the Phoenici 
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 A GIRL OF 76
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 "ELIZABETH S FATHER STOOD IN THE DOOR."
 
 BY 
 
 AMY E. BLANCHARD 
 
 AUTHOR OF "TWO GIRLS," "THREE PRETTY MAIDS," ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 IDA WAUGH 
 
 BOSTON AND CHICAGO 
 W. A. WILDE & COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1898, 
 BY W. A. WILDE & COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 A GIRL OF 76.
 
 2To tl) fHcinorri of 
 MY REVOLUTIONARY SIRES 
 
 AND ESPECIALLY TO THAT OF 
 THE LITTLE FIFER, AMOS BLANCHARD 
 
 THIS S lORY 
 IS REVERENTLY DEDICATED 
 
 A. E. B. 
 
 661668
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A CUP OF TEA 11 
 
 II. A CUP OF COLD WATER 28 
 
 III. THE OLD OX-CART 45 
 
 IV. A YOUNG FIFER 59 
 
 V. A LITTLE SCHEME 74 
 
 VI. BRAVE GIRLS 91 
 
 VII. Ox THE WAY 109 
 
 VIII. A WAYFARER 128 
 
 IX. AMOS S STORY . . 143 
 
 X. "YANKEE DOODLE" 160 
 
 XI. A QUEER DINNER .... . 175 
 
 XII. OLD FRIENDS AND FOES . . . 190 
 
 XIII. IN BOSTON TOWN . . .209 
 
 XIV. THE BREAKING UP OF THE NEST . . 223 
 XV. FREE .... .240 
 
 XVI. A WEDDING ..... -255 
 
 XVII. FOR MY COUNTRY ..... -273 
 
 XVIII. THE QUILTING-BEE 290 
 
 XIX. MISSING! 35 
 
 XX. PEACE 3 7 
 
 7
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " Elizabeth s father stood in the door " . Frontispiece 24 
 
 " Nearer and nearer came the sound of the music " . 67 
 
 " He was resting before a blazing fire " . . . 131 
 
 " They were ushered into the presence of Mrs. Margaret 
 
 Gould " ........ 202 
 
 " All the congregation watched to see Lydia walk 
 
 bride " 286
 
 A GIRL OF 76, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 
 
 IT was very quiet in the room where Elizabeth Hall 
 sat doing her daily stent of sewing. She had 
 worked a sufficiently presentable sampler by the time 
 she was seven years old, had pieced an entire quilt 
 before she was ten, and was now sewing upon the shirt 
 she was to complete for her father within a given time. 
 
 She plied her needle swiftly and carefully, looking, 
 from time to time, at the minute stitches set along 
 the piece of linen. If, by chance, one seemed too 
 conspicuous, she unthreaded her needle and ripped 
 out the offending stitch. 
 
 The room where she sat was long and low. A tall 
 mantel on one side held a clove apple, a piece of 
 shell work, two conch shells, and a small picture on 
 glass set off with gilt. Over the door hung an old 
 sword and a musket ; they had been used by Eliza-
 
 12 A GIRL OF j6. 
 
 beth s great-grandfather in Lovewell s fight. A corner 
 cupboard stood in an angle of the room ; it displayed 
 a fine array of pewter plate, with a few rarer pieces 
 of India china. A tall chest of drawers stood in 
 another corner of the room, and in another, a still 
 taller old clock. A high-backed settee of white pine 
 stood near the big old fireplace in which a fine fire 
 was blazing. 
 
 Elizabeth sat up very straight in her rush-bottomed 
 chair. She would have scorned to loll, for her grand 
 mother, who sat opposite, was as straight as an 
 Indian, and as she knitted briskly she cast thoughtful 
 looks at Elizabeth. Presently she spoke. 
 
 "Betsey!" 
 
 "Yes, grandmother." 
 
 "Have you nearly finished your stent ? " 
 
 "Yes, ma am, I have about two inches more." 
 
 " When you have finished, I want you to go on an 
 errand for me." 
 
 " Yes, grandmother." 
 
 The short winter afternoon was already showing 
 signs of coming to an end, for Elizabeth moved 
 nearer to the window as she threaded her needle for 
 the last time. 
 
 Her grandmother looked around cautiously. In 
 the next room Elizabeth s mother w r as singing; an old
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 13 
 
 psalm tune, and the merry laugh of little Stephen 
 once or twice rose above the psalm, " My Shepherd 
 will supply my need." 
 
 In a few moments the old lady beckoned Elizabeth 
 to come to her, seeing that she had folded her work 
 and was about to lay it aside. " I want you to go 
 down to the shore," she said. 
 
 Elizabeth stared, but she was too respectful to her 
 elders to say anything, so she waited to hear what 
 w r as coming next. 
 
 Her grandmother dove down into the huge pocket, 
 which, fastened by a string around her waist, swung 
 under her frock. As she lifted her skirt she dis 
 played a quilted petticoat, warm and comfortably 
 wadded. She produced a small white roll of cloth 
 and slipped it into Elizabeth s hand. 
 
 " Take this pillow-case," she whispered, " and go 
 down to the shore and gather up some of the tea 
 that has washed up there. You needn t get the 
 pillow-case full, but just gather what you can, and 
 run home with it to me. If any one asks you where 
 you have been, say, on an errand for grandmother." 
 
 Elizabeth looked up ; then she looked down ; then 
 she glanced out of the window. She turned a dis 
 tressed countenance toward her grandmother. " What 
 will father say ? " she blurted out, finally, her distress
 
 14 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 getting the better of her training, which had taught 
 her never to answer back. 
 
 Grandmother Hall drew herself up stiffer than ever. 
 " Never mind what your father says. He is my son, 
 and I ll deal with him. It is very w r rong of you, 
 Betsey, to question your elder s actions ; but this is 
 not a usual case, perhaps, and since you have been 
 hearing a good deal about the state of excitement 
 into which these hot-headed young people are throw 
 ing the country, I will endeavor to explain matters a 
 little to you. We are, as you know, colonies of Great 
 Britain, and our good King George surely has a right 
 to enforce his laws. This stirring up of the people 
 by these madcap young men is not at all to my 
 liking. I hope none of my name were among those 
 who dressed themselves up like a party of play-actors 
 and defied the law by emptying out all that good tea. 
 I know your father is with this restless, rebellious 
 party, heart and soul, but I still claim my allegiance 
 to the crown, and I have a right to a cup of tea if I 
 want it. I know, too, that your mother will not even 
 deal at one of the shops where tea is sold, and that 
 she burned nearly a full chest of it to show her dis 
 approval, but then, she is not an old woman and 
 does not understand how desirable peace and conces 
 sion are. Go, my dear ; you are not doing wrong to
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 15 
 
 obey your grandmother, and the day will come when 
 you will see that it is right to honor the powers that 
 be. Go, run along. It grows dark quickly. Come 
 right to my room when you get back." 
 
 Hardly convinced, yet fearing to disobey, Elizabeth 
 slipped on her quilted hood and ran out. Although it 
 was the middle of December, she did not wear a 
 wrap, but rolled up her arms in her pinafore as she 
 ran along the street toward the water. 
 
