaze, which seemed not too friendly, perhaps even rather gibing to one sensitive, Mehitable then looked around her uneasily for Charity; but that young person was not to be seen. The next instant a clear, critical voice came to her reddening ears.

"Kitty, Kitty—here, puss, puss, see the poor little country mouse! La, where do ye suppose she secured that gown!"

For a second, Mehitable's eyes blazed as she stared back at the rude group of girls. Then, as their scornful laughter sounded, she slowly turned away and sought a seat, her hands clenched tightly around Cousin Eliza's fan. When John found her a little later, she was fully composed, albeit a trifle pale around the mouth. But John noticed nothing amiss. He was laughing and chattering to a girl upon his arm, and when he had reached his sister, turned to her eagerly.

"Hitty, I want ye to know Mistress Kitty Livingston, Nancy's cousin, ye mind. Kitty, this be my little sister!" And he looked triumphantly from one to the other. "I wish Nancy were here!" he sighed, then—longing for the fiancée whose


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 abode in New York made the intervals long between the lovers' meetings.

Mehitable stood rigid for a moment, then she sank to the floor in a stately, dignified curtsey. For Mistress Livingston had been in the center of that sneering group a few moments previous. A moment after that, though, she started forward impetuously. John was murmuring an excuse, was leaving the two girls alone together—she must stop him!—but he had disappeared into the crowd. And Mehitable stood staring miserably, self-consciously ahead of her. She was aroused by a white hand upon her arm.

"My dear," said Mistress Kitty appealingly, "ye are a foolish child to pay any attention to a person like Mistress Harriet Means and her ilk! I am sure she was nothing but jealous o' your pretty face!"

Mehitable lifted amazed eyes. "Then you—you—didn't" she choked.

"I happened to be in the group," returned Mistress Kitty quietly, her kind, generous face full of concern. "One cannot always choose one's company in a crowded place like this. Think no more of what she said! I am sure most of us standing there admired both the gown and the maid who wore it!"

What could Mehitable do, Mistress Kitty draw-


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 ing her gently down upon a chair beside her, but pour out the brave little story of the making of her gown! When she had finished, the other's eyes were shining.

"How proud—how very proud ye must be o' your mother!" she said softly.

"Aye, I am," commenced Mehitable, when all at once she stopped. Her companion, glancing at her in surprise, saw her staring down at her slipper with aghast eyes. "Why, it's gone!" stammered Mehitable. "It is gone!"

Mistress Kitty was full of instant concern. "Your buckle, ye mean?" she asked kindly.

"Aye," nodded Mehitable. She leaned over and searched the floor near her with desperate gaze. It was no use, however. Even as she looked, people came and went so that the cleared space of floor was constantly being shifted to another part.

"I fear ye will have to wait for the morrow, my dear!" Mistress Kitty told her at last. "Mayhap Colonel Arnold will have found it then. I see him yonder"—she rose kindly—"and will speak to him about it. Meanwhile, do not let it spoil your good time!" And, with a nod and smile, she was gone.

Poor Mehitable sat in silent, overwhelming despair, for all the other's words. She had lost Cousin Eliza's wedding buckle! That fact dulled everything. She did not even notice when Captain Freeman was led past her by the odious, trium-


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 phant Mistress Means, who had happened to overhear the little tilt between them, and who now took that opportunity to humiliate Mehitable. Over and over, the music seemed to whine it—she had lost Cousin Eliza's buckle!

A man's voice finally aroused her. "Pardon, mistress—you have lost a buckle from your slipper? Yes, I see, it matches that on the other!"

Coming out of her daze of misery, Mehitable held out her hand eagerly. But the buckle was not placed in her palm. Looking up in surprise, then, she stared. And stared again. Gazing back at her coolly was the young bully of the Ranfield Tavern!


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EHITABLE sprang to her feet. Her cheeks crimsoned with excitement. There was no question in her mind but that he was a British spy, for had she not seen him in the company of Hawtree, the Tory! Her bewilderment showed in her mobile face.

As she opened her mouth to speak, the young man smiled.

"I doubt an ye have the courage to do it!" he said suavely.

"Do what, sir?" asked Mehitable, staring.

"Name me spy!" he told her. He laughed at her expression.

At that moment, a pleasant voice spoke beside them. "Ah, I see ye already know each other." And the girl shifted her gaze to Colonel Hamilton's dark, smiling face.

"I was about to ask you an you had met Master Simpson, Mistress Condit. Most o' our maids are said to like the way he treads the minuet," he remarked. "Is't not so, sir?" Colonel Hamilton looked at the other teasingly, and it was the lad's


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 turn to flush. The young officer moved away, only looking back over his shoulder to say to Mehitable, "I was going to ask ye to come wi' me and meet my betrothed's best friend, Mistress Kitty Livingston, the daughter o' the Governor; but I must defer that pleasure until ye are less engrossed! However, mayhap ye know her also."

Half ready to weep, Mehitable looked desperately at the youth blocking her path. "I would thank ye for the buckle, sir," she said angrily, holding out her hand once more.

The other looked from her trembling, outstretched hand into her blazing eyes, and his own became steely. "I would first talk wi' ye alone," he conditioned.

But Mehitable shook her head violently. "I will hold no talk with you, sir! Give me my buckle or I will call my brother!"

Simpson looked at her scornfully. "What could he do?" he asked her.

"He could dub ye spy and—and—run ye out o' the tavern here!"

"So?" The young man's tone was amused. "Wait ye a moment, mistress!" And he was gone. It was scarcely more than a moment, however, before he was back before the girl, with Colonel Hamilton in tow.

As they reached her, Alexander Hamilton looked down into Mehitable's crimsoned face with toler-


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 ant, humorous eyes. "So," he chided. Tis a lovers' quarrel so soon. I did not know ye were that well acquainted, forsooth!" And he glanced ironically from one to the other.

Too much taken aback to do more than stammer, Mehitable turned from red to white. "N-nay, ye b-be under m-m-misapprehension, Colonel—indeed, I" Her voice trailed away into helpless silence, and young Simpson laughed.

"She does not know me, sir," he explained in a tone which implied the opposite. "You see," he shrugged his shoulders and sprung his thunderbolt, "she dubs me spy, Colonel Hamilton!"

As Mehitable gasped at his effrontery, Hamilton spoke gravely.

"To be a spy is to follow the path of danger. He should be commended rather than criticized, mistress!" Then, as the girl stood overwhelmed and silent, he bowed.

"I hope I have helped your cause, sir," he said to Simpson, with a friendly nod. "Though, as Cupid, I fear I be both awkward and out o' practice!" And with another bow and smile, he was gone.

Simpson regarded Mehitable sarcastically. "Ye are now convinced your cry of spy could do me no harm?" he asked her.

Mehitable could only stare at him helplessly. Was it possible that she had been mistaken in thinking him a Tory? Could he have been travel-


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 ing with Hawtree and his companion in an official capacity of American spy at the time of the Ranfield Tavern episode? Every bit of her intelligence refused to accept this latter theory, however. The odious feel of his arm around her, his half-tipsy leer when John Condit had entered the tavern to her rescue convinced her that, despite evidence to the contrary in Colonel Hamilton's words, there was something wrong. For never would an American spy have been found under the influence of liquor while on duty!

