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 to New York Town on a trumped-up charge, where I was confined in the New Gaol and afterward sentenced to the Long Room for a few months," Sally told her, nervously bursting into tears.

"The Long Room!" echoed Mistress Banks in a horrified voice. She glanced around her uneasily, almost as though she were afraid that the red-coats might return and seize her, too. She also had heard tales of the Long Room, not too pleasant! "Heaven help ye, Sally!" she exclaimed fervently. "Nay, but do not weep, lass! Ye be safe now!"

"Aye," nodded the girl, smiling through her tears. She wiped them away with a corner of her kerchief. "I do not know why I weep, now," she confessed. Tis silly o' me, indeed—but—but, oh, it was most dreadful!" Sally shuddered again. "Like a bad dream. Mistress Banks! 'Twas Marshal Cunningham who sentenced me!"

"Not the one who was so cruel to that poor lad, Nathan Hale?" ejaculated the tavern hostess. "Nay, I cannot blame ye for feeling overwrought, e'en now, my dear! But tell me about it!"

Twas General Howe who finally ordered me set free," said Sally. But now that she had an opportunity to tell of her adventures, she found herself too tired to do so. She soon fell into silence and Mistress Banks, surmising her hunger, called to Martha to bring out some bread and cold meat.

"I was going to make ye wait for supper, which

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 will soon be ready," said the lady, smiling, "but I fear for the consequences an I do! However, do not eat overly much, Sally, for you roast doth smell good to my nostrils."

Tis not lamb, is it?" asked Sally, munching.

Mistress Banks shook her head quickly. "Nay," she answered reproachfully. "Ye know the committee hath forbidden any lamb to be used—or mutton! The wool is too badly needed for our soldiers. I' truth, there be a heavy fine for any caught and convicted o' cooking lamb, e'en though the lamb be their own!"

"That is right and as it should be," answered Sally decidedly, shaking the crumbs from her lap. "For it seems not too much to ask, when our men i' the army e'en give up more than that!"

"Aye," agreed Mistress Banks, sighing. "Yet, methinks nothing can quite take the place o' roast lamb, wi' a smart mint sauce!" And the good lady sighed again.

Sally smiled. "Do ye know o' anyone returning this day to the Mountain?" she asked abruptly, changing the subject, for food, to Sally, as yet, was merely something with which one satisfied hunger and nothing to rhapsodize over.

Mistress Banks nodded briskly. "Aye," she answered. "Uzal Ball hath been i' town. I be sure he returns to the Mountain this very afternoon. He

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 sent word by Master Banks that he would be here for supper, Sally, so ye can go home wi' him."

"I came wi' Uzal," said Sally, "but I thought he would have returned ere this!"

"He did not get through his mother's business, he said last even. Odds crow," Mistress Banks sighed enviously, "I wish I were as well fixed as the Widow Ball at the Mountain on the ridge road! Her house and her lands and her sons! Oh, well!"

"Did—did Uzal say aught concerning the prisoner he brought wi' him to the authorities here?" asked Sally in a hesitant voice.

"A young red-coat."

"Aye."

"Why, he did escape! He was to ha' been lodged here in the jail and held till the New Jersey Council o' Safety met i' Morris Town later, when he was to ha' been removed thence. But he did escape," answered Mistress Banks comfortably. "But there be Uzal Ball, now! Let us go to meet him. Hi, hi! Ooh-hoo! Uzal!" Waving her hand in friendly greeting. Mistress Banks got to her feet and went to meet the young man coming up the slight eminence the tavern was placed upon.

Sally, following more slowly, turned her face and pretended to be looking beyond the inn at the Passaic River which was visible from the Rising Sun Tavern. She was more loath to meet Uzal than

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 she cared to admit; for, though Jerry's escape and her own kidnaping was no fault of hers, she did not know how he might regard it. Mistress Banks prepared the way, however, by pouring out Sally's recent experience in a pitying voice, so that, when the girl arrived near enough to make her curtsey, he bowed gravely and commiserated with her.

Tis too bad ye have had such a misadventure, Sally," he said slowly. "I was surprised, of a truth, to find ye gone when I returned to the town center the other day after chasing that—renegade!" Uzal's face darkened. There was a slight pause. "Deacon Alling saw ye taken by the red-coats and told me o't," he went on stiffly. "It seems to me," the young man looked at her half smilingly, then half accusingly, "it be ever your fortune of late—or misfortune—to be i' the midst o' any excitement offered hereabouts."

"But I be tired o't, believe me or not, Uzal," protested the girl wearily. "I long for peace! Oh, will this war ever cease!" Yet, in her heart of hearts, Sally knew that she would not want the old monotony again, having once tasted the heady excitement of life as presented by 1777.

Sally's nose, upon her first entering the inn kitchen that afternoon, had not played her false, as was attested by the excellent supper she and Uzal and the host, James Banks, enjoyed later in a corner of the big room with Mistress Banks. The latter,

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 a droll twinkle in her eyes, kept heaping the girl's trencher with food, until Sally had to cry for mercy, and even Uzal became jovial, for him, and protested that they might as well call it a feast day and be done with it.

Soon afterward, Uzal procured a horse for her to take the place of old Dot and they set forth upon their return journey to the Mountain.

"Tell Molly Todd my latchstring hangs out for her—'tis long since she and the children were here!" called out Mistress Banks, waving a cordial farewell to them from the doorway.

Trotting up hill and down dale, through woodland and past swamp, toward the setting sun, Sally was glad enough of Uzal's company as the dusk came, with its frightening suggestion of highwaymen and lurking red-coats and Tories. When at last they reached the Todd gate, she looked up at him with grateful eyes as she slipped off her horse.

"Ye ha' been good to me, Uzal," she said, really sincere in her thanks. "Will ye not come in?"

"Aye, for a moment, to see that all goes well here," answered the young man, glancing at the pretty face beneath the straying auburn curls, for Sally had loosened her bonnet strings and allowed it to fall back upon her shoulder, to gain coolness. The girl, looking back at him, turned away self-consciously, for she was not used to admiration; and now Uzal, securing the two horses and following

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 her up through the garden to the kitchen door, liked her all the better for the half-shy, absolute artlessness of her manner and the lovely childhood which was still Sally's greatest charm.

It was rather a shock to the young man, therefore, to enter the Todd kitchen and walk full upon a bitter scene of violent upbraidings and reproaches with which Mistress Todd, lying helpless upon the settle, was assailing the girl. Sally, who was made for love and kindness, to have to listen to this!

"Ye gallivantin' hussy—wi' me lying bound here to this settle wi' my foot and no one to care for the children! Ye shall rue this day, indeed, and"

"One moment, mistress, I prithee!" Uzal's grave voice broke unexpectedly into the dame's furious tirade. Mistress Todd, who had not seen him enter behind her little bond maid, started and then blushed. "One moment!" repeated Uzal. "Art aware that Sally, here, was kidnaped by the red-coats i' the Town by the River and taken to New York and there confined in the New Gaol?"

Sally, who had been standing silent and overwhelmed since her entrance, raised grateful eyes to his; but Uzal kept his gaze sternly upon Mistress Todd, for he had been rudely amazed by that lady's outbreak. Suddenly, however, to his terrible embarrassment, overcome by her chagrin and mortification, as well as by the real anxiety she had undergone, she burst into tears.

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 "Nay," she sobbed. "But—but—I d-do be aware o' the fact that—that Samuel hath been taken by a band o' Tories who came from Elizabeth Town, and that I have been lying here, helpless and alone, since last night, wi' only little Mary to care for me and the baby!"

"Is't true, indeed!"

"Master Todd taken!"

The two exclamations blended in shocked surprise. Then Sally added slowly, "It was Master Todd I saw being marched away between the red-coats upon the New York dock!"

Both Uzal and Mistress Todd turned to the girl in excitement, the latter wiping her eyes and sighing. "In New York Town!" The wife paled. "Ah, that means the Sugar House prison or worse, one o' their horrible, vile prison ships! Oh, Samuel! Samuel! I may never see thee again!" And once more she buried her face in her hands.

Uzal turned to her masterfully. "Nay, ye must not worry!" he advised. "We shall soon have Master Todd restored to our community!"

"I do hope so, Uzal!" Encouraged, Mistress Todd wiped her eyes again.

"Well, I will put the horse away i' the barn for the night and stop for him the next time I go to town," said Uzal after a silence.

"What mean ye?" Mistress Todd looked at him, astonished. "The horse?" She shifted her glance

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 to Sally's face and found confusion registered there. "Where is old Dot?" she asked sharply.

Sally returned her gaze steadily. "Old Dot was killed by the red-coats," she answered.

Mistress Todd's mouth narrowed into a thin, bitter line. "Always," she observed in a furious, trembling voice, "ye seem to bring trouble to me! I wish I had never seen ye, wretched maid!"

There was a tense silence, during which Sally's young face whitened until Uzal was really concerned at her pallor. She remained still, however, and he was forced to admire the girl's self-control. "Good blood doth somehow run i' the maid's veins," he thought involuntarily. "No fishwife or barmaid could e'er ha' mothered or grandmothered her!" Aloud he said, with an aspect of haste: "Mistress Todd, had we not better decide what ye must do? Surely ye cannot plan to remain here upon the farm, helpless as ye are!"

Mistress Todd looked at him, diverted at once. "I do not know what to do," she admitted. "Were I sure Samuel would not long be detained"

Uzal shook his head. Tis better not to plan upon the event of an early release for Master Todd. Rather plan otherwise and then be happily disappointed," he interrupted. "What say ye to a visit wi' Mistress Banks at the Rising Sun Tavern i' Newark? When we left, she sent a most cordial invitation to ye by us."

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 "The very thing!" Mistress Todd brightened.

"I will stop, an ye wish, for ye on the morrow, then," continued Uzal. "And we can make such arrangements as ye care to about the farm, here. Mayhap run it on shares, or as ye decide—for the term o' Master Todd's absence. 'Tis a pity to waste all his good planting for lack o' care. I be sure my mother would wish David and me to help a neighbor thus."

"That would do nicely, Uzal, and thank ye, indeed. I will be ready on the morrow, also," responded Mistress Todd.

Uzal glanced questioningly at Sally. "And" He paused, embarrassed.