 About three weeks before this the first tea ship 
 had arrived in Boston harbor. Elizabeth had rarely 
 seen her father more excited than when he came 
 home and told his family of how the tax on tea 
 ought to be avoided. She remembered how he 
 brought his hand down hard on the table and said : 
 " It is a pernicious tax ; we will not abide by it. 
 Whoso does is an enemy to his country." And she 
 also remembered the hot argument into \vhich he 
 plunged with his mother when she sided with the 
 governor and his faction. So the little girl s ideas 
 were much mixed. She had never been told directly 
 that she must not go down to gather up any of the 
 tea which had washed ashore after that bold band of 
 Mohawks had thrown overboard the contents of three- 
 hundred and forty-odd chests. Inwardly Elizabeth ad 
 mired them for their daring act, and yet, she must
 
 1 6 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 obey her grandmother. Had not this been impressed 
 upon her since she could remember ? 
 
 She ran along swiftly, sometimes sliding on a par 
 ticularly slippery bit of ice in her way, and at last 
 she reached the shore. It seemed as if all Boston 
 harbor must have been a huge caldron of tea, for 
 the tide had sent much drifting up into Charles 
 River where it lay like seaweed along the shore. 
 Elizabeth did not tarry long to look. She stooped 
 down, and, with her two little red hands, scooped up 
 a lot into her pillow-case. When it was about half 
 full she heard a noise which caused her to start 
 hastily to her feet. She quickly tied a knot in the 
 opening of her bag, and rolling it up in her apron, 
 she turned to run home. But she heard footsteps 
 behind her, and, run fast as she could, they seemed 
 to come nearer and nearer, and at last a familiar 
 voice called, "Betsey!" 
 
 Her first impulse was to continue to run, but she 
 knew she would be overtaken before she reached 
 home, and so she stood still and looked up shyly from 
 under her hood at Amos Dwight who regarded her 
 wrathfully. 
 
 There was not a time that Elizabeth could remem 
 ber when Amos had given her such a look. They 
 had been playfellows from babyhood, and many a
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 17 
 
 time Amos had drawn her to school on his sled, while 
 the number of rosy apples and other good things which 
 had found their way into Elizabeth s lunch-basket from 
 Amos s pocket, could scarcely be enumerated. There 
 fore, Elizabeth quailed before the wrath of this com 
 rade, so unusual was it to see such a frown upon his 
 happy face. 
 
 " Betsey ! " he said again, as sternly, the little girl 
 thought, as the minister could have done. " What 
 have you been doing ? " 
 
 Elizabeth thought first of Eve and the apple, then 
 of Ananias and Sapphira ; and since an untruth was 
 something too dreadful to be considered for a moment, 
 she did not answer at all. 
 
 "You ve been getting tea." The emphasis and 
 scorn on the last word cannot be described. 
 
 Still silence on the part of Elizabeth. 
 
 "Give it to me," commanded Amos, stretching out 
 his hand. 
 
 " I ll not." The words shot out with a snap. Co 
 ercion from an equal was not to be endured. The 
 spirit of 76 was already at work. 
 
 "You will," returned Amos, fiercely. 
 
 Rebellion was visible in Elizabeth s eye. 
 
 "I d like to know who ll make me," she replied. 
 
 " I will. I m stronger than you." The spirit of 
 B
 
 1 8 A GIRL OF 76: 
 
 John Bull in miniature, but whimsically exchanging 
 places. 
 
 " I m on an errand for my grandmother," announced 
 Elizabeth, after a pause, during which the two eyed 
 each other with a little softening of expression. 
 
 " Oh, you are ! " Amos was somewhat mollified. 
 " But, Betsey, you mustn t take that tea home. Your 
 father will be furious." 
 
 " He will not know, and I must mind grandmother." 
 
 " You should not. You ought to say you cannot. 
 Don t you know, Elizabeth, that you ought to be brave 
 enough to say your country comes first ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell a story." 
 
 "Did you promise that you would get it?" 
 
 Elizabeth tried to remember. "When she said for 
 me to do it, I said, Yes, ma am. 
 
 " Well, give me the tea, and I ll throw it back ; 
 then you can go and tell her that some one took it 
 away from you." 
 
 Elizabeth shook her head in refusal. 
 
 "You re a Tory a vile Tory!" cried Amos. "I 
 want nothing more to do with you. I ve done with 
 you forever. You re no friend to your country, and 
 so you can be no friend of mine. I d die for the 
 right." And the boy of fifteen drew himself up, with 
 the fire of an indomitable purpose in his eye.
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 19 
 
 Elizabeth stood mute and miserable, but still 
 clutching her little pillow-case of tea. She was 
 awed by Amos s manner, but yet she was not con 
 vinced. Boys were always getting excited over queer 
 things, anyhow, and her grandmother ought to know 
 what was right. She rather guessed old people knew 
 best. 
 
 Still, as Amos, without giving her another glance, 
 walked away, she called after him faintly, " Amos ! " 
 But he did not hear, or else would not heed, and the 
 little girl hurried home, her eyes smarting with the 
 tears she vainly tried to keep back. 
 
 She skurried in at the back door, bringing a sharp 
 breath of nipping air with her. As she passed her 
 mother she was asked, " Where have you been, Eliza 
 beth ? " "On an errand for grandmother," she re 
 plied, and, being allowed to report promptly, she 
 hurried upstairs and gave the pillow-case into her 
 grandmother s hands. 
 
 The old lady looked mightily pleased as she sniffed 
 the contents of the bag. 
 
 " Now, to-morrow, Elizabeth," she said, " I want 
 you to take two or three notes to my old friends for 
 me, on your way to school." 
 
 " Yes, ma am," said Elizabeth, faintly. Her grand 
 mother looked at her sharply, but the child s eyes
 
 20 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 were downcast, and the redness of her little nose 
 was probably caused by the cold. 
 
 "You re a good child," her grandmother said ap 
 provingly. "Here is a penny for you." 
 
 The free gift of a penny was not so usual that it 
 was considered a trifle where children were concerned, 
 and ordinarily its possession would have filled Eliza 
 beth s heart with joy; but now she took it with 
 a spiritless "Thank you, ma am," and hearing her 
 mother call, she was glad to go below stairs. 
 
 Her mother poured out for her grandmother, at 
 supper time, a cup of " Labrador " tea. This was 
 made from an herb which the soil of New England 
 nourished, and was substituted for the imported teas 
 in many of the colonist households. Grandmother 
 Hall took the cup gravely, but there was a twinkle in 
 her eye as she looked across the table at Elizabeth, 
 who was sedately eating her hasty pudding and milk. 
 
 The next morning the old lady gave into Eliza 
 beth s hands four little notes to be delivered to 
 Mistress Gould, Mistress Phillips, Mistress Hubbard, 
 and Mistress Rand. Elizabeth started early so as to 
 be in time for school. " Be sure you give them to 
 no one but the persons whose names are thereon," 
 grandmother cautioned her, and the little maid was 
 very conscientious in obeying.
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 21 
 
 She still felt sore over the encounter with Amos, 
 but she hoped he would make some overture that 
 day. They had often had childish quarrels, and had 
 once not spoken for two whole days, so Elizabeth 
 thought this time she might count on a sign of rec 
 onciliation from him. The brightness of the morn 
 ing had driven away the shadows of the previous 
 evening, for so much seems possible with the new 
 day. 
 