So now Mehitable returned Simpson's crafty look with a steady one, though, as she gazed, a troubled expression crossed her brow. Whom did she know who had that set of head on shoulders, that cast of countenance? One by one she thought over her recent acquaintances in Morris Town and dismissed them. Yet the tantalizing resemblance remained.

"Well, mistress"—Simpson's voice was insolent—"an ye meet me again, ye will know me!"

"Aye, sir, I shall know ye!" returned Mehitable grimly. "Now," she held out her hand, "give me the buckle!"

Simpson hesitated. "Mistress," he said finally, sending a shifty glance to right and left of him, "I will return this buckle to ye on one condition! For reasons o' my own, I desire that my presence here this even be not known to your brother."


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 "Has he not seen ye?" Mehitable's question was curt.

"Nay." A twisted smile that crossed the fellow's face marred the boyish handsomeness of it. "I ha' taken pains to keep out o' his sight!"

"Why should I bargain with ye an ye be honorably in the country's service?" The girl shook her head, then glancing beyond his shoulder, she blurted it out involuntarily: "Besides, here comes John now!"

The next instant she could have bitten her tongue for, without a word, Simpson vanished. In vain did Mehitable try to keep her eyes upon him as he pushed his way to the assembly-room door. He disappeared as completely in the crowd as though the floor had swallowed him up. And with him went Cousin Eliza's buckle!

"Well, Sis—why such a sober face?" her brother greeted her jovially. "Art danced out so soon?"

As Charity and Young Cy pushed their way through the shifting groups of people, Mehitable nodded. "Aye, John, I be tired—let us away home."

John glanced at her trembling lips. "Why, so ye be, Hitty," he said kindly, then. And the others agreeing, they soon left.

How different was her journey home, thought Mehitable, weary and down-cast as she sat on the


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 pillion behind John. She clutched him in an agony of fatigue, weeping silently to herself as she pictured telling Cousin Eliza of the loss of her slipper buckle. What did it matter who would take the blame! The buckle was gone and Cousin Eliza must grieve!

The next afternoon, brooding over her encounter with Simpson, and planning a dozen different ways of informing her relative of her loss, Mehitable's thoughts kept swinging back in a circle to the puzzling question, why should Simpson have desired his presence among the Continentals to be kept from John Condit the night before? What could be the reason save that the young officer, confronted by Simpson, would tell of that other encounter in Orange, and having his word accepted more freely by the Americans than a young girl's could be, that doubt would then fall more swiftly and more surely upon the spy, if he were playing double!

At last, Mehitable caught up her cape and ran upstairs. Entering her cousin's room, she found Charity entertaining the older women with a vivacious account of last evening's festivities. They all stared at Mehitable, attired for outdoors, and Charity broke off her narrative to ask where she was going.

"I don't mind the weather!" said Mehitable, in answer. "My head aches—I am going for a walk!"


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 "Very well," agreed Mistress Lindsley. "But go not far!"

"Do ye wish me to go wi' you, Hitty?" asked Charity, in a low voice, following the other to the door. But Mehitable shook her head and ran downstairs.

Once out on the hard, frozen road, she bent her steps straight toward headquarters, and passing the sentry at the gate, who, recognizing her with a grin, saluted her, she soon found herself admitted to the Ford mansion and conducted by the Negro doorman to the back room used by General Washington as his office. There she found Colonel Hamilton alone, working at a table upon some reports. He rose courteously.

"His Excellency be out, Mistress Condit," he told her. "Is there aught I can do for you?"

"I came not to see His Excellency, but you, sir," Mehitable answered. She stood twisting her hands, her heavy cape hood shadowing a face that looked rather young and pinched and pathetic at that moment. At her host's invitation, she seated herself abruptly and raised her eyes to find the officer studying her with a surprised look. As her glance met his, he withdrew his politely, and there was an awkward little silence. Then the young man swung around and regarded her with frank good-nature.

"An there be anything I can do, as I said," he


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 began smilingly, and at the kindliness in his tone the girl took courage.

"Colonel Hamilton, why did ye accept Master Simpson's word, last night, that we were betrothed?" she asked him steadily. The other's face sobered.

"Perhaps because of my acquaintance wi' the young man's family," he answered in grave surprise. "Are ye not, Mistress Condit?"

"Nay." Mehitable shook her head. "I never saw the young man before but once, sir. That was in Orange at an inn run by a Tory hostess, and he was then in the company of two Tories, both of whom I know to be dangerous enemies."

Colonel Hamilton nodded. "An that be true, mistress, what of it?" he asked. "Mayhap he was but pursuing his duty!"

"Think you, sir, an he was, he would be drunk?" she asked in return.

"Drunk!" Colonel Hamilton started. "Drunk, ye say, mistress?"

"Aye, as I can prove by my brother, Captain Condit, sir." Mehitable's voice carried conviction, and His Excellency's secretary looked troubled.

"Not only that, sir—why should he lie to you in saying we were betrothed, and why should he want to bribe me to not mention his presence at the rout to my brother?" Mehitable struck her hands


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 sharply together. "Colonel Hamilton, I dub him spy!" she cried. "He be naught but a British spy!"

As the girl's bold words dwindled into silence, Colonel Hamilton got to his feet and began a troubled pacing up and down the room. Mehitable watched him in silence until he turned to her in sudden decision.

"Mistress Condit," he said, "let us test him. I have a plan!"

And now, his clever mind forming a snap judgment and working out the details in rapid sequence, the young officer approached the table where, seating himself, he took up his quill pen. For half an hour, perhaps, the silence was broken only by the scratching of his pen upon paper, then sanding what he had written, he held out what appeared to be a lengthy and detailed report to Mehitable.

"I have here written, Mistress Condit," Hamilton said, tapping the paper with a long finger, "what purports to be a report. It is an apparent statement of our army's numbers and munitions of war. In reality, I have exaggerated both figures to four times the number. And now, this be my plan." He looked around him cautiously and then bent toward her. "I am to meet Simpson in half an hour's time at Quartermaster General Greene's office. I shall, upon his arrival, have to leave the room and will 'carelessly' leave these papers visible


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 upon my desk. An Master Simpson think them worth carrying to the enemy, well and good! They will think twice, receiving these numbers, about attacking us! An he does not touch the papers," Colonel Hamilton bowed, "we will have retained our helper and ye will have been proven to be mistaken!" He looked for his army cape and hat. "And now, let us away!"

"Ye mean," Mehitable faltered, "ye mean ye will let me see the—the—fun, too, sir!"

"Aye!" Having found his garments upon a chair, Colonel Hamilton fastened the clasp of his cape and smiled down at her. "Surely you have earned the right! A horse for the lady, boy!" He spoke to the Negro whom he had summoned.

It did not take them long to canter to the village center, where was located the Quartermaster's office in a small building. The place, save for a sentry, was deserted, and Colonel Hamilton, ordering the man to conceal their horses behind the structure, led Mehitable directly to a room adjoining that used by General Greene as his office.

"An I leave the door ajar between, you will be able both to see and to hear what takes place in the office. There will be no danger, for it be growing dusk outside, and Simpson will not discover you!" he told her gleefully. As a matter of fact, he might have been a schoolboy, planning a trick


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 upon another boy, so much did he seem to be enjoying the incident.