Mistress Todd, whose eyes had followed shrewdly his glance, spoke with instant sharpness: "Indeed, I will not bother Mistress Banks by taking Sally! The maid will have to shift for herself awhile. She seems," the lady sneered, "to be well able to do this!"

Uzal turned to Sally. "Would ye like to come and visit my mother for a while, wi' Mistress Todd's permission?" he asked simply.

Sally could not speak. She merely raised brimming eyes to his and nodded, and so the matter was settled.

The next morning, as he had promised, Uzal drew up before the Todd farmhouse with his cart and horses. In the bustle of getting the children

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 ready and the little cowhide trunk packed, Sallyhad no time to think of herself. Many times she flew back and forth between cart and house; and at last the travelers were ready. When Uzal carried Mistress Todd out and placed her in a chair he had arranged in the back of the cart, Sally followed with the baby and, kissing him tenderly, put him in his mother's waiting arms. Then she hugged little Mary and swung her up into the straw-covered bottom of the cart.

"Good-bye, mistress," she said hesitatingly to the children's mother.

Mistress Todd nodded briefly. "Farewell to ye," she said in a cold voice.

Sally, left alone, flew about her task of "straightening up," trying to forget the little deserted feeling she had, the feeling of having been cast adrift in merciless fashion, without thought or care of her uncertain future. "The maid will have to shift for herself!" kept recurring to her, keeping miserable rhythm to the swing of her broom, to the swish of her dustcloth, to the ticking of the old clock in the corner. "How could she?" wondered Sally passionately. "Could she not ha' imagined little Mary i' my place! Oh, my mother, are ye not somewhere i' this great world? Are ye not wondering about me? Be there not somebody who cares?" And poor Sally wept some very bitter tears into

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 the kettle she was scouring. But it did no good to weep, as Sally, glancing at the waning sunlight, discovered. It only delayed and lengthened household tasks which had to be accomplished before she, too, could depart. So she wiped her eyes determinedly and pushed back her curls and presently a thrush, singing in a lilac bush near the kitchen door, heard his song echoed inside—waveringly, at first, then with gathering courage and determined joyfulness, and at last the hurt was washed from the young girl's heart with melody.

It had been arranged that Sally was to walk to the Widow Ball's house, a distance of a mile or two beyond the Todd farm, in the direction of Millburn village. Thus it was toward the south that Sally turned her face when, leaving a house clean and sweet-smelling behind her, she stepped out and locked the kitchen door behind her, hiding the enormous key beneath a flat stone by the well—toward the south and along a lane quiet with sun-flecked shadows and fragrant from the wild honey-suckle that grew along the road edge.

Approaching the Widow Ball's place, Sally looked curiously at the old stone house which had been finished in 1743, after much time and labor spent in preparing the stone, while the owners, Timothy and Esther Ball, lived in a log cabin on adjoining property. Now the date, 1743, with the

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 initials "T & E" over it, was inscribed upon a stone in the front chimney above the peak of the roof.

Mistress Esther Ball, a fine-looking woman a little past middle age, was seated upon the two-storied roofed porch when Sally, passing beneath the shade of the great walnut tree that stood between the road and the house, came up the sloping lawn toward her.

"Welcome, my child," she said in a full, gracious voice, rising to take the girl's heavy reticule from her and leading her into the shade of the porch. Sally was about to reply when a young man, about twenty-one years old, came strolling out the kitchen door, whereupon she turned red and shy, for she did not know David Ball as well as his brother.

"Ah, David," said his mother, smiling at the girl's ill-concealed confusion and thinking how pretty she was, with the flush in her cheeks and the thick curls framing her face. "Ye be just in time! Wilt take Sally's bag up to my chamber? Then she can sit down here wi' me on the porch and rest after her long, hot walk. I did not know," she turned kindly to the girl, "I did not know David was to be at leisure this noon, else I would have had him ride to fetch ye."

"Nay, I liked the walk," laughed Sally, more comfortable now that David's merry black eyes

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 were gone, for she had heard of his propensities for teasing and had viewed with alarm his unexpected appearance. "What a marvelous nice place this be," ventured the girl, with shy admiration.

Mistress Ball smiled pleasedly, then sighed. "Indeed, Timothy and I thought so, when first we built upon this spot. That was long ago, when the Mountain was wild, indeed, and friendly Indians used to come to our door." She sank into her porch chair and gazed out reminiscently over the lovely scene.

"Ah, tell me!" begged Sally. And the rest of the afternoon was spent upon the wide porch, with the fingers of both hostess and young guest busy with knitting needles, while story after story was told to eager Sally—the story of pioneer life upon this distant Mountain plantation, the story of fighting against wild beasts and rigorous winters and, most exciting of all, the story of the cyclone which had swept the valley below the First Mountain on June 22, 1756.

"Twenty-one years ago!" exclaimed Sally, in an awed voice.

"Twenty-one years ago," nodded Mistress Ball, "but remembered still as the worst storm we ha' ever had. It came about four o'clock i' the afternoon—folk thought it was a thunder shower, as was to be expected wi' the heat and the season. But it was wind—coming from the southwest to leave a

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 trail of destruction behind it. Houses and barns were flung about or carried a long distance, as though they had been chips. I mind Samuel Plerson's barn and mill house and the barn o' Justice Crane, as well as a new house built by Master Dodd and two widows named Ward—all destroyed!"

Sally, glancing out across the peaceful lawn, tried to visualize the scene of loss and horror, gave it up with a shake of her head. But after a while, glancing down the road again, she uttered an interested exclamation and leaned forward in her chair.

"Yonder come horsemen!" she said wonderingly. "Who think ye they be?"

Mistress Ball adjusted the steel spectacles upon her nose. "Nay," she answered uncertainly, "I cannot see that far. I know not who they be, unless 'tis Uzal and a friend, returning quicker than 'twould seem possible from the Town by the River."

Suddenly, Sally, who had kept her eyes glued upon the approaching riders, whirled around. "They wear uniforms!" she cried. Tis the buff and blue o' His Excellency's soldiers!"

But now Mistress Ball could recognize the horsemen. She rose to her feet with a gasp. "Ye speak truly, little maid!" she said, with a thrill in her voice. "It be His Excellency, himself!" And with

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 queenlike dignity she advanced with an air of gracious welcome to the edge of the porch.

Sally, following, glanced at Mistress Ball's calm face and wondered how she could be so composed. She, herself, fairly trembled from excitement and amazement, standing there watching the tall figure of the American commander in chief dismount and advance toward them, leaving the younger, shorter man who was with him to secure their horses to the great walnut tree.

"How now, Cousin!" greeted General Washington. ("Cousin!" thought Sally with a mental gasp.) "Colonel Hamilton nor I could pass without stopping to pay our respects!" Gravely, he bent over Mistress Ball's extended hand, as she curtseyed to him.

Sally, curtseying, too, agitatedly backed toward the porch bench, found to her confusion that that was where His Excellency was about to seat himself, backed to another chair and discovered that Colonel Hamilton had selected that! Then, looking wildly around, she was about to fly into the house, overcome by confusion, when she heard Mistress Ball's sweet voice call her.

"Sally! Will ye not seat yourselves," smilingly, "and let Sally, here, bring ye some buttermilk, gentlemen."

This considerate dismissal touched the girl's heart, sore from humiliation at her own awkward-

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 ness. Seldom, indeed, had such gentleness been shown her! She shuddered to think what would have been Mistress Todd's look and manner upon like occasion! So that, when she emerged a little later, with the scarlet faded from her round cheeks and the humiliation from her heart, Sally looked at her hostess with passionate gratitude over the tray she carried and felt that she could have died to serve her—instead of merely dispensing buttermilk to her guests!

Colonel Hamilton turned eagerly to accept the silver flagon of cool liquid which Sally handed him. He rose, then, with punctilious politeness until the girl, overcome anew by such deference, retired bashfully once more to the kitchen, where she might watch the famous men in peace through the door crack.

Rachel, Mistress Ball's daughter, was studying the larder supplies with anxious eyes, planning for supper, with Sally suggesting and reassuring, when Uzal, returned from the Town by the River, entered the kitchen an hour later.

"Plan your meal to be served up in the parlor, Ray," he said, with a nod toward the short flight of stairs which led to apartments above. "We are about to bring His Excellency's horse into the kitchen for hiding so that in case of alarm he will be safe."

It was while she was crouching over the fire, then,

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 attending to the simmering pots, that Sally heard an odd noise, a crunching, munching sort of sound. She looked up curiously, to behold His Excellency's horse impolitely chewing off mouthfuls of the Widow Ball's wooden window ledge! She stifled a laugh and said nothing, although Colonel Hamilton and David kept glancing at her merry eyes as though they longed to ask the cause and share her mirth, all through supper.

They were seated comfortably around the candlelit table when David, who had gone outside to stand guard, burst into the parlor. "Fly!" he gasped. "The Tories! They ha' heard o' His Excellency's presence here! Young Zenas Williams, who heard his brother James plot wi' the Tories, but now hath arrived. He doth say that James be leading them hither on the ridge road from the settlement!"

Swiftly General Washington bowed over the Widow Ball's hand and was gone. There was a clatter of hoofs from the kitchen below, a low command, and then a dark figure issuing from the door near the chimney leaped upon another dark form and was off.

"Not this night, James Williams, do ye capture the hope o' these United Colonies!" exclaimed David exultantly, when Colonel Hamilton, bidding them adieu, had hastily followed his chief and had galloped off toward the village of Millburn and on

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 to Morris Town. Twill take more than a youth o' your ilk to do so and—and"

"Please heaven, there be no such person i' the world!" finished Sally saucily. "But lawk-a-me, how hungry His Excellency's horse was!" And she pointed out to the astonished Ball family, as they followed her curiously into the kitchen, the chewed-off window ledge!

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ALLY was singing. And Uzal Ball, listening outside his mother's kitchen window, was smiling with pleasure. For Sally's voice rose like a lark, higher, higher, until the clear sweetness of it seemed to fly into his very self and tug at his heartstrings. Suddenly, however, the song stopped with an abruptness that left Uzal a-gaping, when a very human ejaculation of dismay following the song sent him hurriedly stealing away, with a furtive, foolish glance around to see that no one had observed his foolishnessfoolishness. [sic]

He flushed a deep, angry crimson when, raising his head, he saw David teasingly grinning down at him from the half-story landing of a flight of outside stairs. Neither brother said a word. Only Uzal knew that David was thinking: "Ha—he be sweet upon the little maid!" And Uzal was furious accordingly, for who likes to be observed paying unconscious court! Especially when one is a rather sour, dour young man of settled bachelorhood.