 The old ladies to whom she delivered her notes 
 nodded mysteriously, and seemed greatly pleased at 
 the contents of the small epistles. One of them 
 gave Elizabeth a slice of cake, another a huge red 
 apple, which the little girl displayed ostentatiously 
 when she entered the little old schoolhouse, and felt 
 that by this supplement to her plain dinner she was 
 almost rewarded for her trials on grandmother s 
 account. 
 
 She took her seat quietly, after making her courtesy, 
 and bent her head over her arithmetic which she had 
 just begun that winter, being considered at the age 
 of thirteen quite young enough to undertake the task 
 of " doing sums." 
 
 Not once during the whole morning did Amos 
 turn his eyes toward her, but, after school when 
 one of her other schoolmates came over and asked
 
 22 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Elizabeth if she were not going to slide on the pond 
 that afternoon, Amos threw them both such a scornful 
 look as sent the blood flying up into Elizabeth s face, 
 and made her set her lips firmly, indignation visible 
 even in the two closely braided pigtails at the back 
 of her head. 
 
 It was late that afternoon when she came home, for 
 she had gone sliding with the others, and although 
 Amos had not been there to take her spinning 
 across the ice, she had enjoyed the afternoon, feel 
 ing free from his censorious looks, rather more at 
 her ease than if he had been present. She did not 
 exactly blame herself, but she did not like to be 
 treated as if she were a culprit, and she was very 
 angry with Amos. Yet she kept saying to herself 
 on the way home, " Let not the sun go down on 
 your wrath," and that made her feel uncomfortable. 
 She wished she could go and tell her mother all 
 about it, but her loyalty to her grandmother forbade. 
 "Grandmother trusts me," she told herself, "and I ll 
 not tell any one." Her little Puritan conscience was 
 sadly disturbed, nevertheless. She thought she would 
 go straight to her grandmother s room as soon as 
 she reached home, and tell her that she had de 
 livered the notes safely. 
 
 So she hung up her lunch-basket and her hood,
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 23 
 
 and ran up to the room which was set aside for her 
 grandmother s use. She knocked gently, but the 
 chirp of voices inside prevented her from hearing any 
 response which, however, she took for granted and 
 opened the door. There was a little scream of dis 
 may from each of the five old ladies sitting around 
 the open wood fire. 
 
 " Oh, my child ! we did not hear you. It is only 
 Betsey and she will not betray us," declared Grand 
 mother Hall. "Come in, my dear; you see I have the 
 proof of your having delivered the notes promptly. 
 Sit here on this stool. If you are very quiet you may 
 remain ten minutes." 
 
 Elizabeth sat down obediently and watched proceed 
 ings. Each of the old ladies was sipping, with an air 
 of enjoyment, something from a tiny tea-cup. The 
 odor was familiar, but it was not the herb Labrador ; 
 it was real tea. Not the fire alone made the flush on 
 Elizabeth s cheek. She felt a little guilty. 
 
 Suddenly there was the sound of a heavy step on 
 the stair, a halt in the hall. The old ladies looked 
 at each other in trepidation. Grandmother Hall arose 
 as if to bolt the door, but she paused helplessly as 
 there came a peremptory knock. There was a sud 
 den transferal of each cup and saucer into a capa 
 cious pocket, the little tea-kettle which had been
 
 24 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 steaming merrily on the hob was quickly lifted and 
 set under the bed. And when Elizabeth opened the 
 door, the five old ladies were all sitting demurely knit 
 ting with an air of having done nothing else for 
 hours. 
 
 Elizabeth s father stood in the door looking at the 
 group before him. "Mother," he said, "what is this 
 odor I discover ? " 
 
 Elizabeth trembled. What could her grandmother 
 say ? 
 
 " I am entertaining my friends, Stephen," replied 
 the old lady in her most dignified manner. " Surely 
 it is not seemly for you to thrust yourself in upon us 
 in this way." 
 
 "Your friends are very welcome, mother, that 
 you well know. They are mothers in Israel who 
 have held up to the Lord the hands of more than 
 one of my worthy townsmen, but Stephen Hall 
 paused and pointed to a solitary tea-cup, the one his 
 mother, herself, had been using, and which, in hcr 
 haste, she had not hidden. " What is in that cup ? 
 Tea! Whence came the vile abomination? Must the 
 mothers of my patriot friends so yearn for the flesh- 
 pots of Egypt that my house must be filled with the 
 fumes of this accursed stuff ? " 
 
 The old ladies cowered before the stern counte-
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 25 
 
 nance of the incensed man. Elizabeth hid her face 
 in her grandmother s skirts. 
 
 "Elizabeth!" 
 
 As her father spoke, the little girl was reminded of 
 some of the terrifying hymns which were wont to 
 strike horror to her soul. 
 
 "Come here," her father ordered; "where did your 
 grandmother get that tea? Did you get it for her?" 
 
 The child quailed, but she quavered out, "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " Down on the shore where it had washed up." 
 
 The man looked stern and grim, and Elizabeth had 
 never been so scared, not even when the school 
 master had once accused her of whispering and had 
 threatened a whipping before the school, a punish 
 ment which she in nowise deserved, and which she 
 did not receive, owing to Amos, who made her cause 
 his, and stoutly declared that it was not Elizabeth, 
 that he knew who it was but would not tell. He 
 had been punished for refusing to tell, not severely, 
 to be sure, but in this moment of trial Elizabeth re 
 membered it. What would her father do to her, she 
 wondered. 
 
 She stood so white and trembling that her grand 
 mother noticed it, and spoke up sharply. " It is not 
 the child s fault, Stephen. I ordered her to do it. I
 
 26 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 have no overstrained notions, and I am not afraid of 
 the selectmen." There was a little curl of grand 
 mother s lip, but her son did not wince. 
 
 "I am afraid neither of king nor council," he an 
 swered. " I defy the entire body of royal minions. 
 My country must be saved." He lifted his hand 
 solemnly. "Mother," he said more gently, "the 
 day will come when you, too, will understand what 
 our resistance means. My good friends, pardon this 
 interruption of your pleasure, but my house is my 
 castle; in it I cannot permit the use of tea. You 
 will excuse me if I insist upon destroying what re 
 mains. Come to me, daughter. You did not realize 
 that you were a traitor to your father s cause." He 
 held out his hand and enfolded Betsey s in a close 
 clasp. And the child s whole heart went out to 
 him. Then and there she vowed to make his cause 
 hers. She understood only dimly, but she felt that 
 this conscientious, God-fearing man was actuated only 
 by the highest motives. 
 
 "Where is the tea?" he asked agaim His mother 
 gave one look at the solemn face in which a dedica 
 tory light shone, and she silently produced the little 
 pillow-slip which still showed the stains of the damp 
 tea. 
 
 Stephen Hall took it, and stepping forward shook
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 27 
 
 the contents into the open fire. A queer odor and a 
 choking smoke arose, and the four visitors, hastily 
 gathering their hoods and cloaks, took their departure. 
 
 As for Elizabeth, she felt as if it were a sacrificial 
 fire, and that from the altar, represented by her 
 grandmother s fireplace, ascended her own vow to be 
 true to her father s principles. 
 