He had no sooner reëntered the office, after adjusting the door and seating himself at a table there, pretending to be immersed in work, than there was a knock upon the outer door and Simpson entered.

"Good-even to ye, my lad," said Hamilton, writing so busily that he did not look up.

"Good-even, sir." Simpson stood at ease for awhile. Mehitable, watching him through the door crack, saw his restless eyes darting here and there. Once his gaze seemed to meet hers and she started; but he immediately looked away, and she knew that she had not been detected.

Suddenly a chair scraped, and Colonel Hamilton rose from the table. "Just a moment, Simpson," he said hurriedly. "Sorry to keep you waiting, but this report must be sent out. Wait you here. I shall return shortly!" And passing into the room where Mehitable was secreted, he apparently pulled the door shut behind him. Tiptoeing over to the girl, he applied his eye to the crack also.

For a short space of time, Simpson fiddled idly about the room. He walked to the window and glanced out, perhaps to reassure himself as to a safe escape, perhaps in case Colonel Hamilton should return too suddenly. But turning all at once, he then made straight for the table and


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 caught up the false report. Convinced upon a hasty perusal that here was the most valuable paper written so far, during the war, he folded it, and as Colonel Hamilton and Mehitable watched, he concealed it like a flash in his pocket. He lost no time in departure, then. Crossing the room with a single bound, catlike in its grace, the outer door opened and closed behind him, and his footsteps could be heard dying rapidly away in the distance.

Colonel Hamilton and Mehitable stared at each other. Simultaneously, they broke into laughter.

"I vow," cried Hamilton, waving his hand helplessly in the direction taken by Simpson, "despite my loss, I do protest it be the best joke ever played upon the British!"

"Nay," cried Mehitable, rocking with mirth, her voice going up to a funny squeak of hysteria, "the joke be upon me, sir! He still has my slip-slip-slipper buckle!"

And then, though she had wept half the night over this fact, she laughed and laughed.


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ND I do protest it be a shame, forsooth!" said Tabitha vigorously, facing the little group gathered in Mistress Lindsley's kitchen on the twenty-third of December.

"But, Tabbie—an he be guilty!" ventured Mehitable thoughtfully, after a pause during which the fire, snapping and cracking, seemed to echo the other girl's unusual tones.

"He is not guilty! I have good information that there are those who are persecuting him!" asserted Tabitha, with a spirit which amazed her listeners. In fact, they were not used to the quiet, work-driven Tabitha voicing any opinion whatsoever, and now to have her defend such a man as Benedict Arnold quite unexpectedly was surprising, to say the least. Yet, newly arrived from her aunt's house, Tabitha was but reflecting the interest this strange man's court-martial was arousing in officers' quarters and soldier huts on Basking Ridge alike. And she, like the majority, believed the heretofore brave general to be innocent of the charges preferred against him. Again and again


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 had he proved his courage and loyalty, for Arnold had been the first among the colonists to espouse the cause of freedom. He had assisted Colonel Ethan Allen in that splendid capture of Ticonderoga and Crown Point. He had been wounded at the unsuccessful siege and assault at Quebec, and wounded again at Saratoga. He had shared hardships and dangers with General Sullivan, making war upon the retreating British troops under General Tryon from Danbury, Connecticut.

"How could such a man be guilty!" demanded Tabitha, continuing. "Why, they charge him, while in command o' Philadelphia, with permitting a Tory vessel to enter the port without acquainting either General Washington or the state officials of it so doing. They accuse him of tyranically closing the shops and preventing purchases by the town's inhabitants; but making personal purchases—oh, it be outrageous! They even accuse him o' transporting the private property o' Tories in wagons belonging to the state—he, who fought the enemy at Quebec and was wounded!"

"But, Tabbie!" exclaimed Mehitable, staring curiously, as were the others, at her, "why concern yourself with all this? And how know ye these charges?"

"My cousin be clerk o' the court which is to try General Arnold," said Tabitha. "He was discussing the matter wi' my aunt last night, and I over-


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 heard them. And I saw General Arnold this morning, crippled, maimed in the defense o' his country so that he must walk wi' a cane—one leg be shorter than t'other—and yet accused by that country o' such scurvy deeds! It be an outrage on American justice, say I!" And the girl stood with clenched hands, staring into space.

Mehitable, watching her, tried to discover within herself a reason for Tabitha's unusual agitation and confessed to herself that there seemed none except an exaggerated sense of justice possessed by the other. But, a little later, the reason was made apparent by Tabitha, herself.

"Let us talk o' more pleasurable things," said the Morris Town girl, turning smilingly to Mehitable. "I heard you went to a rout, Hitty."

"Aye, Cherry and I. But how did you know?" asked Mehitable in surprise.

"My cousin—that same one who is clerk o' the court—was present. Did you have a good time?" answered Tabitha, ending with a question.

"A—fairly—good time," hesitated Mehitable. "But, oh, Tabbie—hear what happened!" And she plunged into the story of Cousin Eliza's slipper buckle and the story of trapping the spy.

It was not until she had come to the end of the tale that she glanced at the other girl. Charity and Mistress Lindsley were chuckling, but Tabitha stood straight and tall, deathly pale, with her eyes


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 staring, horror-stricken, at Mehitable, and her hands pressed against her heart as though to relieve an unbearable hurt.

"Why—why—Tabbie—what be the matter?" Mehitable sprang to her feet, upsetting the pan of apples she was peeling.

"You say he—he—stole the paper and escaped with it?" Tabitha seemed hardly able to enunciate the words.

"Aye. He proved himself unquestionably a British spy, as I claimed he was." Mehitable went over to the other and put her arms across the thin shoulders, while the others watched with wide eyes. "But why do you care, Tabbie? What be it to you what this Simpson did?"

With a bitter gesture, Tabitha covered her now burning face with her hands. "He—he is my brother!" Her voice was muffled. "My name be Simpson, too!"

Too surprised to speak for a moment, Mehitable stood silent until Mistress Lindsley, laying down her knitting, hurried to Tabitha's side.

"It be true," she said, patting the sobbing girl upon the arm, nodding to Mehitable over the other's bowed head. "Tabbie, when an orphaned baby, was placed in the care o' this aunt in Morris Town, and for convenience' sake, took her name. Her brother kept the name o' Simpson—you did not mention him by name, Hitty dear, or I should


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 have known him at once—though he was placed in the care of another aunt in New York Town. The New York aunt was wealthy and a Tory. Tabbie and I had been hoping against hope that her brother would remain true to his own country; but it seems he has not—mayhap, because too imbued with his aunt's viewpoint!"

"Then it be not his fault an he is a Tory!" retorted Mehitable generously.

But Tabitha shook her head. "He hath reached the age o' wisdom. He is no babe, despite his youthful face. He t-told me, though, he was a patriot." She sighed. "I must have known he was not—I have had my suspicions. And now I be convinced he is an enemy. Oh, the wretches who will not help their own in time o' need! But what chance, think you"—she fixed burning eyes upon the other's face—"hath a person like my brother when stern justice would try such a man as General Arnold! I shudder to think what may be his end!" And with another gesture of despair, poor Tabitha escaped from the room.

She had no sooner gone than a cheerful knock sounded upon the door and John Condit entered.