Meanwhile, Sally was staring down sadly at a

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 great rent in her gown. And when Mistress Ball entered the kitchen a few minutes later, a stifled little sob made her look toward a dark corner of the big room.

"How now, my dear?" She stopped short upon her way to the cupboard. "Tears i' your eyes?"

"Aye." Sally dashed them away, however. "See what I did but now, Mistress Ball! And—and—the Williams sewing bee this very afternoon as ever is! I know not, forsooth, what I shall do!" Her lips trembled again. "This be mine only gown!"

Mistress Ball examined the long, jagged tear in her skirt that Sally held up for tremulous inspection. "However did ye do it, my child?" she asked. "Why, this be fit only for the rag bag, I'm thinking. Your best gown, ye say?"

"Aye." Again Sally nodded her head forlornly. "And what Mistress Todd will say when she doth return, I know not!"

"Humph—Mistress Todd should ha' provided gowns not quite so near the worn-out stage," thought Mistress Ball. But aloud she repeated: "How did ye tear it, lass?"

"On the fire-iron yonder," Sally told her, nodding toward the andirons. "I bent over to reach the back log—methought it was smouldering overly much—and snip! I heard my gown go as I straightened up. Oh, me, was ever maid so unfortunate!

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 'Tis plain to be seen I must gi' up going to the sewing bee!"

"Nay—wait!" Mistress Ball spoke absently, her eyes fixed upon a dower chest which stood beneath a window. She moved over to it and threw up the chest Hd. "Wait!" Her voice was muffled, now, as she bent over the chest. "Mayhap we can find something here for ye!"

With rising hope, Sally watched her. She caught delightful glimpses of gay satins, of lovely velvets, of many ribbons wound neatly in rolls. Anything, it seemed, might come forth from that chest! And like an eager Cinderella, she stood there in her old torn gown while Mistress Ball, fairy godmotherlike, delved and pulled at a generation's outgrown clothing. At last, with a little triumphant exclamation, the lady's searching fingers found what they sought, and, straightening herself, she turned around.

But, oh, how Sally's heart dropped with disappointment, like dead ashes putting out the tiny flame of joy which had commenced to flicker there! The gift gown was a drab one, indeed, in her young eyes, of a strange shade of plum-colored silk! A dark, elderly kind of gown!

Mistress Ball nodded at her smilingly as she held the gown up. "Take off thy torn gown and try this on!" she commanded kindly. Tis an outgrown one o' daughter Ray's, and I ha' thought,

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 I know not how many times, to gi' it to ye, Sally."

A few minutes later, Sally drew a long, tremulous breath. "How do I look?" she asked hopelessly.

"Ye look rarely lovely!" cried Mistress Ball, with sparkling eyes. "And it fits ye as though made for ye! Look ye here, Ray," she turned to glance laughingly at her daughter as the latter entered the kitchen, "and see how didst look five years ago!"

Rachel Ball came over to place her hand affectionately upon her mother's shoulder as the latter sank heavily into an armchair. "Nay," she answered smilingly, "the gown ne'er became me as it does Sally! 'Tis made for the child!" She looked toward the door. "Is it not, Uzal?" she asked laughingly.

Sally glanced up quickly. What a pity, she thought dismally, that Uzal should see her thus—for she had noticed and naïvely liked the admiration she had caught in the young man's unguarded eyes once or twice. But Sally's glance turned to a stare, for admiration was written boldly upon Uzal's face, was reflected in Mistress Ball's and Rachel's faces as well.

"Ye look rarely nice, Sally," was all Uzal said, however, before he turned upon his heel and abruptly disappeared.

And Sally wonderingly advanced to an old mirror to look at herself. There, before it, however, she remained so long that Mistress Ball and Rachel exchanged a glance.

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 "How do ye like the gown, lass?" asked Rachel tolerantly.

Sally started, gave a little gasp. "Like it!" she cried. "Why—why—it doth become me well, after all!"

Rachel commenced to laugh. "Did—did—ye think we were but fooling ye, Sally?" she stammered. "Trying to rid ourselves o' ancient duds and rags!" And she burst into renewed laughter at the artless admission in Sally's words.

But Sally, preening herself, turning this way and that as she struggled to glimpse herself at every angle, only smiled vaguely. "I wish," she sighed presently, "we were going to a ball i'stead o' a sewing bee!"

"Why, Sally?" asked Mistress Ball, shaking her head at Rachel.

"Because it be such a lovely gown," said Sally simply.

Rachel tossed her head. "Ye do look nice, Sally," she said, "but I fear ye would feel amiss at a ball, for I do assure ye, the plain little gown, while it doth become your hair and eyes, would look very, very plain, indeed, beside the other ladies' attire!" And Rachel tried not to look too superior, for she had once visited some wealthy cousins in Philadelphia, and there had caught a view of life quite different from the plain one of her parents, a life filled with routs and parties and fine clothes, where

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 hardships were unknown and work only something to discuss lightly, lazily over the teacups. Yet, since the war, there existed no sterner patriot than Rachel Ball, no one more self-denying for freedom's cause.

How could Sally eat her dinner, then, when she knew there hung, freshly pressed, that charming gown upon its wooden peg upstairs! More than once David glanced teasingly across the table at her beatific face and at last burst out: "What has happened to Sally f' Hast heard from thy long-lost parents, lass? Art going to leave us for" He stopped at his mother's chiding look.

"Nay, be not foolish, lad," said Mistress Ball reproachfully, glancing at Sally's drooping face. "We are but looking forward to this afternoon's sewing bee at Mistress Mary Williams's."

At that, Uzal raised his eyes from his trencher. "Watch thy words i' that household," he said dourly. Tis a hotbed o' Tories, there."

"Think ye so, Uzal?" answered his mother in a surprised voice. "Why, we are going to knit for the Continental soldiers, forsooth! And sew, too. Oh, I know young James be Tory; but he be only a foolish lad, not knowing his own mind as yet—adventuresome rather than bitter—as shown when he led the Tories after His Excellency that day some months ago."

"Mayhap ye will knit for the Continentals,"

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 retorted Uzal in a grim voice, "but I doubt an any o' Washington's men e'er see your stockings! All the Williamses be a blot on this patriotic community o' ours—and that be a fact!"

"Nay, I feel sure that ye wrong them," protested Mistress Ball, who was ever disposed toward lenience, while the others remained silent, interested listeners.

Uzal shoved his chair back violently from the table. "I tell ye. Mother, I do know the Williamses—Benjamin and Nathaniel and their families do be traitors to the Colonies' cause," he began in a loud angry voice, rising stormily to his feet. "Why name me nays? Old Amos Williams was as hot-headed and as bigoted a Tory afore he died as e'er saw this Mountain and his two sons be just like him. Why," Uzal thumped the table and Sally stared at the dancing dinner dishes, "they do say that Benjamin Williams hath e'en been seen wearing one o' Skinner's green uniforms o'er on Staten Island—though now the sneak be back on his farm, pretending loyalty. The Committee do be watching him, though," Uzal looked at them all significantly, "and when the Amnesty Act doth expire, that gentleman may have a different tune to sing—or lose his land!"

Mistress Ball, gazing at her usually silent son, saw that he was really wrought up over the matter, as attested by his trembling hands.

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 "There, there, Uzal, it may be so," she said pacifically, "and we all do promise ye," she looked smilingly at Rachel and Sally, "to watch our tongues and not betray any patriot or war secrets this afternoon."

"Now ye do make fun o' me," said Uzal sullenly. He started for the door, stopped upon the kitchen threshold. "But I give ye serious warning, all"

Here Rachel interrupted her brother impatiently. "Oh, get along wi' ye!" she exclaimed. "Wi' your warnings and your worryings! Mother and I be discreet enow—we have not lived i' the same house wi' you since the war started not to be!—as for Sally, I know o' no more fiery patriot than she!" She smiled at the girl. Then, as Uzal disappeared, Rachel looked at her mother. "In truth, I find Uzal becoming more fanatical everyday!" she complained. Tis getting to be most unpleasant!"

"Patience, Rachel, my child," urged Mistress Ball. "Uzal hath seen much o' the sad side o' this war. Whereas you and I," she sighed, "what know we! We have been more fortunate and more protected than most! But Mistress Williams—" she paused for a thoughtful instant, pondered, brightened—"nay, I feel sure she be a true patriot and that Uzal be wrong!"

"Aye—mayhap about her," Rachel took the tablecloth to the door and shook it invitingly at some bright-eyed robins hopping upon the lawn,

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 but Uzal be right about her husband and the Committee, Ma—Master Hedden's daughter—o' the Town by the River—she did tell me Samuel Williams was under watch! Master Hedden hath been appointed to enforce the oath o' allegiance, ye mind!"

"Is't true, indeed!" Mistress Ball's voice was shocked. "Well, mayhap 'tis best to be watchful o' our tongues this day. Ye, too, Sally," she turned to the listening girl, "for we do not know friend from foe this hard year!"

But that afternoon, looking around the Williamses' big, pleasant kitchen where Mistress Mary's guests—a dozen or so neighbor women—had informally gathered, Sally thought there could be no doubt that all were friends. Such a hum of voices, such merry laughter, such a click of knitting needles that flashed in the sunshine stealing in through tiny-paned windows, for pleasure gatherings were few and far between, nowadays, and everyone was determined to get the most fun possible out of this. The dusk came early to that house, however—soon shadows were stealing out from every corner, for, built long ago, in 1730, by old Amos Williams, it nestled so near to the foot of the First Mountain, and had so few windows in its thick stone walls—glass was too expensive!—that the sunshine departed early, and even the brightest day found the house interior gloomy and dark.

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 Friends! Yet, even as she thought this, Sally saw James Williams, Mistress Mary's second son, a fine-looking boy of eighteen or so, glance in as he passed the kitchen door and eye his mother's guests with an obvious sneer!

As he disappeared swiftly and silently, the giri thought involuntarily of Uzal Ball's words at dinner time. But the next instant she was remorseful and ashamed, for a gentle hand was placed upon her shoulder as she sat knitting in her modest corner and Mistress Williams's sweet face smiled down at her.