 Whether Grandmother Hall felt offended at her 
 son s action or whether she was really ashamed of 
 her own did not then appear. At all events she an 
 nounced, a short time after this, her intention of 
 making a visit to her brother Abiel Porter at Salem. 
 
 Elizabeth was too fond of her grandmother not to 
 see her departure with sorrow, but since much emo 
 tion was discouraged she shed no tears. 
 
 But even her grandmother s going did not mend 
 matters so far as Amos Dwight was concerned, for 
 except when he was obliged to speak to her, he never 
 did so. She wondered if it would make any differ 
 ence should he know how she felt now, but she was 
 too proud to make any advance toward a reconciliation.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A CUP OF COLD WATER. 
 
 VERY silent were the wharves and harbors of 
 Boston, for her trade had been transferred to 
 Marblehead, and the seat of government to Salem. 
 Charlestown, too, suffered from the Boston Port Bill, 
 and her indignant citizens shared the punishment 
 England chose to administer to the larger town. It 
 had been several months since the overthrow of the 
 chests of tea, and since then more than one cup had 
 been brewed in the waters of American ports, for 
 "the old lady over the sea." 
 
 Elizabeth Hall missed many of her neighbors and 
 her school friends, who, in consequence of the block 
 ade, had removed to other towns better supplied ; 
 which towns, however, did not forget their suffering 
 brethren patiently accepting for conscience sake the 
 weight of the king s displeasure. 
 
 It was always a red-letter day for the Halls, when 
 from Salem came a team bearing supplies which 
 Uncle Abiel Porter had sent to his niece. Elizabeth, 
 
 28
 
 A CUP OF COLD WATER. 29 
 
 Stephen, and even little baby Mary watched eagerly 
 for it, because it meant a store of dainties sent by 
 Aunt Pamela, in the making of which Grandmother 
 Hall had, herself, taken a hand. 
 
 "There they come!" Elizabeth cried to her 
 mother, one morning. " There is a long train of 
 wagons, and I see Uncle Abiel s among them. He 
 has come himself this time." 
 
 Mrs. Hall hurried to the window as the clumsy 
 team stopped before the door. A tall, gaunt man 
 stepped up to the eager little group which waited 
 to greet him. At first sight Uncle Abiel appeared to 
 be an elderly, shrewd, sharp, solemn-faced Yankee ; 
 but there was a twinkle in his blue eye, and, under 
 his homely garb, linsey-woolsey breeches, and long- 
 tailed coat, there beat a gentle, loving heart, for all 
 his Puritanical aspect. 
 
 "Well, Polly," he said, greeting his niece, heartily, 
 " better pick up the children and go back with me, 
 hadn t you ? Lizbeth wants you, and Pamela sends 
 you word there s room for all." 
 
 " While my husband stays, I can, too. How is 
 Mother Hall?" 
 
 " She s nicely. She hasn t got over that tarring 
 and feathering of Thomas Uitson. I don t know as 
 anything else ever would have made her stop hurrah-
 
 3O A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 ing for King George, but she s shut up now. Wish 
 you d think better about going back with me, Polly." 
 
 Elizabeth and Stephen looked at each other. 
 "Wouldn t it be nice to go to Uncle Abiel s ? " whis 
 pered Stephen. " We d not have such a time get 
 ting something to eat there." 
 
 "The times are growing harder," sighed Mrs. 
 Hall ; " but we must not give up yet, Uncle Abiel. 
 I am grieved for my children s sakes ; but I cannot 
 leave my husband." 
 
 Uncle Abiel looked the children over. " Suppose 
 I take the children." 
 
 Mrs. Hall hesitated. She looked from one to the 
 other. " It would not be easy to give them up, 
 even for a time, and yet so many have left the town. 
 Should you like to go with Uncle Abiel?" she asked. 
 
 Elizabeth stood stanchly. " No, thank you. I 
 prefer to stay while you do, mother." 
 
 " And I, too," piped up little Stephen. 
 
 Uncle Abiel smiled. " I guess there s no use in 
 giving a second invitation. They seem pretty set in 
 knowing their minds." 
 
 Mrs. Hall cuddled little Mary up in her arms, and 
 smiled down at her. "We ll get along, Uncle Abiel," 
 she said. "You ve brought us such a famous lot of 
 things, and maybe times will soon get better."
 
 A CUP OF COLD WATER. 31 
 
 He shook his head. "No such chance, Polly. 
 I ve been getting down my old blunderbuss, and we re 
 moulding up the dishes for bullets. There are signs 
 of war, Polly, signs of war." 
 
 Elizabeth listened, awe-stricken. Making bullets ! 
 That did sound ominous. 
 
 " Stephen about ? " asked Uncle Abiel. 
 
 " He s down seeing about the teams, I guess. 
 The General Court meets to-day, and he is anxious 
 over the election of counsellors." 
 
 Uncle Abiel thoughtfully rubbed his chin. " I ll 
 see him," he said, and he turned away. 
 
 But the question of bullets still agitated Elizabeth, 
 and the day was long remembered by her. It was 
 to be one which brought her the first impression of 
 what war might mean ; and when later their own 
 pewter plates were melted up, and when she saw 
 her father cleaning his musket, she looked on with 
 interested eyes. She knew he belonged to the 
 minute-men, and that he might be called forth at 
 any moment. 
 
 "Shall you have to go and fight, father?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " I do not know, my daughter. If I do, it will be 
 in a good cause." 
 
 " I know that. I wish I were a boy."
 
 32 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "Why, my child?" A little smile flickered around 
 his mouth. 
 
 " Because I should soon be old enough, and I d 
 like to fight those men who tarred and feathered 
 Thomas Ditson, and who took away all our ships 
 from the wharves, leaving us to want, and who 
 carried off the powder from our town." 
 
 " Perhaps you can do your part, my daughter. 
 Sometimes it so happens. Pray God that if you 
 are called upon to serve your country, you may do 
 it faithfully." 
 
 " I will, father," replied Elizabeth, gravely. And 
 she remembered this when the first portentous mutter- 
 ings of approaching conflict came nearer and nearer. 
 
 Stephen Hall s family had been considered among 
 the well-to-do people of the town, but now bare 
 necessities were scarcely to be had, and supplies were 
 growing more and more difficult to obtain. If the 
 cousins in the country had not been liberally minded, 
 even little Mary would often have gone to bed hungry. 
 But they kept up heart, and watched for the jolly 
 teamsters bringing their donations with so many signs 
 of good-will and even humor, for fantastic figures 
 often appeared on the teams and it was evident that 
 the spirit of generosity, no less than that of patriot 
 ism, warmed the hearts of both giver and receiver.
 
 A CUP OF C OLD WATER. 33 
 
 Elizabeth longed to talk it all over with her quon 
 dam friend and ally Amos Dwight, and she chafed 
 under the implied imputation that she was a Tory. 
 It is quite possible that Amos had long ago changed 
 his mind, if, indeed, he really meant what he said in 
 his hot anger. Boys love to tease, and he was a 
 proud youngster. So the combination made it diffi 
 cult for any better understanding to be reached. 
 
 But a graver quarrel than this was to stir Eliza 
 beth s heart to its very depths, and not only hers, 
 but those of an expectant nation. The news of it 
 flashed out on the eve of the nineteenth of April, 
 1775. Elizabeth was wakened in the dead of night 
 by hurried steps in the hall ; by the glimmer of a 
 light shining under the crack of her door; by muffled 
 voices speaking excitedly. She opened her door and 
 went into the entry where her father stood ready to 
 depart. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked. "Is any one ill?" 
 