"Hitty," he said, greetings over, "how would ye like to go home to Orange for the day?"

"Alone with you—without Cherry, I mean?" answered Mehitable, longing to accept, yet not wishing to be selfish.


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 Both Charity and John at once reassured her, John declaring that the little sister was not strong enough to travel express as they must, and Charity explaining contentedly that Young Cy was to take her over the army encampment that afternoon, anyway. So Mehitable ran joyfully upstairs to acquaint Cousin Eliza with the news of her day's trip. She stumbled upon Tabitha, a forlorn heap, weeping desolately in a dark corner under the eaves.

"Poor Tabbie, do not weep!" Mehitable bent over her pityingly.

"Yet would you weep an it were your brother!" sobbed Tabitha.

Baffled, Mehitable turned slowly away, confronted by the old, old mystery of each one having to live his own life. Why should she, Mehitable, be about to start happily off upon an unexpected trip with a brave, fine, strong brother, while poor overworked Tabitha, whose life was drab at its best, was left at home to mourn a delinquent one!

It was not until they were well upon their way that the depression left by Tabitha's misfortune disappeared. But bright sunshine, fresh air, and rapid motion at last dispelled it, and Mehitable could once more be her sunny self. Their trip back to the Orange Mountain farm was an uneventful one. Mistress Condit was duly and happily surprised by her daughter's unexpected appearance and would have detained her son, also.


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 But he, saying that he would be back in mid-afternoon and that his sister must be ready, then, for the long trip in return to Morris Town, rode on to Newark. The Masonic brethren, greatly elated by the presence of their most famous lodge member, General Washington, were planning to celebrate the festival of St. John at Morris Town. Not having the necessary paraphernalia, John Condit was sent in advance of Captain Thomas Kinney and Major Jeremiah Bruen to Newark to see if the Morris Town chapter could borrow the required articles from the former chapter. He returned, elated, at the time set, saying he had been successful in his business.

It was hard for the father and mother to bid farewell to their children when John started for the kitchen door. Traveling, in those days, was fraught with perils. The New Jersey Indians, wisely treated by the first settlers, had always been more or less friendly, it is true; but dangers of war, of nature, and even from wild animals were always at hand during these dark years of the Revolution.

"I stopped to assure Master Jones and his wife o' Young Cy's safety," said John incidentally, helping his sister to mount to her saddle.

"That be right," commended his mother. "I am glad ye stopped at the Jones's farmhouse. Good-bye, my son!" she added, as he turned back


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 and caught her in his arms, then wrung his father's hand. "May Heaven keep ye and Hitty safe!"

"We shall return the first week o' January, I feel sure!" called back Mehitable, as they trotted away. "Cousin Eliza be planning to return to Trenton that day!"

So they were off! Up over the Mountain they went, one horse following the other on the narrow trail, for they were to return to Morris Town through Hanover and Whippanong. It was dusk when they reached the latter village. Mehitable, peering through the shadows, uttered an interested exclamation.

"Look, John, what be that?" She pointed up the road where an odd-looking vehicle was slowly approaching them.

"Nay, I cannot tell!" answered her brother, staring.

"Is it not an oxcart?" remarked Mehitable. Then, as they neared the outfit, which had now stopped before a house, whence two women had flown out to greet the cart's occupants, she added, "Why, it be Mistress Rhoda Farrand and her son Dan, whom we met at Mistress Lindsley's one morning! Such a queer, fiery old lady, John! What can she be doing? She hath an armchair in the back o' the cart and she be knitting furiously, as though she were sitting before her own kitchen fire. Now, she hath laid down her knitting and


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 taken up a paper. She be reading something to those two ladies standing in the road!"

Mistress Farrand looked up, as the brother and sister drew abreast her oxcart, and nodded in a neighborly fashion.

"This be a letter from my son at Morris Town," she said briskly, seeing Mehitable's curious gaze upon it. "It is getting so dark, I scarce can see to read it; but having read it to every farmer's wife all the way from my home, I almost can recite it." And while the two ladies and Dan Farrand kept a respectful silence, the old lady acquainted the others with its contents.

It was a pitiful letter from Lieutenant Farrand, written from the camp at Morris Town, telling of the destitution among the soldiers of his own company who, at home, were the sons of neighbors. The young man ended by imploring Mistress Farrand to "tell their mothers."

"So I made my daughters Hannah and Betsy fetch me my cloak and then set stockings upon their needles and Dan and I started out with our steers, rousing the countryside like Paul Revere. Only we be rousing the mothers and sisters, instead of the Minute Men," ended Mistress Farrand with a jolly laugh, yet with a tear in her eye as she spoke a moment later of how the men, looking back, could trace their tracks to the army camp by their bloody footprints and how, at roll call, they had to take


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 off their caps and stand on them to keep their feet from freezing.

"This be Prudence and Mary Ball." The old lady introduced the two ladies suddenly.

"Our three brothers are in Lieutenant Farrand's company," cried Mistress Prudence, looking over at Mehitable with wet eyes. "Why—we—we did not dream they were so needy!" she stammered. "We shall not sleep this night before we have finished those stockings!"

"So every mother and sister hath said!" Mistress Farrand nodded encouragingly. "I knew they would respond thus! Drive on, Dan—we still ha' many places to visit! Ye must pardon my not getting out o' the cart, for it doth save my time!" she called back, as Dan chirped to his oxen, and the funny contraption moved ponderously away.

"Aye!" the ladies called back, waving cordially. "And now to work, Prue," added Mistress Mary as, nodding hastily to the two on horseback, they turned and hurried into the house.

"I'll warrant stockings will pour down Jockey Hollow Road to our army camp in a steady stream on the morrow!" observed John Condit laughingly yet in moved tones. "Think you an appeal to mothers could fail!"

Mehitable nodded silently, for, somehow, there was a great lump in her throat, as she thought of


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 the candles which would flicker that night on the brave, worn faces of the Continental mothers as, hour after hour, from dark to dawn, they would sit up to knit the socks for the cold, bruised feet which once, tiny and pink and cunning, they had held in their hands to kiss.

"What an uneventful trip this has been!" remarked the girl presently, as they went jogging along the road where, leaving Whippanong village, it curved to begin an ascent between wild, lonely hills.

"Art disappointed?" commenced John, laughing, then he paused and his sister, glancing at him questioningly, saw him draw his reins all at once to greet a silent figure which had appeared beside the road as though by magic, out of nowhere.

"Gray Hawk!" exclaimed Mehitable breathlessly.

The Indian turned to her with hand up, palm outward, in stately welcome; but his glance flew back to John's face and, pointing to the road which led forward, he shook his head.

"Danger!" he grunted.

John nodded. Without knowing in what the danger consisted, he accepted the red man's statement without question. Then, as all three remained silent, they heard, far off, thundering toward them, the sound of a horse's hoofs!

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 again, with the advance of night, the bright sunshine having been dimmed by gathering clouds even before they left home. Mehitable, sitting motionless in her saddle, suddenly shivered at the penetrating dampness and perhaps because of the wild loneliness of the hills and the blackness of the night and the mystery of those ever-nearing hoof-beats.