"Sally, my dear. Mistress Ball hath been telling me o' thy misadventures and thy homelessness. I knew, of course, that Master Todd had been taken away by the red-coats and that Mistress Todd had gone to Newark, but I did not think o' ye," began Mistress Mary, seating herself upon a chair next to Sally, which someone had vacated. She spoke in a low voice. "I ha' been wondering—how would ye like to visit here at the Corners for a while? Methinks 'twould be most pleasant for us, my child."

"Why" Sally stopped and bit her lips. Visit at Tory Corners, as the ground around bitter old Amos's farm had been called! Uzal's words came to mind. "A hotbed o' Tories!" But, after all, why not, the girl asked herself? The old longing came surging over her, the old rebellion. Drifting! Being

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 shifted around to suit others' whims! Sally's eyes were rather bitter as she looked up at Mistress Williams. "I gather Mistress Ball be going away?" she said coolly.

Mistress Mary's sweet face flushed at the shrewd guess. "Aye," she said gently. "Although I would have invited ye anyway, Sally!"

There was a little sensitive silence, while about them surged and eddied the bantering, the chatter, the light laughter. "Mistress Ball hath but now been worrying about ye, Sally," went on Mistress Williams at last. She rose to her feet and stood hesitating. "She did plan to take Rachel and David wi' her, and Uzal will be busy i' Newark, so ye see" Her voice broke off again.

Sally's heart was heavy, indeed. Yet, she told herself fiercely, that she had no right to complain, that these good people were taking care of her as best they could, planning for her, arranging for her. It was not their fault that she had no mother, no home!

But across the room her kind friend was watching her. Mistress Ball read aright the quick fluttering of Sally's eyelashes, the sudden hurt coloring of her mobile face, and before the girl could open her lips again, she was at her side.

"Nay, Mary," said Mistress Ball, as Sally rose to offer her chair, "I fear my little Sally doth misconstrue the situation, that she feels we want her

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 no longer wi' us and are finding my Morris Town visit but a pretext to get rid o' her!"

"Why, how knew ye that?" Sally gazed at Mistress Ball in astonishment, then bit her lips in confusion.

"Ye see!" Mistress Ball turned with an eloquent gesture to her friend, Mary Williams.

"Ah, now that be too bad!" exclaimed that lady kindly. "For Sally doth indeed misjudge ye! Sally, my dear," she turned softly to the young girl, "wilt believe me when I tell ye I heard Mistress Ball plan this trip to Morris Town months ago—why, 'twas last spring, I mind, sometime in March or April—long before ye went to her house, forsooth! So that I know, of a certainty, 'tis no sudden whim, just to get rid o' ye as ye do believe! Will ye not believe me?" asked Mary Williams gently.

How Mistress Todd would have tossed her head and sneered at the trouble these two kind-hearted women were taking to convince a little bond maid that no hurt had been intended, that she was truly welcome in their homes! Perhaps a sudden thought of that irascible dame had something to do with Sally's surrender, with the fervor with which she kissed each soft, middle-aged cheek as she realized how truly good and kind they were to her. For a child is like a flower, quickly responsive to the sunshine of understanding kindness.

"Ah, I do believe ye!" said Sally gratefully.

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 "And," she turned smilingly to Mistress Williams, who, watching her with anxious eyes, now returned the girl's smile happily, "I shall be glad to stay awhile wi' ye! Until Mistress Ball's return from Morris Town! Or"—a shade passed over Sally's face—"at least until Mistress Todd's return from the Town by the River, an she returns before!"

As the girl moved away. Mistress Williams turned to her friend. "Someone should speak to Parson Chapman about Sally," she said in a low tone, but decisively. "She did not look happy at mention o' her mistress's name! And I, for one, think Mistress Todd the wrong person to be in charge o' the poor little maid!"

"I think Parson Chapman knows the situation," returned the other lady. "I' fact, I feel sure he does, for he was much concerned and went straight from my house one day last May to Mistress Todd. I never heard what decision was reached, for much happened immediately thereafter. Through Uzal, whom Master Todd told, I learned that Parson Chapman barely escaped capture by a band of red-coats that day, that he got away only by a ruse—that is, daring to stop upon a hilltop and cheer for freedom i' the faces o' the oncoming red-coats, so that they, thinking from his daring that, concealed from them beyond the hilltop, were a troop o' Continentals, did gi' o'er the chase." Mistress Ball laughed. "Sally said that they turned and fled

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 back down the hill, so sure they were o' American help coming to aid the parson!"

As Mistress Ball paused, Sally, who had turned back to listen assentingly, happened to let her gaze fall upon a mirror so placed upon the kitchen wall as to reflect beyond the open door. There, reflected in the mirror, the girl saw two listening faces! They were those of Master Williams and his son James!

Back flooded Uzal Ball's words, "A hotbed of Tories!" With a quick, furtive tug at Mistress Ball's gown, Sally nodded toward the mirror; but before the other became cognizant of her meaning, the listening faces had vanished. And Sally knew that either Master Williams or James had seen her warning.

"I wish," thought the girl nervously, "I had not said I would stay here, for Uzal be right, I fear. Why, I know not an e'en Mistress Williams be patriot now, for how can she be an her husband be Tory! Yet she does not look like a deceiving person!" And doubtfully, miserably, Sally glanced at her hostess's open, guileless face. The next instant her doubt and bewilderment were further increased by Mistress Williams advancing briskly to a table where the woolen stockings were commencing to pile up, and placing her hand upon them.

"Esther!" she called above the din of conversation. Mistress Ball turned smilingly in her direc-

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 tion. "Wilt see that these stockings reach headquarters?" continued Mistress Williams. "I mind that Uzal be in communication wi' His Excellency and ha' thought he might take charge o' them for us, as well as the shirts that are ready."

As Mistress Ball nodded, Sally thought explosively: "There, that erases Uzal's surmises that the stockings would ne'er reach our men. Indeed," the girl giggled to herself, "the joke be upon him, since he be the very one selected by Mistress Williams to prove himself wrong!"

Yet, the next instant, doubt returned with the thought that here was but a clever ruse upon Mistress Williams's part to turn suspicion away from her family and herself! And when, later, the simple refreshments of buttermilk and pound cake were served, Sally, during the confusion of changing groups and shifting of chairs, while half-knitted stockings were laid aside and "housewives" were returned to capacious petticoat bags—drawstring bags suspended from a belt and worn beneath the gowns next to the petticoats—Sally, I say, found an opportunity to whisper her suspicions to Mistress Ball, telling her what she had seen in the mirror.

The latter shook her head in troubled puzzlement. "Nay, I do not know!" she whispered back. "Keep ears and eyes open, Sally. Ye may ha' much to report to the Council o' Safety when it meets!"

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 "But that seems traitorous!" objected the girl. "To eat o' a neighbor's bread and then betray him!"

"Think rather 'tis traitorous to turn against one's country," whispered Mistress Ball, and for a grim moment she showed relationship to her stern son, Uzal. "Nay, ha' no scruples, my child. As long as there be wealthy Tory families i' New Jersey to feed and help the enemy, just so long this most dreadful war will be prolonged! The quicker all Tories be discovered and banished—aye, though they be our best friends"—and the tears started involuntarily to Mistress Ball's eyes, to be surreptitiously wiped away—"the better 'twill be! Do ye not see that, Sally?"

"Aye," sighed the girl. "Yet, methinks Uzal be right and misfortune e'er finds me out! For I like not to stay here wi' the feeling o' mayhap turning traitor to this family!"

More and more she had that feeling of reluctance, as the afternoon waned at last, and she watched Mistress Williams happily bidding a cordial farewell to her guests, congratulating each one upon the amount of work she had done for a noble cause. More and more bitterly Sally asked herself why fate had chosen her to play so mean a part.

It was while she was standing beside Mistress Williams upon the doorstep, holding the Williams baby in her arms—for Sally could never see a baby

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 without picking it up!—that she saw Mistress Ball stop David, who had come for her, and turn upon her pillion seat to beckon.

"Wilt see what Esther doth desire?" asked Mistress Williams. "Here, I will take little Nathaniel an ye will run down to her, Sally!"

When the girl, upon swift young feet, had reached the road and Mistress Ball's side, that lady looked down at her as though she had reached a sudden decision.

"Sally," she said in a low tone, "despite what ye ha' told me this afternoon, I believe Mistress Williams to be patriot. I ha' been troubled o'er the matter—I do own it—and I thought I would not gi' the message to her which Mistress Keturah Harrison did ask me to deliver. But now," she straightened herself determinedly, "I do believe her to be patriot. So will ye tell her that the women meet to-morrow at Mistress Harrison's to make bullets i' her cornfield?"

"Aye." Sally nodded her head. "An ye believe it to be safe! Yet"

Mistress Ball looked at her with sudden sternness. "Is it not enow that I say I ha' decided, Sally?" Then her frown melted at the quick flush on the girl's cheeks. "Nay, ye be yet too young to judge what be best! Leave that to older heads. And now, good-bye, my dear—all right, David—I will not see ye to-morrow, for I may depart at

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 once. But mayhap Mistress Williams will permit ye to accompany her to Mistress Harrison's!"

And the good lady's voice rose as her son touched his horse with his heels, to move away at a trot. Sally, seeing the look of wicked amusement upon his face, knew that he had enjoyed making his mother gasp out her words as she was jounced along. "What a tease he be!" she thought indulgently. "I verily believe age will not cure him, either! But I think I like Uzal the better—old sobersides that he be!"

"Did Mistress Ball leave a message for me?" inquired Mistress Williams curiously, when Sally, returning, took the baby from her arms and hugged the little fellow silently to her. Sally nodded. Then in a low voice she gave Mistress Ball's message to the other.

"Eh?" Mistress Williams put out a restraining hand toward little Nathaniel, who had commenced to crow and jump in Sally's arms. "Nay, I cannot hear, sweetheart!" she admonished the little fellow tenderly. "Now, what said ye, Sally?"

"I said," repeated Sally, in a louder voice, "that Mistress Harrison doth desire your company to-morrow morn—that the women are to meet to help wi' the bullet moulding and"

The girl stopped suddenly. This time there could be no doubt that someone was eavesdropping. For facing hostess upon threshold, Sally

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 could see once more into the kitchen mirror—this time with her position reversed and the mirror reflecting those who stood Inside—and she plainly saw James Williams in the firelight, standing motionless in an attitude of acute listening!