 " It is a call to arms," replied her father. " Paul 
 Revere has just ridden through to carry the message 
 and arouse the minute-men. The signal shone forth 
 from the North Church. Be brave, my child ; do not 
 detain me." And as her mother handed him his 
 musket, Elizabeth slung his powder horn over his 
 shoulder.
 
 34 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Her heart was beating high, but, without a tear, she 
 saw her father turn away, although her cold hands 
 and compressed lips told what self-control was needed. 
 She looked up to see her mother pale, but quiet as 
 a statue. The daughter of a long line of dauntless 
 warriors who had fought their way through hardships 
 and savage warfare was not to be dismayed. She 
 even summoned a smile to her lips as she quieted 
 Elizabeth s fears by saying, " Do not look so 
 frightened, my child. There will scarcely be blood 
 shed. It is probably only a false alarm." 
 
 The next morning the little dull schoolhouse showed 
 a more excited set of scholars than usual. Mehitable 
 or " Hitty " Miller called Betsey aside before school. 
 "We have hidden all our valuables," she whispered, 
 with an air of importance. 
 
 "Have you?" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Well, we ve 
 sent all ours to my Uncle Abiel s, at Salem. My 
 father is a minute-man. Is yours, Hitty ?" 
 
 " Yes, he is, and he s gone to meet with his com 
 pany." 
 
 " So s mine, but my mother thinks he was called 
 by a hasty alarm, and that there is really no danger 
 at hand." 
 
 The tinkle, tinkle of the bell interrupted them, and 
 they straggled with the rest into the schoolroom.
 
 A CUP OF COLD WATER. 35 
 
 Elizabeth went over to the dark closet on one side 
 the room, and hung up her lunch-basket and her 
 bonnet; then she took her seat, and looked around to 
 see who was present. Her little brother, Stephen, sat 
 with other tyros still struggling with their A B C s on 
 the front bench. Elizabeth s place was further back, 
 she being one of the older scholars. Amos Uwight s 
 seat was quite in the rear, for he was still older. 
 Elizabeth took a single glance in the direction where 
 he was wont to sit, but he was not there. There 
 was suppressed excitement visible upon the faces of 
 the few boys who were present, and although the 
 master spoke up sharply once or twice on account 
 of the unusual inattention, he overlooked more mis 
 demeanors than usual, and appeared to glance out 
 of the window more frequently than seemed in accord 
 ance with his position. 
 
 The day wore on. Little Stephen was standing by 
 the teacher s side, droning in a sing-song voice as 
 each letter was pointed out to him, " A-er, B-er, C-er," 
 when suddenly there came the clatter of a horse s 
 hoofs down the street, galloping, galloping. The 
 schoolmaster started. The children looked at each 
 other fearfully. Then the door was flung open, and 
 Amos Dwight appeared on the threshold. 
 
 "The redcoats are coming! The redcoats are
 
 36 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 coming ! " he cried. " They are on their way. Dr. 
 Warren has brought the news!" 
 
 " School is dismissed," said the master, shortly, and 
 without waiting for the clumsy bow, or funny little 
 bobbing courtesy from the scholars, he picked up his 
 hat and rushed out, leaving the children to follow. 
 
 Elizabeth grabbed little Stephen by the hand. He 
 was thrusting his fists into his eyes trying to keep 
 back the tears of fright, but as he felt his sister s pro 
 tecting clasp, he choked back the sobs, although his 
 blue eyes still held unshed drops. 
 
 Outside stood Amos, rigid as a statue. He did not 
 look at Elizabeth, but she forgot all differences, and 
 turned to him, saying, " Oh, Amos, are they very 
 near ? " 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "they are coming straight 
 through the town, they say. Run, Betsey, run;" and 
 catching up little Stephen in his arms, the boy raced 
 down the street, Elizabeth following, and barely able 
 to keep up with the speed his long legs made. 
 
 Men were hurrying in every direction, their fire 
 arms in their hands. Women showed distressed faces, 
 and everywhere was dismay and alarm. Some were 
 fleeing toward the ferry at the Mystic ; others toward 
 the marsh in the direction of Medford. 
 
 At the door of their house Elizabeth met her mother
 
 A CUP OF COLD WATER. 37 
 
 anxiously looking for her children. " Oh, Amos!" cried 
 Mrs. Hall, "tell me about it. What are the reports ? " 
 
 " Paul Revere rode through last night to give alarm 
 to the minute-men, as you know. The bells were 
 ringing in all the country around in no time, they say. 
 The men were all alert, for they had looked for this, 
 and they gathered very quickly. The news was that 
 a lot of the British were marching to capture the stores 
 at Concord, and 
 
 "Yes yes, we heard that but has there been 
 bloodshed ? " 
 
 " Yes, at Lexington and at Concord." 
 
 "War has begun!" cried Mrs. Hall, clasping her 
 hands. 
 
 At this moment there seemed to be added excitement 
 in the street, and some one cried out : " Flee ! flee ! get 
 to some place of safety. Cambridge bridge has been 
 taken up, and the British are coming this way." 
 
 " You d better go down cellar, Mrs. Hall," said 
 Amos, hastily. " I ll go warn them at home ; " and 
 he sped away. 
 
 A few persons stood looking around uncertainly ; 
 they had heard reports of such nature before this. 
 "Wolf! Wolf," had been the cry more than once, 
 and now they hesitated. But presently the sound of 
 musketry was heard just above the town, and every
 
 38 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 one fled. Some rushed down into the nearest cellar, 
 others attempted to follow those who had escaped 
 in the several safe directions. 
 
 Little Stephen could no longer keep back his tears 
 of affright, as Elizabeth led him down into the cellar. 
 Little Mary, also, began to cry, and Elizabeth herself 
 felt her heart beating fast, but she kept close to her 
 mother, and tried to help her soothe the children. 
 
 Then came the noise of the approaching troops, 
 hurrying along tumultuously. The sudden report of 
 a rifle rang out near by ; it was answered by another, 
 and the cry arose, " The British are murdering the 
 women and children ! " 
 
 Stephen gave a scream, and buried his head in his 
 sister s lap. Mrs. Hall clasped her baby closer. 
 
 But by degrees the confusion grew less and less ; 
 only groans and moans were heard, and twilight settled 
 down over the town. Still the little family hidden 
 in the cellar did not dare to venture out. At last, 
 from the dimness above to the darkness below, a voice 
 called, " Mrs. Hall, are you safe ? " 
 
 "Yes," came the reply. 
 
 "There is no danger now." And Amos appeared 
 to help them up. 
 
 " We saw the troops go by. Did they do much 
 damage ? " asked Mrs. Hall, anxiously.
 
 A CUP OF COLD WATER. 39 
 
 " Edward Barber was killed, and James Miller." 
 
 "Oh," cried Elizabeth, "how dreadful! Oh, mother, 
 suppose it had been father ! " 
 
 Her mother looked very grave. " May the Lord 
 be merciful to us!" she said. "I am sorely grieved 
 for Sarah Miller. She has gone to Bedford, and 
 knows nothing of her loss as yet, I suppose. Have 
 you heard, Amos, who fell at Lexington and Concord?" 
 