"Art cold, Hitty!" asked John concernedly, noticing her shiver. "Yet we had best remain here forthe nonce. We will ride hard, later, to get your blood warm, but now those hoof-beats portend evil. Is it not so, Gray Hawk?" He glanced at the Indian, who nodded in the darkness.

"It is so, my brother," returned Gray Hawk in his own language.

"Aye, I do not mind" Mehitable broke off with a gasp. For, as they waited beside the road, where they had withdrawn, a horse flashed out of the night, passed them like a flying thing, and disappeared into the darkness beyond. Gray Hawk galloped after it, and before the others realized he was gone, he returned, leading his trophy.

Mehitable peered uneasily at the captured runaway beast. "Why, John, what be on this horse's back?" she asked in a shocked voice.

John Condit hastily dismounted and approached the horse, which the Indian was quieting. Tis Sturgins!" John told her presently. His voice


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 was strained and hoarse. "Some Tory fiends hath tied him head downward on his horse and sent him off, thus!"

Mehitable uttered an exclamation of pity as Doctor Condit, whipping out his knife, cut the cruel knots of hemp around Sturgins and lifted his limp figure to the ground. Gray Hawk led the bodyservant's horse to a near by sapling in the little glen in which they were hidden, and there secured the beast.

"Can ye stay here, Sis, while I ride back a short ways to the river and get poor Sturgins some water?" asked John Condit, rising after a short examination of the unconscious man.

Mehitable shrank back instinctively. "Can ye not use snow, John?" she asked quickly.

Her brother shook his head. "He cannot drink snow, Hitty," he said quietly. He stood waiting for a moment; but only a moment. The next instant Mehitable had squared her shoulders.

"I'll stay, John," she told him bravely. "Only—" her voice broke a little—"only hurry, won't ye?"

"Aye." Nodding his head at her approvingly, John hurriedly mounted his horse and headed him back for the river. "Gray Hawk will watch o'er ye!"

But Mehitable, glancing at the Indian's aloof, silent figure beside the road, thought wistfully


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 that he was not much company. She slipped from her horse and went over to kneel beside the injured man. Pityingly she unfastened his coat collar and loosened it. Whether it was the icy touch of her fingers or because he was at that moment recovering consciousness, Sturgins uttered a groan and spoke.

"Captain!"

Mehitable bent over him. "He be gone for water to help revive ye, Sturgins," she told him.

"Captain!" Unheedingly, Sturgins repeated it. Suddenly, gasping, staring, he half raised himself from the snowy ground. "The Tories—the Tories" he panted wildly.

Mehitable tried to soothe him. "Captain Condit will return i' a moment, Sturgins. Nay, rest ye easy!"

"The Tories—I overheard—Kemble" Sturgins fell to muttering deliriously.

Mehitable, listening impatiently for her brother's return, paid not much attention until a random name caught her ear.

"Hawtree!" She bent over the servant again. "Said ye Hawtree, Sturgins?"

"Aye, mistress!" For the first time Sturgins looked at her rationally, with clearing gaze. It was dark, so that they could scarcely see each other's faces; but as they looked, the moon eluded the baffling snow clouds and, like a curious specta-


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 tor, remained to stare down at the scene. And now, kneeling there, Mehitable caught a new tone to Sturgins's voice and was convinced that he no longer wandered in his mind. "Hawtree caught me—I got wind o' their meetin' in Kemble's barn—Mr. Richard Kemble did take the oath; but he and his old father both be Tories at heart, oath or no oath—'twas done jes' to save their property from confiscation. Hawtree and Jaffray caught me"

Mehitable's heart had given a leap of terror. "Jaffray, too?" she faltered. "Art sure? Then I did see Hawtree t'other day! Oh, how dared they come to the very army camp!"

"Spies do be everywhere, mistress!" Sturgins, strengthened by excitement, sat up. "And ye can see," he made an eloquent gesture, "the result o' their catchin' me—the captain will ha' some bother fixin' me up this time, though I ain't afeared but what he kin do it! Nay, mistress, I be not afeared o' that." He faltered. "Jaffray," he went on in a weaker tone, "Jaffray lashed me—allus he hated me, e'en when I worked for him on the river—then—then he tied me upon my horse as ye found me. He gave it a kick, too, the varlet—hurtin' my beast thus! And he said—'Go,' he said, 'tell your mas ter worse awaits him for his insolence at Ranfield's!


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 Mehitable caught her breath and glanced nervously around the moonlit glen. Yonder waited the Indian, cold, aloof, impassive. What could be delaying her brother? she asked herself. Why did he not return? The Whippanong River was only a short ways back. Surely John had not been intercepted upon that short stretch of road. Then, as she listened, the sound of hoof-beats came to her ears, and she turned in acute relief to Sturgins.

"There be the Captain!" she said, brightening. But Sturgins fell back upon the ground with a bitter groan, and, glancing at Gray Hawk, Mehitable was alarmed to see him crouched forward in an attitude of tense listenings.

"It be more than one horse! Can't ye hear? Gad, an it be the Tories again!" All at once, to Mehitable's fright, he turned over and pounded the snow with convulsive hand. "We be lost! Hawtree and Jaffray—they threatened to follow me—I was not going to scare ye by telling ye so—but now what matters it? 'Tis them—'tis them!"

"Ah, no, Sturgins!" Mehitable half sobbed it. But before she could say more, before she could move, horsemen galloped past on the road, coming from the direction of Morris Town.

Now, all would have gone well, in spite of the moonlight, for Gray Hawk, like a flash, had withdrawn behind a tree, where he and his horse melted


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 all they got for the farm. But all this time she had a wad stuck away down in her stocking, where no one could see it. But the Lord saw it, and he smote her dead also. This is what happened to Christians who refused to divide up when Christianity was still in working order.

Nowadays the preachers explain that Ananias and his old lady were killed because they lied and not because they refused to divide their land. But anybody with a grain of sense ought to know that if folks got killed for lying in business only deaf and dumb people would populate this world.

Yes, the private ownership of land is wrong from the religious standpoint, but if people who claim to be saved don't care a rap for what God says, then what's the use for an ordinary mortal like myself to spring the religious argument against the private ownership of land? It wouldn't cause the most pious land owner on earth to part with enough soil to make a mud pie.

Land is the storehouse of nature, from which mankind draws the material to sustain life. Those who hold the key to this storehouse also hold in their hands the life of those who cannot enter without their permission.

Labor applied to land creates wealth; but those who are denied access to the soil can only create wealth by working for the owner of the land.

Land is the free gift of nature to all her children. If there such a thing as natural right, the right to the use of the land should be foremost. But in this world of strife and struggle there is no such a thing as natural right. "Might is right," and for thousands of years the mighty have possessed themselves of the land and used it to oppress and enslave the weak. Even a religion which proclaims the Fatherhood of God and the Brotherhood of Men failed to prevent a division of "God's Children" into lords and serfs, landlords and tenants.

As long as our population was small and land practically unlimited landlordism could not develop, for no man will voluntarily work for another for less than he can get by working for himself. But in the course of time the country became more densely populated. A capitalist government, with an eye for the interest of the class it served, presented whole empires to railroad companies. Up to 1896 our benevolent, paternalistic government gave 266,000,000 acres of land to the railroad promoters. The Northern Pacific alone received a grant of forty-eight million acres.