"Aye—wi' the bullet-moulding and what, Sally?" Mistress Williams glanced at her in mild surprise. "Did not Mistress Ball say at what time?"

"She said to come early," Sally told her reluctantly. She paused again as James Williams appeared in the doorway, stepped aside for him to pass.

Mistress Williams hailed James as he started to walk away. "Nay, where be going, son?" she called reproachfully. Tis supper time, know ye not? Come back, James!" Her voice sharpened into domination as the lad, his back turned, hesitated. "Did ye hear me? I said to come back! Do not go, now, for I need your help wi' little Nat! Sally and I wish to prepare supper."

James returned to the doorstep with obvious reluctance. "Nay, let Zenas care for him!" he urged sullenly. "That lazy varlet can take care o' the baby as well as I—I ha' business to be done."

"What better business than helping your mother, James?" asked Mistress Williams still more reproachfully. "As for Zenas—lazy varlet. Indeed! He be still absent upon a long, hot errand for me! Nay, James, he be e'er the one to help—not ye!"

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 "Well, where be Amos?" asked James grumpily, taking his baby brother from Sally's arms. The little fellow crowed with delight as he felt James's strong arms around him, and the older brother's handsome, impatient face softened. The next instant, meeting Sally's eyes, he reddened and turned sullen again. "Where be Amos, forsooth?" he repeated. "Just because the rogue be older than I, he be e'er the one to avoid work!"

"Poor James—ye be abused, indeed!" laughed Mistress Williams serenely. "Amos be down at the mill, helping your uncle Ben." She turned and led the way into the kitchen, followed by Sally. "James doth protest," she confided to the girl, "yet it seems to happen that he be seldom called upon for household tasks!"

"Mayhap that be why he protests," observed Sally, smiling. "He be not used to it!"

"Mayhap," responded Mistress Williams. She stopped all at once in surprise. "Why, Nathaniel, dear, you home! I did not hear ye come in at the other door!"

Nathaniel Williams raised placid eyes to hers. He was snugly ensconced on a settle whose high back, Sally was swift to note, prevented him from being seen by anyone standing upon the doorstep. Now he took a quiet puff upon his long-stemmed Flemish pipe before he answered, almost as though he were choosing his words. Yet, the girl asked her-

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 self, why he should choose his words, unless—a guilty feeling of having been suspected of eavesdropping might be present, for suspicion breeds suspicion. Did he suspect that she was spying! A little cold shiver ran up Sally's spine as she curtseyed to him and set about preparing the supper table. But his words dispelled her distrust, momentarily, at least.

"I heard your words to James," said Master Williams mildly. "I will take care o' the baby an ye wish, Mary—an the lad desires to go about his own work."

"Nay," rejoined Mistress Williams, stooping to "blaze" the fire with a pair of bellows. "Ye be too lenient wi' him, Nat! I have said he must take care o' the baby, and take care o' him he shall!" She straightened herself to eye her husband combatively. Then, at his bowed head, as though he were trying to weather her unexpected sharpness, she burst into sweet-tempered laughter. "Nay, ye do not need to look so downhearted, Nat! 'Tis not you I be scolding—save, mayhap, for your interference."

"I but meant to be kind," began Nathaniel Williams hastily. Then he too burst into laughter, glancing at Sally, who was sympathetically smiling at them from the table. "Am I not an abused husband, forsooth!" he chuckled to the girl. "See ye how my wife doth browbeat me, Sally!"

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 Sally shook her head. "Nay, ye look not too abused, sir!" she said, with a giggle.

One by one the Williams children, gathered in the big kitchen, responded hungrily when summoned to the long supper table. All were fine-looking, from twenty-year-old Amos to little Nathaniel, now gurgling sleepily to himself in his cradle beside his mother, whose foot, as she sat at the table, continually rocked him.

Conversation turned, of course, upon Mistress Williams's sewing bee. "Didst have a good time at thy party, Mary?" asked Master Williams tenderly. It was plain to be seen that he was fond of his wife and proud of her competent ways and independent manner. Eating their suppers, the young people listened silently, for these were the days when children were to be seen but not heard—that is, generally.

Mistress Williams sighed. "I be tired!" she acknowledged. "But I am glad I had them here, for we did finish five shirts, Nat, and six pairs o' woolen stockings for our men at Morris Town."

"Our men!" burst out young James, as a shade passed over his father's face. "Nay, Mother, why will ye be so perverse! Everyone knows the Colonists are fools for going against His Majesty!"

"James! I like not your words to me!"

"James, leave the table, sir!"

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 At his parents' exclamations, the boy, red and angry, shoved back his stool from the supper table with a clatter that woke little Nathaniel. Snatching his hat from its wooden peg behind the door, James tramped out of the door, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind him. Sally, embarrassed, kept her eyes upon her plate until Mistress Williams, with an obvious effort, commenced to speak cheerfully, when the girl answered eagerly. But Master Williams remained silent and depressed and soon retired to his chamber, saying that he was tired and was going to bed.

It was after the dishes were washed and wiped and the children had gone to bed, too, that Mistress Williams came to Sally, as she was putting the cat out. "Sally," she whispered seriously, "think ye, mayhap, ye could find James and gi' him this porringer o' bread and milk! He be out there i' the garden sulking, I make no doubt—and—and—" her motherly voice faltered—"I be feared he be hungry. His father gave him no chance to finish his supper."

Sally glanced distastefully out into the dense darkness of the garden; but she took the porringer in her hands. "I can but try, dear mistress," she answered cheerfully. She was about to step down from the threshold when Amos spoke unexpectedly behind his mother.

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 "Why worry ye about James?" asked Amos philosophically. "He does not deserve supper! But, indeed, Mother, ye take him and his words too seriously! To-night, I mean! He doth but like to hear his own tongue clacking!"

"Mayhap," answered Mistress Williams, in a troubled fashion. She motioned to Sally, who had hesitated. "But try and find him, anyway, my dear. 'Twill ease my mind to know the perverse lad hath had his supper."

"Well," said Amos, yawning, "I be off to bed. Good-night!"

"Good-night, my son." Mistress Williams looked after her tall, quiet, eldest son affectionately. "Careful o' the candle, Amos," she added warningly. "And place it where it will not waken Zenas—the poor fellow hath had a hard day!"

"Aye, Mother!" Amos turned sleepily, toward the loft stairs. But in a moment he was back. "Did Sally put Noggins out?" he asked. "I was minded to take the cat upstairs wi' me—the rats be so thick up there! Sometimes," he hesitated, "I think 'tis not wise to keep the grain bin up there, for it doth call the rats and mice."

"But, Amos, your grandfather built it that way—it seems not quite right to change it after all these many years!" protested his mother. "Besides," she urged, tis so handy to ha' the spout for drawing off the grain right here i' the house,

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 without going outdoors for it, especially when the snow do be on the ground!"

"Mayhap," answered Amos indifferently. "Here, Noggins, Noggins—to me, cat!"

"Hush!" warned Mistress Williams. "Ye will waken the baby!"

Tis right!" Amos grinned, "I cannot remember we ha' a baby i' the house! All right, Ma—to bed!" And he shuffled off good-naturedly.

Meanwhile, Sally walked slowly forward into the thick shadows of the garden. Gaining confidence as she went, however, she told herself that she did not mind the absence of moonlight, for she was sure that James would be loitering somewhere along the bank of Wigwam Brook, the stream which, cutting Nathaniel Williams's property in half, yet added value to it by irrigating it. Contrary to her expectations, James was not to be found. It was only when she had slowly turned around to go back that Sally, the porringer still held in her two hands, was stopped by low voices.

"So the women are to make bullets, eh!" said someone. There was a little silence, while Sally held her breath, then the voice proceeded reflectively: "Mistress Harrison's? That be at the turn o' Northfield Road?"

"Aye, just before the road lifts o'er the Mountain," answered James's voice.

"And who did tell your mother, ye say?"

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 "A maid—Mistress Todd's Sally!"

"Mistress Todd's Sally, eh? And who may she be?"

"Nay, sir, this be beside the question! I will bid ye good-night—I am hungry—I must go before the kitchen door be locked!"

"Not so fast!" A deeper note had crept into the deep voice. "Cannot ye go wi'out your supper for once? Why, this be war! Wait! Ye have not explained your tardiness! Ye did not keep your appointment, sir! I was here at sundown, as agreed. Where were ye?"

Sullenness crept into James's voice. Sally could imgine the angry red of his countenance. "I was—detained, sir."

"Ah, by the pretty Sally, mayhap!" Sly amusement was in the other voice now.

"Nay, sir!" burst out James angrily. "I was detained by my mother, an ye must know!"

"Well, well, give o'er, lad! I was but jesting!"

"I like not such jests!" returned James's voice furiously. "As for the maid, I cannot bear her, forsooth—she be an ugly wench wi' red hair—I do dislike red hair!—and she be a bond maid besides!"

There was a loud guffaw of laughter, tardily suppressed. But Sally stood stiff and angry, her Hps drawn to a thin, haughty line. He did despise red hair, forsooth! Very well, let him go without his

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 supper! No auburn-haired damsel should serve him that night!

And very noiselessly, very carefully, she carried the porringer back to Mistress Williams, who was waiting anxiously upon the doorstep.

"I did not see James!" said Sally calmly, which, of course, was the truth. "He must have come in and gone up to bed while we were busy wi' the dishes, mistress! Or mayhap he went over to Master Benjamin Williams to sleep."

Mistress Williams sighed. "Aye, perchance he did go to his Uncle Ben's wi' his tantrum!" she agreed. "Poor James, I fear for his future, wi' his hot temper!"

Sadly, she swung the heavy kitchen door shut. Sally, with grim satisfaction, watched her bolt and bar it, well knowing that James would not dare awaken anyone to give him entrance.

"Let him stay out!" she thought. "Red hair, indeed!"

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HE next morning, that of September eleventh, Mistress Williams had breakfast upon the table bright and early. It was a hot, breathless morning that made everyone inclined to lie abed, hating the thought of the exertion necessary to dress; but despite that. Mistress Williams moved bustlingly about the kitchen between fireplace and table and showed not a whit of mercy to her family or herself.

"Nay, Mother, what be thy hurry?" grumblec Master Williams, coming in with two foaming milk pails, followed by Amos and James, likewise laden.