 " No, but none of our townspeople. Poor Edward 
 Barber was a victim here. I cannot realize it, and yet 
 he died a martyr for his country, and that is a glory. 
 But I must return to my aunt ; she will need me." 
 And he left them. 
 
 " What is that rapping at the door ? " said Mrs. Hall, 
 after Amos s footsteps had died away. " Go, open, 
 child." 
 
 Elizabeth went to the door. There stood two soldiers. 
 They wore the British uniform ; one was leaning 
 heavily upon the other. He looked very white and 
 ill, and pressed his hand to his side. "Can you give 
 me a cup of water?" said the older of the two. 
 " My comrade is wounded, and is very faint." 
 
 " Mother ! Mother ! " called Elizabeth. She was 
 not quite sure whether it would be well to offer even 
 this to the enemy, and yet she felt very sorry for 
 this poor young fellow scarcely more than a lad.
 
 4<D A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Mrs. Hall appeared instantly. The soldier repeated 
 his request. 
 
 " Come in," said Mrs. Hall. " Perhaps we can 
 ease your comrade s pain." 
 
 "Thank you, madam," replied the man, courteously. 
 " He is a young fellow to be in such straits. I fear 
 that he will hardly be able to gain Boston." 
 
 Mrs. Hall ushered them into her sitting-room. " Go, 
 get them some water," she said to Elizabeth. Then 
 she whispered : " If thine enemy hunger, feed him ; 
 if he thirst, give him drink. Go, child ; " and Eliza 
 beth s compressed lips took on a gentler curve as she 
 obeyed. When she had returned with the cooling 
 drink, her mother had cut a\vay the young soldier s 
 coat and was dressing his wound. She was very 
 pale, but composed and efficient. She bade Elizabeth 
 bring bandages and ointment, and when the hurts 
 were deftly treated, she said with a very gentle, but 
 with a dignified, air to the elder man who had watched 
 her with a deferential look, " If you can assist your 
 friend to yon settee, he will be more comfortable." 
 
 " My good lady ! how kind you are," the man said 
 gratefully. " I fear we intrude upon you, but my 
 sister, the lad s mother, will add her thanks to ours. 
 She gave him into my charge." 
 
 A sad smile came upon Mrs. Hall s face. " He is
 
 A CUP OF COLD WATER. 41 
 
 one of my Father s children, therefore my brother," 
 she replied. 
 
 The young man bowed his head, reverently, and 
 between them they managed to get the wounded boy 
 in a more comfortable position. 
 
 " I shall not forget this service," said the soldier. 
 " May I crave your name, madam ? " 
 
 " I am Mistress Mary Hall, the wife of Stephen 
 Hall. My husband is a patriot, who has this day 
 been called forth to defend the stores at Concord." 
 Mistress Polly s eyes showed a defiance unlike the 
 expression which they had displayed a moment be 
 fore. 
 
 " I doubt not that he is a brave gentleman," returned 
 the soldier. " He should be, to be worthy of such a 
 wife. I am Andrew Yorke, and my young comrade 
 
 is Hugh Jarvis, my nephew." 
 
 
 By his shoulder-straps, Mrs. Hall perceived that 
 
 the speaker bore the rank of captain ; and she ad 
 dressed him as such. " I thank you, Captain Yorke," 
 she replied, " your young friend shall have a mother s 
 care while he is under our roof. I would that I could 
 hope these dreadful scenes might not be repeated." 
 
 " I join you in your wish," the captain made answer. 
 " And now, if you will allow me, I will leave my 
 friend to your tender mercies, till he can be safely
 
 42 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 transported across the river. I am sure that I could 
 not leave him in better hands. Again, I thank you ; " 
 and the British soldier stalked out. 
 
 As he came through the front entry he found the 
 door open, and upon the little porch were Elizabeth 
 and Stephen. They were dispensing cold water to the 
 worn, thirsty soldiers who straggled along, Stephen 
 replenishing the bucket with a fresh supply every few 
 minutes. The little fellow was toiling along with such 
 load as he could carry, when the soldier met him. 
 The child had recovered from his fear of the sol 
 diers, and smiled up at the tall officer who stopped 
 and patted him on the head. "Will you give me a 
 drink, little maid ? " he said to Elizabeth. 
 
 She gravely proffered him a cupful. 
 
 " You are too generous a maid, and this is much 
 too kindly a house to belong to an enemy of the 
 king," he remarked as he returned the cup. 
 
 Elizabeth stood up very straight. " If the king had 
 done to you, in your house, what he has done to us in 
 ours, how should you feel ? " she replied. 
 
 The captain laughed. "I must confess I shall have 
 to think twice before I answer that," he said. "You 
 arc wise as you are sweet, my little lass, and I have no 
 cause to quarrel with the daughter of so gracious a 
 lady as your mother. I thank you for your cooling
 
 A CUP OF COLD WATER. 43 
 
 draught. It is most hospitable of you to proffer this 
 cold water to our thirsty lads." 
 
 " It is because the Bible tells me to." 
 
 The captain smiled. " Not because you want to, 
 eh ? Your name is 
 
 " Elizabeth." 
 
 "After the good Queen Bess, is it?" 
 
 Elizabeth flushed. She felt that he was mocking 
 her. She determined that she would never permit 
 any one to call her anything but Betsey after that. 
 
 " I shall not forget you, Miss Elizabeth Hall," said 
 the captain, lifting his cap. "We shall meet again." 
 And he walked away, leaving Betsey half angry at 
 what she considered his presumption. She was the 
 more uncomfortable that Amos Dwight passing saw 
 her giving water to the redcoats, and also saw her 
 in converse with one of them. But the poor wounded 
 boy indoors excited her fullest commiseration, and 
 she helped her mother to minister to him till he 
 could be carried by his comrades across the ferry ; 
 for the British, after threatening to burn the town if 
 further pressed, were resting on Bunker Hill, and it 
 was the next day before Captain Yorke and three 
 others returned for Hugh Jarvis. 
 
 " I never dreamed there would be fighting," said 
 the lad, when strength permitted him to speak.
 
 44 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " Well, aren t you going to stop it, and go right 
 home?" Elizabeth asked. 
 
 The boy smiled sadly. " That I cannot do with 
 out disgrace ; but I would fain defend you and your 
 mother if it were in my power, and if ever I can 
 do you a service I shall not forget." 
 
 "We don t want any service except just to be ht 
 alone," declared Betsey. 
 
 She was such a fierce little partisan that she 
 greatly amused Captain Yorke, and but for her youth, 
 and for the kind ministrations of her mother, she 
 might have brought trouble upon them by her de 
 fiant speeches. 
 
 However, when the time came, both the Britishers 
 bade them a courteous farewell. Would they ever 
 meet again ? Who could tell ?
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE OLD OX-CART. 
 
 NOT long, however, was safety to be known in 
 Charlestown ; for on a morning two months later, 
 a morning in mid June, there came an end to all 
 Elizabeth Hall s home association for many days. It 
 was in the early morning that the booming of cannon 
 aroused Betsey, and she sat up to listen. Her father 
 she knew had spoken a more than usually fond good 
 night, and had left the house some nights before to re 
 turn to his regiment. The little girl sprang from her 
 bed and went to the window. The day was fair and 
 warm. She looked out upon Charles River, blue and 
 sparkling in the morning sun. She thought of the 
 British on the other side, there in Boston town. The 
 booming of the cannon continued. Did it mean a 
 battle ? 
 