Most of these grants were obtained through fraud, bribery and the corruption of the representatives of the people,


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 imperceptibly into the background and the others were close to the ground; but Mehitable's horse neighed. Instantly, as though they had been listening with sharpened ears as they galloped, the horsemen wheeled and returned to the glen.

The girl, springing to her feet, stood in frozen horror as the newcomers threw themselves from their steeds. It was Hawtree who seized her! It was Jaffray who kicked the prone figure of Sturgins, moaning in fright upon the ground! But the next moment Mehitable gave a bitter cry, for John galloped unsuspectingly into the glen!

Everything seemed to happen at once, then. There was a blow. Was it upon Mehitable's head? Sinking into oblivion, the girl thought dully it must have been delivered by Hawtree's cowardly fist. The wild voice of Sturgins came to her dimly through vast distance, as he struggled to his feet, dodging Jaffray, and ran weakly toward his master. John had leaped from his horse, and now, with drawn pistol, stood crouched behind the beast.

Mehitable, her senses swimming, felt the earth rock.

"Captain, run—run, sir! I'll fight them! Only run, sir!" It was Sturgins's voice again.

A flash came from Jaffray's gun, there was the whir of a tomahawk, there was another flash from John's pistol and poor Sturgins, between the three,


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 threw up his hands, spun a quarter of the way around, and fell upon his face. All this Mehitable saw darkly, as though through a smoked glass, before smothering blackness swooped upon her and she knew no more!


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T WAS a long time before Mehitable opened her eyes. When she did so, she found her head pillowed upon someone's knee and John Condit kneeling upon the ground near by, beside a silent figure.

"Greater love hath no man" John was saying, with a little catch in his breath. "Ah, Tony!" he cried pitifully.

Someone spoke above Mehitable's head. Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.' Poor Sturgins! He did indeed love ye well, John!" There was a tremor in the deep voice and Mehitable, lying languidly, felt her hair stirred by a sigh. With that, she tried to lift her head.

At once there was a tenseness in the arms that held her. A short pause ensued. Then Anthony Freeman spoke a trifle breathlessly.

"Your—your sister be recovering from her swoon, I think, John."

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 at another figure lying equally motionless on the snow near by, and, rising, came toward Mehitable.

"Well, Sis?" He tried to say it lightly, as he dropped upon one knee beside her; but the awfulness of those moments a short time ago rushed upon them both, and with a little sob, Mehitable sat up and put her arms around his neck. Patting and soothing her, John hugged her to him with brotherly warmth. "At least," he whispered after awhile, during which Captain Freeman, relieved of his burden, got up and moved courteously out of hearing, "at least you and I and Gray Hawk be whole and sound. The rogues got only," he threw back his head to wink the tears out of his eyes, his voice growing thick, "got only old Sturgins!"

Mehitable pushed back the dark hair from her forehead with a weak gesture. "But—would ye mind—I—I can't seem to remember! Why be Captain Freeman here? Whence did he come? And where be Gray Hawk?"

"The Tories arrived but a moment before I returned. Gray Hawk slipped away in a desperate effort to head me off from the glen; but I had cut back through the woods from the river—I lost my way for the nonce, too—and he missed me! When he returned, Tony—who was en route to Whippanong—was here, having heard the fracas from the road. Tony fought like twelve men, as did Gray Hawk, then—but 'twas Tony who had


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 Jaffray squealing like a pig from his marvelous sword strokes"—here John laughed in sheer revulsion of feeling—"and who caught ye away from Hawtree, whom I thought to see come to his end then and there, handicapped though Tony was by holding ye and fighting wi' one hand! By the time I had dealt the other Tories a blow or two—that fellow we saw at Ranfield's Tavern was one o' them, by the way—the villains fled, leaving Jaffray a victim to Gray Hawk's tomahawk." Mehitable repressed a shudder. "Ho, Tony—where are ye? Gray Hawk fled after the Tories, Hitty! Ho, Tony—come hither and be thanked by two eternally grateful folk for your sword's prowess!"

Mehitable struggled to her feet. She felt dizzy and sick: Even to her own ears, her voice, when she spoke, sounded curt and cold; but she could not control its tone, so vague and unreal did she still feel after the turmoil of the fight.

"Captain Freeman, I be in your debt, 'twould seem."

The eager figure advancing to meet her stopped with an abruptness that might have shown the girl, had she been less dazed, how ungrateful she appeared. Then Anthony Freeman bowed formally.

Tis I who am in your debt, mistress, for the opportunity to use my idle sword! Ram's Horn, John," he turned with a laugh toward Doctor Con-


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 dit, twas really a most glorious fight and I ha' ye to thank for giving me a chance to exert myself! 'Twas a relief"—his voice was whimsical—"to get at the enemy after being cooped up i' camp for a month or two! It be far easier to fight than to wait!"

Mehitable, upon her brother's arm, went slowly toward her horse. "Now ye ha' got the woman's viewpoint o' the war, sir," she said, meaning to be humorous; but sounding only ironical to the young man's sensitive ears.

"Can ye ride, think ye, Hitty?" asked John Condit in an anxious undertone, after he had hoisted her into her saddle, noticing her unsteadiness there.

"Aye!" nodded Mehitable. Her hands were moist from the effort of holding herself erect upon her horse; but her voice was indomitable.

Captain Freeman, mounting to his own saddle, swore softly at the pathos of the little slender figure drooping upon her steed near him.

"I would suggest," he spoke savagely, wondering at his friend's stupidity, "that ye hold your sister before ye upon your horse and I will lead hers, John! Ye poor fool!" he added softly to himself, with an angry glance at his unconscious friend.

"O' course!" Instantly remorseful, John Condit rode close to Mehitable and plucked her from her saddle. "Now, why did I not think o' that!"


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 "Ye would have, had it been Nancy!" Unwittingly, Captain Freeman placed resentful stress upon his cousin's name, who was John's betrothed.

There was a little silence as the four horses went clop-clopping down the curving, hilly road, for, besides Mehitable's, Captain Freeman was leading Sturgins's mount as well. Then the girl felt her brother shake with mirth. When she demanded the reason, he shook his head at first.

"Nay, tell me why ye laugh!" persisted the girl.

"I—I—was but wondering why it was Tony, here, who thought o' your riding wi' someone!" said John meekly. And burst into renewed laughter when Mehitable's back stiffened into a haughty ramrod.

But it was not the night for mirth. Presently John fell silent, brooding upon the humble, faithful friend he had left behind him in the glen, beneath the stark, naked trees.

"To-morrow," he's aid to Captain Freeman, "to-morrow must we return wi' pick and shovels, Tony!"

"Aye—an the wolves don't go earlier!" Anthony's voice was dispirited, and they finished their journey in gloomy speechlessness, Mehitable lying spent against her brother's shoulder in a daze of misery.

Doctor Condit prescribed a day in bed for his sister when, to Charity's fright, and Mistress Lind-


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 sley's concern, he carried Mehitable into Mistress Lindsley's kitchen a little later. He told them hastily what had happened, then hurried out to rejoin his friend and the restive horses.

The next morning, Mehitable, however, insisted upon rising, declaring that, save for a little stiffness, she felt perfectly well.

"Just think, Cherry, on the morrow 'tis Christmas!" she mused that afternoon.