Mistress Williams sent a keen glance at the latter across the table as she dished out, with rapid and skilful spoon, the cornmeal mush into nine wooden trenchers.

"Why did ye not tell your parents ye were planning to sleep over at Uncle Ben's last night, James?" she demanded sternly.

"Nay, I did not go to Uncle Ben's!" answered James in evident astonishment.

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 "Ye did not! Why, Sally said" His mother paused to stare at him perplexedly.

"What did Sally know o't!" returned James. He turned grimly to the scarlet-cheeked girl. "So 'tis you, mistress, I ha' to thank for being locked out o' mine own house!" he said in a sarcastic voice.

"Nay, James, remember thy manners! Sally be not to blame, forsooth, only thyself, for staying out betimes!" interposed Mistress Williams. Then, as Sally seated herself silently at the breakfast table, her hostess resumed her serving and glanced amusedly from girl to boy. It was obvious to her maternal eye that Sally, offended by something James had said or done, had played a trick upon him.

"And doubtless the young rogue well deserved it!" thought his mother, smiling to herself.

Aloud, she asked innocently: "How did ye reach your bed, James?"

"I climbed Granddad's grapevine," returned James sullenly, referring to the strong and ancient vine, planted years ago, in 1730, when old Amos had finished his stone house and had moved in with his family. Now the vine grew against the house walls, forming a most convenient flight of leaf-lined steps.

Sally sat in troubled silence, consuming her portion of mush and milk. Behind her troubled expression, however, lay more than girlish resent-

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 ment. For, despite Uzal's warning, she had been shocked by the treachery James had revealed to her ears last night. She turned the matter over and over in her mind, wondering how to proceed. Mistress Harrison, she knew, would have everything ready, for the women to go ahead with the bullet moulding by this time—the fire would be built, with a slave to watch over it and smother its telltale smoke, in the cornfield, the kettle of lead would be slung into place over the blaze. What should she do? Should she tell Mistress Williams of her son's treachery? But if Mistress Williams were not loyal, either, doubtless she would find means to keep Sally at home and so the rest of the women would be unwarned. No, better to let the morning proceed as planned and say nothing. Then, if the Hessians or red-coats did appear, the other women could secure Mistress Williams, if she evinced any disloyalty, and hide in the cornfield until the raiding party had passed on.

So Sally, that morning, washed and scrubbed and toiled in the big, hot kitchen. It did not occur to her that, as a guest, she might be privileged to wander out into the cool of the garden and on to the bank of Wigwam Brook, there to sit with idle, folded hands. The fact that she was Mistress Todd's bond maid had nothing to do with it, for not one of the girls, daughters upon even the richest, largest plantation, visiting another family,

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 would have done aught but similar to what Sally did. Girls in those days were taught to work, rich or poor, at the Mountain settlement and indeed, had the examples of their busy, hard-working mothers ever before them.

At last, washed and dressed, Sally and Mistress Williams were ready to depart.

"An I dared, I would have left little Nat with Brother Ben's family next door," said the latter as, warm and red-faced, she sat with the baby screaming upon her knee, highly indignant at being garbed by his mother for traveling.

"Dared?" repeated Sally.

"Aye—I mean, they do not agree with my political views, so I like not to ask favors of them!" returned Mistress Williams. "There, there, sweetheart, ye will like going by-by!"

Sally, ready first, held out her arms for the baby and, regardless of the heat, danced around the kitchen with the little soft body held tightly in her slender arms.

"By-by!" she chanted. "See, Nat, there be the horses!" She stopped before the open door that little Nathaniel might catch a view of the horses which were being led up and down by Zenas, the steady fifteen-year-old who was his mother's main prop. "Ye cannot guess how I do miss the Todd baby!" said Sally shyly, as she and her hostess went toward the road a little later.

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 "Of course ye do!" said Mistress Williams quickly and sympathetically. She leaned forward, after mounting to her pillion seat behind Zenas, to take the heavy baby Sally lifted to her.

Untying the horse Zenas had tethered for her, Sally mounted and followed Mistress Williams and her sons. And as she went, the girl studied those straight, square shoulders ahead of her, that high-held head, and became wretchedly perplexed. Surely such quick, sweet sympathy, such a noble carriage could not belong to a traitor! And yet, was it possible for a family to be so utterly diverse in their attitude toward the cruel war?

Once gathered at the log cabin belonging to Simeon Harrison and his wife Keturah, the patriotic women of the Mountain settlemet set out quickly through the orchard and the cornfields to work. No time was there now to harbor suspicion. Mistress Harrison told each worker what to do as they walked along, some carrying the articles they were donating to be melted into bullets. Sally exclaimed when she saw a lovely pair of silver candle-holders in one of the women's hands.

"Nay, Mistress Munn, art going to melt thy candle-holders!" she exclaimed.

Mistress Munn nodded. She was the wife of the innkeeper, Samuel Munn, whose inn, across from

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 the training ground, was headquarters for all of the townsmen, and who, himself, a fine, jovial, well-liked man, was a keen patriot.

"What care I for the candle-holders!" returned Mistress Munn, now, gently. "Think ye, Sally, they be half so dear to me as the cause for which they are to be melted? I only wish I had fifty times as many articles to gi'!"

Sally sighed. She wished she had even a pair of candle-holders to donate! Her thin arms tightened around little Nathaniel, whom she was carrying out to the field for Mistress Williams.

"At least I can do that much for my country," she thought. "Save one o' its workers for her real work this day!"

Mistress Munn noticed the girl's sigh and looked at the heavy baby she was carrying. "Let me carry him, Sally, and do ye carry the candle-holders!" she offered kindly, mistaking the meaning of that sigh. "Indeed, he is a heavy burden for such a slender maid to carry!"

"Nay!" Breathlessly, Sally shook her head. It was truly hard work walking slowly through the hot fields, dodging the protruding spears of the corn stalks, stumbling over the ripening pumpkins that lay between the corn rows; but not for worlds would she surrender her fat, precious burden. Then, too: "Ye see—it—it makes me feel as though I be-

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 longed somewhere when I ha' a baby i' my arms," said Sally shyly.

Tis true, a baby doth gi' one that feeling!" Mistress Munn returned understandingly. "Poor little maid!" she added to herself. And late that night she related the pathetic little remark to her husband, whose kind face softened as he listened.

"Aye," he nodded, and his voice was full of sympathy. "I do fear the poor little lass hath ne'er known a home, for Mistress Todd, from what I ha' heard, did not make her welcome and doth possess a shrew's tongue!"

But that was much later. Now, Mistress Munn was about to insist that Sally let her carry the child, for the girl's face was crimson and her breath came in great panting gasps, when a negress came hurrying back through the fields to meet Sally.

"Missy Keturah, she done tole me to ca'y the baby fo' you-all," she reported.

"Aye, Sally, let Chloe do so, for I think she is to take care o' the little fellow for Mistress Williams and ye are to return to the kitchen to wait on guard, as soon as ever ye see where we are to do our work out here," interposed Mistress Munn. So Sally placed little Nathaniel in the slave's outstretched arms and followed Mistress Munn.

Arrived at the selected site, the girl found there a busy scene. For a little space around, the corn

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 Inin [sic] the center two fires had been built, with workers ready to fan and spread the smoke, while over the fires were slung the great iron kettles. The bullet moulds of iron were lying near by, ready for the molten liquid which would presently be ladled into them. The gaze of the women, Sally noticed, kept seeking the tops of the waving corn stalks high above them, as though they were watching for the enemy; but the place was well chosen, for the side of the Mountain protected them from those passing by in the road, the cornfield having been set forth upon a slope above the road.

At length, Mistress Harrison, glancing up, motioned to Sally. "Wilt run back to the cabin and tell Zeke to fetch me that fourth set o' bullet moulds? Methought we would not need it, but"—the lady's gaze rested calculatingly upon the two kettles, an expression of elation appeared upon her face—"I be pleased to find we do! Good neighbors," Sally heard her say to the rest as she hurried away, "this will be a goodly supply o' gun provender when next the alarm reaches our Newark Mountain! And that. Captain Thomas Williams hath informed me, may be any time soon!"

"Aye," came Mistress Mary Williams's sweet voice. "So Cousin Tom did inform me, too. The enemy on Staten Island doth wax ever more and more bold!"

The feminine voices died away as Sally's light

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 feet carried her farther and farther from them, back to the Harrison cabin. Unconsciously, as the sun beat down upon her, her pace slackened. It was hot! Every pebble she trod seemed to burn through the thin soles of her square-toed slippers. It was hot and she lingered more and more, reaching the cool of the orchard, to pause there for a moment and fan her burning face! But this served her well. For otherwise, she might have run full into the arms of a troop of red-coats who had dismounted before the cabin and were scanning it sharply as they secured their horses to some chestnut trees beside the road.

Quick as a wink, Sally snatched up her apron and commenced to pick some green apples from the low branches of a tree near her, carefully keeping that tree between her and the enemy. Then, leisurely, as though that had been her errand, with the corners of her apron held up to form a bag for the apples, she approached the cabin from the rear and entered its back door as two figures appeared at the opposite door from the front. One of them she recognized at once. It was young James Williams! The other, a handsome young fellow in his red uniform, was a stranger. James greeted Sally sullenly.

"You here!" he remarked, with a sneer.

"Did ye not see me leave?" asked Sally coldly. She dumped the apples upon a well-scrubbed table

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 and commenced to sort them over, calmly humming to herself.

"I thought ye were to be our servant, mistress, and now I find ye here working for Mistress Harrison! Truly, ye be a will o' the wisp!" went on James hastily.

"Your servant!" Touched upon the raw, Sally forgot her apples and whirled around to face James with blazing eyes. "Nay, I be no one's servant, sir!"

"What relationship do ye bear Mistress Todd, then?" retorted James insolently. But before Sally could answer, the young British officer came forward from the door.

"Nay," he said hastily, "I came not to hear ye quarrel wi' a hapless maid, sir! Cease, then, I prithee! Young mistress," he doffed his high hat respectfully and turned to Sally, "I have had information which doth lead me to suspect that treasonable actions against his gracious Majesty be transpiring in this vicinity. Can ye tell me whether one Mistress Williams be here?"

"Aye," broke in James with a frown, "where be my mother? We would speak to her!"

"Why did ye not speak to her this morning?" asked Sally coolly, her eyes upon James.

"No affair o' yours!" James reddened with more than the heat. "Come—where be my mother?"