 She dressed hastily and went downstairs. Her 
 mother stood talking to a neighbor. " Betsey had better 
 know," said this latter. 
 
 Her mother turned to her. " Your father is with the 
 
 45
 
 46 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 men who are throwing up the earthworks at Breed s 
 Hill. We may have to leave home, Betsey." 
 
 "Oh! " exclaimed Betsey, clasping her hands, "may 
 I go tell Hitty Miller? She may not have heard." 
 
 " Yes, go, but return quickly. I shall need you." 
 And Betsey sped down the street. 
 
 There were people hurrying to and fro, mostly 
 women or little children : women with anxious faces, 
 children with wondering eyes and with questioning 
 words upon their lips. Few men were to be seen. 
 Old Jedediah Punchard hobbled along shaking his pal 
 sied head : outside his door sat Asa Smith, watching 
 with envious eyes the girl who passed him with quick, 
 springing tread. But Betsey did not stop to speak to 
 any one as she hurried on. 
 
 "Oh, to be a man!" she thought, "that I, too, 
 might march against the redcoats and raise the cry 
 for freedom." 
 
 By this time she had reached Hitty Miller s house. 
 Here, too, she found the news had travelled. " Gran - 
 t .ier says it is going to be a great day," said Hitty, 
 excitedly. " We are packing up in case we have to 
 leave." 
 
 " I should like to be with my father over there," and 
 Elizabeth nodded in the direction of Breed s Hill. 
 
 " I am sure we are as safe here," returned Hitty.
 
 THE OLD OX-CART. 47 
 
 " Perhaps, but I must not tarry. I promised my 
 mother I would return at once;" and Betsey turned 
 back. 
 
 All the morning she helped her mother gather their 
 possessions to be ready for a sudden departure. 
 
 By mid-day the streets were full of excited people 
 gathered in knots and talking earnestly. 
 
 "What news ? " called Betsey from the door 
 where she was standing, and almost at the same in 
 stant a shout was heard further down the street and 
 Betsey ran out. 
 
 "The redcoats are coming!" arose the cry. "They 
 have begun to embark. They are crossing the river," 
 some one told her. " The redcoats are coming ! " 
 cried Betsey, bursting into the house, where her 
 mother stood still busy in making compact bundles 
 of clothing for an emergency. 
 
 " Do you speak truly ? " 
 
 "Most truly. Oh, mother, what does it mean? 
 Are we in danger?" 
 
 " God is our refuge and strength, a very present 
 help in trouble, " said the mother, laying her hand on 
 the girl s head. 
 
 Then came another report. " The redcoats have 
 crossed. We do not know what next. They are not 
 making an attack, but there is no time to lose."
 
 48 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " Oh, mother, will they destroy our house ? " asked 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 The mother shook her head, mournfully. "We 
 cannot tell, my child. War hardens the hearts of men 
 so that they become as rapacious as wild beasts ; 
 but I cannot think that those to whom we have 
 lately given help, whose wounds we have bound up, 
 could turn and rend us. Still it is not safe to stay." 
 
 Elizabeth looked around the pleasant room with 
 its familiar furnishings, out of the window into the 
 garden whose borders were brave with June blossoms 
 over which brown bees droned with a drowsy hum. 
 Such a peaceful home, and only one of many hold 
 ing contented hearts in that little town. Visions of 
 possible destruction rose before the girl, and at that 
 moment home never seemed so dear. 
 
 A small town it was, numbering only about four or 
 five hundred houses ; neat, wooden structures made 
 cosy and homelike by those dwelling in them. Over 
 in Boston town, what anxious crowds occupied the 
 elevated places of the city, gathering upon roofs and 
 pinnacles to watch the outcome of the day s 
 proceedings. 
 
 Betsey, without a word, stood by her mother s 
 side. They looked forth from their little window, 
 anxious, expectant. At last, with one look around
 
 THE OLD OX-CART. 49 
 
 her, taking in the dear details of her home, the 
 mother gathered her children to her. " Oh, my 
 children ! how and where shall we go ? " was the cry 
 wrung from her lips. 
 
 And then all the spirit of the girl arose. " Stay, 
 but an instant, mother," she said, " I know what to 
 do ; " and she rushed from the room, running with all 
 speed to the yard where stood the stable. There 
 were no horses there, and even the oxen had been 
 pressed into service, all but one : mild-eyed, patient old 
 Brindle stood in his stall. He turned his large eyes 
 upon the girl who daily gave him food and water. 
 "You must help us, Brindle," said Betsey; "mother 
 and the children cannot walk far. You will help us, 
 old Brindle;" and to the clumsy ox-cart she yoked 
 the slow, patient beast, her fingers working nervously. 
 " Poor old Brindle. Gee, Brindle. Come, come, step 
 out;" and with deliberate tread the old creature left 
 his place. Running back to the house, Betsey found 
 that her mother had her bundles ready, and these 
 were placed in the cart. Then they started. 
 
 Presently there leaped up toward the June heavens a 
 tongue of flame, followed by a column of curling smoke. 
 The threat of the British was fulfilled. They had set 
 fire to Charlestown. A cry broke from the mother s 
 lips ; Stephen grasped her hand with a sudden grip.
 
 5O A GIRL OK 76. 
 
 Little Mary put up her lip, seeing that something was 
 wrong. Faster and faster shot up the flames ; denser 
 and denser grew the smoke ; no use to try to stay the 
 fierce flames ; the houses caught readily. Wilder and 
 wilder grew the scene ; fiercer and fiercer the conflagra 
 tion ; now the church is wrapped in fire, tongues of 
 flame leaping up from the spire. Now the schoolhouse 
 is reached. Group after group of people flee wildly up 
 the street, sometimes pursued by an insolent soldiery. 
 Once or twice a fierce cry of rage burst from Betsey 
 as she beheld some one thus set upon. 
 
 Closer and closer approached the pitiless fire ; the 
 air was full of cinders ; a choking smoke threatened 
 to stifle them. Seen through the rolling gray clouds, 
 the forms of the red-coated soldiers, appearing once in 
 a while, seemed like veritable fire fiends. The green 
 trees, which but that morning had held their leafy 
 hands spread out toward the sky, now shrivelled, with 
 ered, and dry, added fuel to the element. The licking 
 flames shot up the noble trunks, charring, scoring, 
 destroying. Everywhere was devastation, ruin. 
 
 Betsey, dizzy and bewildered, could scarcely turn her 
 cart in the right direction. Present danger almost 
 routed regret, for every moment added to the inse 
 curity of the family. More by intuition than by judg 
 ment the girl guided the old ox along the road, across
 
 THE OLD OX-CART. 51 
 
 the neck, which was each moment becoming more dan 
 gerous, on toward Plowed Hill, and finally the ferry 
 was reached. Here, with others waiting to be ferried 
 across, they halted, old Brindle s slow, swinging tread 
 having allowed many to pass them. 
 