"It does no good to think on't!" sighed Charity.

"How feels your head where that wicked man did strike ye?" asked Tabitha, looking up from her knitting. "Someone at the door, Cherry!" she added.

"My head does not hurt, now!" answered Mehitable. "John said he struck me not upon my temple, but where my hair broke the blow. And that I swooned more from fright than hurt. Who was it, Cherry?" She looked expectantly, as did Tabitha, at her sister, as the latter closed the door and came back to the fireside.

"It was someone asking to be directed to the army encampment," answered Charity, laughing. "That be the tenth person—I vow 'tis so! I've been called and called to the door and always 'tis the same question, 'Where be the army encampment? Which way lies Basking Ridge?

Mehitable looked at her in smiling speculation. "I do believe that this be the result o' Mistress


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 Farrand's letter-reading! These be 'letter stockings' from all the mothers who heard her read yesterday!" she exclaimed.

"What do ye mean?" demanded the other two. And how they laughed and applauded when Mehitable told them of having met the spirited old lady riding and knitting in her oxcart, going forth to arouse the feminine countryside to action.

Christmas Day passed quietly, with not even an extra candle lighted to add festivity, and because of the food scarcity, which was becoming more noticeable, not even an extra goody to grace the table.

It was the morning of December twenty-eighth that Tabitha, who had been out in the storm which had descended finally upon Morris Town after days of threatening, came into the kitchen. She looked spent and weary and for a little time, while she was removing her wet cloak and stamping the snow from her feet, she said little. At last, in answer to a question from Mehitable who, spinning beside the fire, had been regarding her curiously above the whirring wheel, Tabitha said that she had been to the headquarters for Mistress Lindsley.

"And, oh, Hitty"—she faced the other in sudden agitation—"there do be doubts o' General Arnold's acquittal now! My cousin told me, though, of course, in private, for public belief in his exonera-


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 tion is favorable, that he is afraid the general is going to be sorely disappointed!"

"When will General Arnold know the result o' his trial?" inquired Mehitable.

"Not for weeks, mayhap!" Tabitha shook her head sadly. "I fear 'twill turn him into a bitter man, one ready for disloyalty, e'en," she added.

"Oh, no!—how could a patriot as fine as General Arnold e'er turn traitor to his country!" cried Mehitable, shocked.

But Tabitha continued shaking her head. "An he thinks his compatriots deemed him unworthy, remembering not what he had done for his country, remembering not the wounds he had undergone for the sake o' that country, listening only to words against him, no telling what might happen, Hitty!" she said sagely, unconscious that she was forecasting General Arnold's terrible act which later was to shock everyone.

Mehitable stopped her spinning wheel, and, rising, came over to the other girl. "Tabbie," she said quietly, "art still comparing General Arnold's fate with the possible one o' your brother?"

Tabitha stood stock still, twisting and untwisting her hands and refusing to meet Mehitable's kindly, searching gaze.

"Aye." Facing away from her obstinately, Tabitha nodded at last.


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 "But why, my dear?" Mehitable gently drew her around. "Do ye know, Tabbie, I vow part o' your trouble is anticipating it! Always ye do look on the dark side o' things. Ye said that ye had suspicioned your brother being a Tory, despite his telling you he was patriot. Well, mayhap events would have happened as they did, yet would ye have been spared days, weeks o' suffering, had ye not brooded over it. Ye not only meet trouble halfway, but ye take a stagecoach to get ye there quicker!"

"A stagecoach?" Poor Tabitha looked at Mehitable without humor.

"In your mind, child," responded Mehitable, laughing and impatient. "A make-believe stagecoach!"

"But, Hitty, I can't help being that way," said Tabitha gently.

Mehitable looked at her for a long moment and finally sighed. "I fear ye be right," she returned. "But I do feel sorry for ye, Tabbie!"

About three o'clock that afternoon, Mehitable and Charity, restless from confinement, started out through the blizzard. They had seized upon the slight excuse of borrowing some thread for Mistress Lindsley from her friend, the housekeeper at headquarters.

"And mayhap we could see the son o' Mistress Ford's—Timothy, who be home wounded," sug-


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 gested Mehitable, trudging along with her head bent before the whirlwind of snow that drifted up the lane toward them.

"Aye." Charity's voice was doubtful. Presently she added, "But I like not visiting strange young men, Hitty!"

"Oh, Cherry, when he be ill and wounded!" exclaimed the more sociable Mehitable. "Fie, suppose it were Young Cy!" And she turned to look over her shoulder at the other.

Charity, plodding behind her sister with down-bent head, did not see the mischief lurking in Mehitable's dark eyes, and she answered her remorsefully, her tender heart instantly touched.

"You are right, Hitty! I do feel ashamed!"

They were admitted to the Ford residence by the Negro doorman, and asking for Mistress Thompson were directed to a little rear room back of the dining room. There they found the lady poring over her accounts. She greeted them kindly and pushed back her papers with a rueful laugh.

"Nay, I am glad to be interrupted!" she exclaimed in answer to Mehitable's apology, Tis a task, to make army rations serve a general's table. My poor head be aweary trying to stretch portions and menus! Master Timothy?" she added, in response to Mehitable's inquiry. "Ah, this be one of his bad days, my child. I fear his mother will


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 allow no one to see him. I will ask her, an ye wait, however!"

"Nay!" Mehitable started up. "Please disturb no one. We will come again, mistress. An ye give me the thread Mistress Lindsley desires, Charity and I will go back, I think, for"—she glanced out of the window, against which the snow was drifting in such moist, wet quantities as to shut out the light—"the storm be growing worse!"

They followed the housekeeper out into the hall and waited at the foot of the stairs while she went up to her room to get the desired thread. As they stood there, shy and rather ill at ease, suddenly there swept through the house a vague flurry of excitement, followed by a commotion outside the door. Measured footsteps sounded then upon the stairway, and General Washington, followed by Colonel Hamilton, descended, as hurriedly as his dignity would allow him. The Negro was already at the door, with his hand upon the latch, and now other servants came in, to line up in a respectful group, and as Mistress Ford came down the stairs, he opened the great door.

As Mehitable and Charity shrank back in embarrassment, a short, stout figure, much wrapped in furs, came up the outside steps from a sleigh and was met at the threshold by His Excellency, who, a tender smile upon his face, bent to kiss his wife.

Mistress Ford now stepped forward, a welcoming


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 smile upon her sweet face, also, and then the small, plump woman who was destined to be the First Lady of the Land was led up to her room by husband and hostess and the others, as the door of the built-in stairs closed behind that group, dispersed, scattering to their interrupted tasks.

Mehitable nudged Charity. "I think 'tis better for us not to wait, Cherry," she whispered. "Mistress Thompson, I fear, hath forgotten us!"

Charity, nodding, turned toward the front door. But as the two girls arrived there, a deep voice arrested their footsteps.

"How now, Mistress Condit? Hath yet found thy buckle?" And Mehitable, turning back, looked up into the smiling dark eyes of Alexander Hamilton.

"My sister Charity, sir!" She presented Charity to him. "Nay," she added sorrowfully, the introduction having been accomplished. "I have not seen it since the night the fellow Simpson took it! I wonder an he e'er reached headquarters wi' his stolen report? My brother and I saw him not long hence i' the woods—he attacked us wi' some other Tory villains—poor Tabbie, I did not tell her 'twas her brother among them, Charity." Mehitable interrupted herself to turn to the younger girl, who nodded her approval.