Sally hesitated. Then, "She is not here!" she told him quietly.

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 "Ye do lie!" said James hotly. "I heard ye, myself" He stopped and bit his lips, and the British officer glanced at him in unconcealed disgust.

"Aye," returned Sally, smiling, "I knew ye did hear me!"

"How knew ye?" His curiosity overcame his judgment and James glared at her.

"I saw ye—in your kitchen mirror—last night—eavesdropping!" said Sally. There was a little pause, then she added nonchalantly, turning back to her apples, "No use to seek her here, I tell ye! Neither your mother nor her friends be here!"

There was a little baffled silence. The two young men glanced around the quiet, empty, orderly kitchen. Even the fire was out and no sign was there of melting lead for bullets, to say nothing of a gathering of patriotic women, whom both James and the red-coat had expected to surprise at work. Finally, James glanced at the other.

"What would ye?" he asked sullenly.

"A fine help ye be to the King, sir," returned the young officer bitterly, evidently thinking of the long, supperless hours he had spent the preceding evening for nothing. "However, we will search the place!"

Twill do ye no good," interposed Sally hastily.

The red-coat turned and eyed her thoughtfully. "It doth seem to me, young mistress, ye appear too eager to be rid o' us!" he observed keenly.

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 Sally, seeing her mistake, assumed a calmness she was far from feeling and watched them ransack the house. All went well, despite her nervous forebodings that Zenas might happen back to the house, that Mistress Harrison might send someone else, Zeke not appearing, for the bullet mould, that a telltale glimpse of smoke from the distant cornfield might rise above the intervening orchard and meet the enemies' eyes when they loitered near the tiny-paned window. But all went well until she heard an exclamation, when, turning away from the window whither she had strolled to satisfy herself upon the last-named point, she saw James holding up his baby brother's cape.

"Ah!" he said triumphantly. "My mother hath been here! Tell me, wench," he turned roughly to Sally, "where she be!"

"Oh, la!" Sally looked at him amusedly. "No one hath said your mother was not here at all this morning, James. How think ye I got here? Why, you, yourself, must have seen us leave wi' little Nathaniel!"

"Nay," blurted out James, "I had to leave afore ye did!"

"So?" Sally smiled at his angry stupidity. "Well—all I shall say be this—your mother be not here now!"

James uttered a snort of rage, drew out his hunting knife, and with it in his hand, went through the

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 cabin once more, while the red-coat walked around the house outside. At last he brought up before Sally again.

"What did ye expect?" she asked tantalizingly. "Thought ye your mother would attack ye that ye needed the knife?"

James turned purple. "How knew I that no rebel might be in hiding!" he shouted. "They be the kind who hide behind their womenfolk!" he added.

Now it was Sally's turn to flare up. "That be a lie, James Williams, and ye know it!" she cried. "What about our splendid victory at Trenton last Christmas, forsooth! And on January third last at Princeton? I' truth, It seemed to me our men were not so afraid!"

"Here, here!" The red-coat eyed the two irate young people from the door. "Well, the place be empty, sir, so far as I can see," he added grimly to James, who could only look back at him in crestfallen silence. "I do hope," he added, turning away, "that the rest o' your information be more accurate. The rebels most certainly chose some other place for their work than this!"

"Nay," grumbled James, flinging a last malignant glance at Sally as he followed the other, "how was I to know an they changed their plans! At any rate," he added indiscreetly, "I be sure about Uzal Ball! That rebel be home this day—for he does not

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 leave until to-morrow for the Town by the River!"

"Will ye hush!" Angrily the British officer turned upon James.

There was a little silence, broken only by the crunch of their boot soles upon the garden path as they went toward their horses. Then Sally, standing unobserved within the door, heard James speak in a quick, sharp voice.

"I tell ye," he declared, "the maid yonder doth know where these women be! She it was who did gi' the message to my mother! Why not make her tell?"

Sally clutched dizzily at the wall behind her. The words "that the girl be branded i' the arm!" flashed terrifyingly through her mind. Was she to be tortured here, now, and forced to betray her friends? The British officer's next words, however, dispelled her newborn fears. Apparently, more than Jerry Lawrence in the King's army knew humanity. Not all were of Stockton's or Cunningham's caliber!

"We war not on women or children under my command!" he returned coldly. And Sally, in tremendous relief, saw both James and him rejoin the company of waiting horsemen, mount their horses hurriedly, and ride away in the direction whence they had come, toward the Town by the River, finally disappearing around a bend in the road.

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 Sally, apparently loitering idly out into the garden, watched with keen eyes the swirling clouds of dust settle back into place. Even after peace returned to the country road she made no hasty movement, for fear of Tory gaze from some quiet underbrush. As she plucked a late rose here, a marigold there, however, her thoughts were darting this way and that, planning, planning. She must save Uzal Ball from capture, not only for the sake of the kindness he had shown toward her, but because of his mother, who had taken the homeless little orphan into her house and made her welcome! But how was this warning to be gotten to Uzal, with the red-coats already upon their way thither!

There was but one way, Sally decided—she must go across the mountain path through the forest, many feet above the Second Road, many feet above the mountain plantations, and she must go a-horseback, despite the fact that the trail was only a narrow, dangerous footpath, for there was no time to be lost.

"No time to be lost; but where are the horses?" For the first time Sally thought of the horses and realized the amazing precaution Zenas had taken in hiding them, thus displaying an exceedingly wise head upon his young shoulders. For had the red-coats discovered the horses, all would have been lost!

Fortune now seemed to favor the girl. At that

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 moment, raising her eyes, she saw Zenas himself coming through the orchard toward her. Breathlessly she met him halfway, telling him of the British raid.

"Canst get my horse to me up on the road above the cornfield?" she begged, when Zenas had told her, in turn, how he had hidden all of the visiting steeds in the cornfields. "An there be traitors lurking near, they will be confused an we separate," she added shrewdly. "So I will walk up by the road and meet ye at the furtherest corner o' the field, Zenas."

"Aye, Sally," nodded the boy, turning to retrace his footsteps. Suddenly he stopped short, whirled around. "Was it—it—James who led the raiders?" he demanded bitterly.

Sally hated to tell him, but she finally nodded. Deep, angry color surged into the younger brother's face.

"The traitorous varlet!" he burst forth. "Indeed, my mother shall" He paused at Sally's.

"It does no good to feel so, Zenas," she said sadly. "It must be neighbor against neighbor, it seems! Will ye not run, now, and get my horse to me—for, indeed, an I do not hurry, poor Uzal will be i' the hands of the red-coats! I must ride to warn him!"

"Nay!" The boy shook his head. "I did not know

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 Uzal was I' danger! But an he be—let me go, Sally. 'Tis man's work riding across the face o' this Mountain!"

"Why thought ye I wanted my horse?" asked Sally sharply, her patience tried by Zenas's tarrying, even while she was grateful to him for his offer. "Nay, I be the one to go, lad! Ye are your mother's mainstay, while I—I would not be greatly missed an things went wrong." Her voice faltered. Then she lifted her head gallantly. "So hurry, Zenas," she finished, smiling. She turned away, then, only to be recalled by the boy's voice.

"I know ye do think I be wasting time, Sally," he said apologetically, "but I wanted to tell ye that 'tis nearing noon and I feel sure the red-coats, an they go by the Second Road, as they will, will stop at Ned Tompkins's Tavern at Freemantown for dinner."

"And that will gi' me more time," ended Sally, brightening. "Aye, 'tis true, Zenas, and relieves my desperate haste. Yet must I hurry, for the way be hard!" And she started toward the road. "James doth love to eat," she glanced back over her shoulder to say, "and he will, no doubt, delay the rest. Yet" She stepped out into the country lane with an eloquent gesture of her hands, and Zenas, laughing, turned and hastened back through the orchard.

But the road was dusty and hot. Sally, trudging

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 along, wished that she had at least taken time to visit the well; tantalizing visions of a cool, brimming gourd of water danced before her. But, too, there were other hallucinations, induced by the heat. Mistress Ball's face, for instance, convulsed with terror and grief, seemed to peer at her from every dust-covered bush. The stern white face of Uzal Ball, too, seemed to be staring at her from every glimmering, sun-glinting rock. Unconsciously, poor Sally goaded herself along by these images of her brain, so that by the time she found herself arrived at the designated spot, at the end of the field, she was glad enough to sink down upon a piece of trap rock and mop her streaming face.

It was not long then, before Zenas's faithful, sturdy figure could be seen clambering out between the corn stalks, leading Sally's horse stumblingly along behind him. Sally watched them apathetically.

But all at once she stiffened into attention. Her keen ears had caught the suggestion of a sound upon the road below her. She waited breathlessly. It came nearer, yet nearer, revolved into the muffled hammer of a horse's hoofs, at last, rising and falling upon the dust of the lane.

Sally sprang to her feet, her face toward Zenas. She must warn him! Her horse must not be seized by some renegade red-coat or wandering Hessian

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 as the newcomer might very possibly be! Or by some Tory, who would be only too glad to delay her rescuing mission and so effect Uzal's capture by the British troops!

Her heart in her throat, Sally forced herself not to shout to Zenas. Somehow, she must make him look in her direction that she might warn him silently to hide the horse once more. For it was almost certain that he would reach her at that precise moment which would bring the unknown traveler to the same place. Waiting there, she kept sharp, sidelong watch upon the turn of the road below her. Was it friend or foe approaching?

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MOMENT later, as though feeling the urge of her strong, if silent, appeal to him, young Zenas Williams raised his eyes to her pleading gaze. Instantly, Sally's hands were fluttering in a wild gesture imploring retreat and the boy was quick to seize her meaning. A little later only the waving corn stalks of the field could be seen above the sharp ascent of the Mountain road to Northfield—only the corn stalks and Sally, once more seated demurely upon her rock by the wayside, fanning herself lazily with a corner of her apron!

Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack! As she Hstened tensely, the horse's trot dwindled to a walk, the walk to the amble of a tired beast, and when at last the steed and his rider did appear, they were approaching so slowly that both were easily recognizable. Sally, gazing eagerly, forgot her nonchalance and leaped to her feet. For the rider was Uzal Ball, himself!

She ran out into the road, appearing so unexpectedly as to cause Uzal's horse to shy violently.

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 He was too good a rider to be unseated, and the road was too steep for the beast to bolt after his first nervous start; but the gaze which Uzal was at last able to fix upon Sally's flushed, excited face was a reproving one.

"Nay, Sally, was it necessary to scare my horse into galloping all you way to Northfield?" he inquired severely. He drew firm rein and, remaining seated, stared down at her in puzzled surprise. "I thought ye were at Mistress Williams's?"

"I was—until this morn," explained the girl hastily. "Nay, Uzal, be not angry! I be here to warn ye!" Here a swift vision of Gerald Lawrence, of what he would have done under similar circumstances, of his grave courtesy, his instant dismounting, hat in hand, involuntarily crossed her mind. Never would she have had to stop and apologize to Jerry for having appeared unexpectedly, nervous horse or no! "I—I was about to ride across the Mountain path," faltered Sally, "to tell ye to fly!"

"Fly!" Now it was Uzal's turn to start. He stared down at her almost angrily. "What mean ye?" he demanded in a harsh voice.

"I mean," said Sally breathlessly, her hands clasped, "I mean that James Williams and a company o' cavalry be even now on their way across the Second Road to take ye prisoner for your activities against their odious King!"

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 "I—a prisoner?" Uzal repeated it almost stupidly.

"Aye, Uzal, aye!" Sally's copper-colored head nodded excitedly. "Oh, what good fortune to meet ye thus and that James Williams and his friends are to be cheated o' their prey! Ye must not return home, Uzal!"

"But I was not returning home!" protested Uzal, in an offended voice. "I was on my way to Morris Town!"

"So much the better!" cried Sally. "Continue thy journey—'tis the very thing! For the British will doubtless return to Staten Island e'er long, and James Williams may not find it so easy to secure aid for his schemes next time, forsooth!"

Dumbly, Uzal touched his hat brim, then, and digging his heels into his nag's sides, he started off, leaving Sally to gaze after him. But he had not gone far when he drew sudden rein, turned his horse around, and trotted back to her.

"I—I—believe I owe ye thanks, Sally," he muttered curtly, then. Twas kind o' ye to ha' thought o' warning me—going through the forest and all! I—I be grateful to ye!"

"Nay, Uzal, 'twas naught!" Sally shrugged a debonair shoulder.

But suddenly Uzal looked at her almost suspiciously, as though struck by a thought. "Ye were truly going to warn me, Sally? This be not a jest?" he asked doubtfully.

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 "Aye."

"Then where be thy horse?"

Sally laughed. "Ye demand proof, Uzal?" Pointing toward the spot where Zenas had disappeared, she called to the boy: "Ho, Zenas!"

Promptly, in answer, the lad scrambled forth between the corn, dragging Sally's horse after him, by its halter.

"Nay," said Uzal quickly, with bent brows. "I—I was but puzzled! I—I—meant not to show doubt o' ye! I—I—saw no horse, and—and—I"

"I understand," said the girl with deliberate kindness. "Indeed, I do not blame ye for being mystified, since thy house be a long ways from here, and walking, I could not ha' warned ye in time!" Again, involuntarily, the thought of Jerry's undoubting gratefulness swept Sally's mind; but she told herself Uzal had been bred in a sterner, more practical way—it was not his fault that everything must be explained in detail to him. She turned to Zenas, who had reached them. "We are saved the trouble o' warning Master Ball, ye see! And he be saving himself a vastly unpleasant journey to New York Town by starting forth to Morris Town."

Uzal turned to Zenas, who gave him back his greeting gloomily. It was almost as though the boy were regretting so tame an ending to what had promised to be an adventure.

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 "Well," sighed Uzal, touching his hat brim with two stiff fingers, "I will e'en bid ye farewell! I shall come for ye, Sally, when my mother doth return from Morris Town. Stay ye, then, wi' Mistress Williams, as arranged."

As the boy and girl stood in the road, gazing after the awkward figure making slow progress upon its horse, Zenas suddenly muttered something.

"What said ye?" Sally turned to look inquiringly at him.

"I said," repeated Zenas, spinning upon his heel and starting downhill, leading Sally's horse, "I said, methought 'twas a vast amount o' work for a mite o' thanks, Sally!"

"He gave me thanks, Zenas," returned Sally quickly, following the boy and the horse.

"Did he, indeed?" Zenas flung her a grumpy look over his shoulder. Twas not so hearty as some, mayhap!"

"Ah, ye be hungry and much too warm!" laughed Sally. Tis not Uzal, but ye who be at fault, my lad!"

All the same, however, in her heart of hearts, Sally could not help but think, too, that Uzal had not been properly appreciative of the service she had been willing to bestow upon him, could not help but compare him to Jerry Lawrence. As a matter of fact, she really wronged poor, inarticulate Uzal, who could gaze with dumb, longing eyes at

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 the beauty of the skies, of the birds, of Sally, and yet not be able to put to words the song they created in his soul.

It was long past noon before the bullet-makers had finished their task and returned to Mistress Harrison's. Sally had busied herself preparing dinner, assisted by Chloe and another slave, so that the weary women, coming in from the cornfield, were greeted by the sight of hot viands set forth upon a long table which Zenas had made with planks under some great chestnut trees.

"Ye be a good little housewife, Sally," said Mistress Keturah beamingly, "to go ahead thus for me!"

Mistress Williams turned away from the four-poster bed upon which she had laid the little sleeping Nathaniel. "Zenas tells me there was a raiding party come this morn," she said, half questioningly.

Sally stared hard at the boy, who had followed his mother into the cabin. "Aye," she answered evasively, trying to catch Zenas's eye.

"How did the news o' our bullet-making reach the enemy, suppose ye?" interrupted Mistress Harrison. But the next instant, to Sally's enormous relief, the hostess grasped Mistress Williams by the arm playfully. "Hear ye! The rest be calling to us. Best hurry or I vow those hungry women will leave us naught to eat!" And, giggling like two

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 girls, the middle-aged friends hurried out of the cabin door without waiting for an answer to Mistress Harrison's question.

Sally flew at Zenas, when he would have followed. "An ye mention that raiding party again, Zenas Williams," she whispered fiercely in his ear, "I will—I will—nay, I don't know what I will do! Put salt in thy mug o' milk, mayhap, or persuade thy mother to gi' ye no more pence for spending, as she sometimes does!"

With belligerent folded arms, Sally stood before Zenas, still barring his way. "Nay," she went on hotly, "I would not ha' your mother know for aught 'twas James who led the enemy hence! Twould break Mistress Williams's heart, I fear."

"Hearts be tougher than that, Sally," responded the boy sagely. He looked at her in sudden grimness. "Ye do not gi' my mother credit for the good sense she doth possess! Do ye not suppose she knows James, aye, and Amos, too, do be on Tory side, and mayhap my father! It matters not to her—she be patriot, and that be enough."

Sally thought remorsefully of her suspicions toward Mistress Williams. "Think ye your father truly be Tory, too?" she asked hesitatingly. "He hath not really said, ye mind—at least, not since I ha' been wi' ye!"

"But he is!" said Zenas, in a low voice. "Only my mother and I—we be patriots!"

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 "Zenas"—Sally's hands dropped to her sides; she moved a step nearer to him—"how could James, think ye, betray to the enemy his own mother?"

Zenas shrugged his shoulders at the horror in the girl's voice. "Nay, he doubtless had bond that Mother would not be hurt, and"—the boy snapped his fingers—"what cared he what happened to the rest o' the women?"

Sally groaned softly. "Neighbor against neighbor! Think ye, Zenas, many o' the women he would betray to the cruelty o' the red-coats he hath known since childhood! How terrible!"

But Zenas suddenly grinned, rolling his eyes toward the door. "Not half so terrible," he said, "as missing our dinner. Nay"—he stepped past Sally determinedly—"an ye do not wish to eat, I prithee let me go, for I be ravenous as a wolf! I see Mother hath saved a place for us, one on each side o' her!" And his sturdy legs bore him out the cabin door toward the dinner table.

Sally, following more slowly, pondered the fine courage and the bravery of Mistress Mary Williams. It seemed more than human to be able to bear with such sweet patience the trouble this fateful year of 1777 had brought to her and was doomed, still more, to bring!

But if trouble or care were present at that gay gathering of patriot women that noon, not a whit

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 of it was displayed. It was not until Mistress Harrison rose to her feet, rapping upon the table plank for silence as she slowly looked around her, that tongues ceased to wag and the laughter was stilled. But now grave attention was given to her words.

"Neighbors," she said, "we ha' done a good morning's work; but now the question comes—what shall be done wi' the product o' our hands? Since Mistress Ball do be absent, whom do ye appoint to take charge o' the bullets and whence wish ye them taken?"

There was a murmur of voices until Mistress Harrison held up her hand again.

"Ye all be interested in our 'Jersey Blues'," she said. "Someone hath suggested that the bullets be given to them, in charge o' their captain, Eliakim Littell. Is that agreeable?"

At that, the ladies nodded their heads and Zenas sprang to his feet.

"Let me be the one to fetch the bullets!" he pleaded.

Mistress Harrison looked at him thoughtfully before she answered, then she nodded. "You be o'er young, lad; but I doubt not ye could do it, an your mother will consent." Mistress Williams nodded silently, and her friend continued: "But there be more bullets than ye can carry on one horse, Zenas. Alas!" She turned suddenly and despairingly to the rest of the company. "We are

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 indeed short o' men! Simeon be far too busy i' the fields to help us, and I know, of a certainty, most o' your husbands be likewise occupied, or else wi' His Excellency. This business o' being soldier and farmer, wi' fighting to be accomplished and the harvest to be sown and garnered at home, makes it doubly hard for our brave men. I' good sooth, did they not ha' the added incentive o' fighting for their very homes, methinks they could not win o'er such great odds!"

Silence settled down over the long table. Each woman's face as she sat beside it listening, with clenched hands in her lap or lying upon the board before her, was a study in determination and grim patience. Each face, young or middle-aged, showed pathetically the hardships and burdens she was sharing, the burden of supporting an uncertain cause, the burden of physical hard work, most of all, the burden of anxiety regarding some dear one's safety.

At last the silence was broken by Sally. All this time, with flushed cheeks and beating heart, she had been sitting motionless beside Mistress Williams. Now she sprang to her feet, one slender brown hand against her heart as she looked pleadingly first at Mistress Williams and Mistress Harrison, then at the others.

"Will ye not allow me to help Zenas carry the

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