"I ha' not the least doubt Simpson reached British headquarters," returned Hamilton, replying


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 to Mehitable's half question. "The enemy have not molested us, at any rate. We have ye to thank for the ruse, mistress."

"Nay, I did naught!" protested Mehitable modestly.

"Nay—but you did!" answered Hamilton laughingly. "My child," the ancient young man of twenty-three or four looked at her in solemn admonition, "always accept praise when it be merited!"

Mehitable, at this, for her brother had told her of Hamilton's youth, could not control her twitching lips. Alexander Hamilton, glancing at her obliquely and reading aright the "Yes, Grandsire!" look in her dancing eyes, burst into irrepressible laughter, in which the two girls joined him, so that they were unaware of the descent of His Excellency, with Madam Washington and Mistress Ford, from the second floor until the three were upon them.

"Ah, Colonel Hamilton, how nice to meet ye once more!" exclaimed Madam Washington, hastening forward. Having greeted her husband's secretary, of whom she was very fond, with kindly warmth, she turned inquiringly to the two young girls.

"This be little Mistress Condit and her sister!" said His Excellency, advancing to Madam's side. "Captain Condit's relatives, my dear, from the Newark Mountains."


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 "I have heard o' ye, I believe, both from the general and your brother," said Madam Washington in her friendly yet dignified way. "I am glad to meet ye both!"

As she turned away with Mistress Ford, who was showing her about the house which was to be her winter home, the girls, curtseying, looked after her with keen interest. They saw a small, plump, well-formed woman in a simple gown and cap. A speckled homespun apron was tied around her waist, and in a knitting bag swinging from her arm could be noticed needles with a gray stocking well in the making on them. Upon retreating from a brief inspection of the parlor, Mehitable and Charity heard her mention Trenton.

"The Virginia troops were paraded i' my honor," she was telling her husband, with simple pleasure. She smiled again at the girls in passing. Colonel Hamilton was then summoned by his chief, and once more the girls turned toward the door.

"Wait!" said a breathless voice. Mistress Thompson, closing the door to the stair well behind her, hurried forward. "I am so sorry! First, I could not find the thread! Then Mistress Ford asked me to remain wi' her son while she came down to greet Madam Washington! There seemed no way o' letting ye know, for though there are many servants i' the house, yet, as is always the way, none passed Master Timothy's door just then.


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 And I liked not to ask Mistress Ford to charge her mind wi' telling ye!"

Mehitable took the little package of thread which Mistress Thompson handed to her, and putting it into her reticule, looked at the other laughingly.

"Your tarrying upstairs gave us opportunity to meet His Excellency's lady, so we feel not at all wrought up o'er your not appearing!" she remarked, curtseying. And Mistress Thompson instantly congratulated her, saying that not everyone could have that privilege, for Madam Washington was a home body, did not go forth abroad much, and generally was to be seen only by chance, as had happened that day.

"Come again, young maids," she said, nodding and smiling as she let them out the door.

Wending their way back through the storm, which had indeed grown worse, and now blew them along toward home with a wintry force that made them lean upon the wind, with their capes and their skirts flying out in front of them as though leading the way, the sisters were full of their unexpected glimpse of the great lady.

"But she be so homelike!" said Mehitable, in a disappointed voice. "I thought to see a fine lady!"

"Aye, so did I, wearing a gown o' silk and satin! Why, Hitty, she—she might ha' been Mother, wi'


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 her apron and her knitting and all!" Charity looked thoughtful as she scuffled along through the snow. "She is just like anybody! Yet," she added in her sensible way, 'tis doubtless better for General Washington that she be only a homebody, since his home, these war years, must be such as she can make it for him. "And fine ladies—the ones who dress i' silks and satins, ye mind—do not make real homes for any one very often! Ye know, Hitty, the more I think o't, the more sure I be that 'tis not always the fine ladies who wear fine clothes, anyway!"


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HERE be Father going?" Mehitable's voice was surprised, though rather muffled because of her efforts to roll the heavy churn from the icy buttery to a warmer place in the Condit kitchen.

Her mother looked up smilingly from the bread she was mixing upon the table. A great fire blazed upon the hearth, sending out such terrific heat that it threatened to scorch objects nearer than halfway across the room, for this was baking day, and the Dutch oven must be made ready. The heat was borne by the family without protest, however. Outside it was zero weather. A cold snap had come which, rumor had spread, had frozen solid for many feet all of the rivers, including the Hudson, and had made accessible, by passage across the ice, even Staten Island.

"I think he is going to Newark, Hitty!" Mistress Condit's arms moved with the lithe, thumping motion of flattening the bread out and rolling it back deftly into a great ball of dough. "Why, dear?"


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 "Newark!" Mehitable bumped the churn upright and stood regarding her mother with bright, disappointed eyes, "Oh, Mother—I thought he was going next week!"

"Well—I don't know." Mistress Condit shook her head absently, presently adding: "What difference does it make, Hitty? Surely ye were not thinking o' asking to go! Why," she protested, "I've only just gotten my two little maids back home, and here ye want to traipse again!"

"But, Mother"—Mehitable's tone was dignified, reasonable—"hast forgotten about the uniforms for the 'Blues'? We promised to help Mistress Hedden with them when we saw her at the Jones's last week!"

"Lawk, so we did!" Mistress Condit's expression was one of startled remembrance. "I had indeed forgotten! And, of course, your father won't go again to the Town by the River so soon!"

"Of course not!" agreed Mehitable, her manner mild. "Now"—she looked up briskly—"suppose ye ask Father to delay but a little while, and I will get the butter made. Then I will pack a saddlebag and plan to stay all night at the Heddens', as can Father, for Mistress Hedden hath often told him he was welcome—and we will be back to-morrow. 'Tis too cold for you and Cherry to venture forth; but I am tough and don't mind and we can keep our promise, Mother. The 'Jersey


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 Blues, finished the girl diplomatically, "ought not to suffer for lack o' uniforms because o' us womenfolk failing to do our part!"

"Aye, 'tis true!" Patriotic Mistress Condit was appealed to, as her wily young daughter knew she would be, in her most vulnerable spot. "Samuel," she addressed her husband, at that moment passing through the kitchen, "will ye not wait for Hitty to make the butter so that she may go with you to Newark?"

"Now, Mother!" Squire Condit stopped in the middle of the room and looked at her in reproachful dismay. "Cannot I plan to go out without being thus hindered? I am all ready, as ye can see." He gestured toward his boots and tapped the greatcoat he was wearing. "Besides," he started to pass his wife, as though the matter were ended, "it be much too cold for Hitty to venture forth!"

He reckoned without the lady, however. Mistress Condit, her floury arms outflung, stepped laughingly in front of him, barring his passage. "Now, Samuel, ye know what the end will be, so just make up your mind to yield at once!" she exclaimed, threatening to touch him and making him dance backward to avoid her.

Squire Condit burst into helpless laughter. "Nay, I surrender!" he cried, dodging with chuckling fear the floury hands which gestured so perilously close to his coat. "I will wait, though