 And now was heard, with more and more frequent 
 recurrence, the booming of cannon, the cries and lam 
 entations of the fugitives, the shouts of the pursuing 
 enemy, the snapping of the fire, the noise of falling 
 timbers. First one, then another sound rising in 
 volume. 
 
 Followed by flying sparks, enveloped in a wreath 
 of drifting smoke, the last barge was rowed across 
 the Mystic, and the escaped townspeople took up 
 their station on a hill where they could overlook 
 the burning town, and watch the issue of the battle. 
 Breathless they watched and listened. Silence along 
 the line of battle till the enemy s charge was led ; 
 then the sharp rattle of musketry dying away was 
 followed by cries and groans ; again preeminent 
 came the noise of the conflagration ; then the re 
 peated sound of the sharp rattle of the rifles with 
 the undertone of lamenting, and fierce staccato cries 
 accenting themselves. 
 
 At every reverberation resounding along the hills 
 Betsey s heart sank, for who knew but that she was
 
 52 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 rendered fatherless. Nevertheless, that very thought 
 brought anew the importance of courage, and she 
 would turn an undaunted face toward her mother, or 
 would utter a word of cheer to Stephen who clung, 
 awed and scared, close to her. 
 
 It was four hours from the time that the batteries 
 first opened fire that the last company, under the 
 valiant Captain Josiah Harris, beat a retreat. For 
 an hour and a half the actual conflict had raged. 
 But at last, for want of powder, the patriots gave up 
 the ground, and Bunker Hill was occupied by the 
 British. 
 
 The little knoll on the other side of the river 
 showed a group of white, anxious faces. The homes 
 of these refugees lay in ashes, and who of their 
 friends and kinsmen lay there lifeless, their hearts 
 blood wetting the very soil of their native village ? 
 It was a day never to be forgotten. The air, even 
 here upon this green hill, came to them laden with 
 the smoke of battle and of the burning town, and 
 the sun went clown a red ball seen through the 
 gray atmosphere. 
 
 Just as the lights were being lighted in Medford 
 town, the little ox-cart halted at a hospitable door, 
 and the wayfarers were welcomed with all sympathy 
 by those of their kith and kin.
 
 THE OLD OX-CART. 53 
 
 These good cousins in Medford were eager in 
 their persuasions for the little family to stop there 
 indefinitely, and vied with each other in offering hos 
 pitality to the refugees, but at Uncle Simon Hall s 
 Betsey s mother resolved to remain. 
 
 " Well, at any rate," said one of the numerous 
 cousin Elizabeths at whose house they had first 
 stopped, " you ll keep Sabbath with us and stay and 
 get rested." And this they consented to do. 
 
 The battle of Bunker Hill had taken place on 
 Saturday, and all Sabbath day there was a sad sort 
 of excitement visible upon all faces. It seemed 
 strange to Elizabeth, whose Sabbaths had been given 
 to such unworldly matters, to be listening to accounts 
 of the great battle of the day before, and that the 
 usual interest in going to meeting was lost in the 
 all-absorbing topic. 
 
 There were few women absent from meeting that 
 clay, and Betsey, although she felt tired all over, did 
 not consider that sufficient excuse for staying at 
 home, and decided to go with her cousins. They 
 all marched decorously forth, each with her hymn- 
 book, Bible, and a little sprig of fennel or southern 
 wood in her hand, and, reaching the meeting-house, 
 placed themselves in the high old pew with seats on 
 three sides. Not many men were present, but the
 
 54 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 diversion of seeing one after another rise to ease 
 his strained muscles after long sitting, was scarcely 
 needed this morning, for the grave discourse of the 
 minister and his reference to those who had fallen in 
 battle, interested even the children, except the few 
 whom only dill or caraway seeds could keep awake. 
 
 Betsey felt a lump in her throat as the list of the 
 dead and wounded was read out. If this war went on, 
 it might be that some day her father s name would be 
 contained in such a list. Then she remembered that 
 only a heap of ashes was left of her house, that this was 
 a strange meeting-house, and she not in her accustomed 
 pew. What wonder that her thoughts wandered ? 
 
 As she came out of the meeting-house she found her 
 self an object of great interest, and felt a little proud at 
 being considered a heroine ; but she immediately put 
 away the feeling, for grandmother was wont to tell 
 her that a " really great trial makes good persons 
 feel humble, and not as though they were to be 
 praised for suffering." Besides this, she was sore and 
 tired, and did not think heroines very comfortable 
 beings, however much they might be praised. 
 
 " Come, Betsey, you ll go home with us, won t 
 you ? " said one of her cousins about her own age. 
 
 Betsey looked at her cousin Elizabeth, who was 
 with her.
 
 THE OLD OX-CART. 55 
 
 " No, Abby," she said, " Betsey s mother wouldn t 
 like her to go visiting on the Sabbath. She can go 
 over to-morrow. Besides, her mother s all fagged out, 
 and little Polly isn t well, so I think Betsey will be 
 wrong to go." 
 
 Elizabeth felt a little sorry. She liked this cousin 
 Abigail, and she liked the queer old farm-house in 
 which she lived. Then, too, Abby s great-grandsire 
 always had such thrilling tales of the Indian wars to 
 tell, so that Betsey was quite eager to accept Abby s 
 invitation. 
 
 " You shall go to-morrow, if your mother consents," 
 said her cousin Elizabeth. " Come, children, it is not 
 proper to stand here and talk of trivial things." So 
 Betsey went home to her dinner of baked beans and 
 Indian pudding, Abby having promised to come for 
 her bright and early. 
 
 But before breakfast there was a stir downstairs. 
 Excited voices reached Betsey s ear, and she hurried 
 on her clothes. For a moment the thought came that 
 the place was surrounded with redcoats, but soon she 
 heard the familiar tones of Uncle Abiel, and she flew 
 downstairs in the greatest haste to reach him. Her 
 mother was already in the room, and Uncle Abiel was 
 saying : " I hoped to find you all here. Why didn t 
 you leave the town sooner? It was bad judgment to
 
 56 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 stay. I know Stephen thought you safely over the 
 river before noon." 
 
 "We hoped there would be no attack," replied 
 Mrs. Hall. " Each day I had felt we perhaps ought 
 to go, but I could be of more use to my husband 
 there, and I stayed in contradiction to my better 
 judgment. Most of our friends had left, and young 
 Amos Dwight came to me, with tears in his eyes, 
 saying he was to take his aunt and her children, 
 and would I not go too under his escort. That 
 was two weeks ago." 
 
 " You should have gone then." 
 
 " I do not regret the having remained, for I shall 
 never more see my home. Those who did remain, 
 too, were sorely pressed, they were among the 
 poorer neighbors, and it was my good fortune to 
 be allowed to share with them my store." 
 
 " Our home is gone," said Elizabeth, her lip trembling. 
 
 Uncle Abiel frowned and his eyes snapped as he 
 exclaimed : " Yes twas a wantonly cruel act, and the 
 British will learn that it will rouse the country more 
 than anything they could have done, for every one 
 will realize what may be expected at the hands of 
 the enemy." 
 
 "And how fares my father?" asked Elizabeth, at 
 the first opportunity.
 
 THE OLD OX-CART. 57 
 
 " He is wounded, not badly," answered Uncle 
 Abiel. " He stood near me, and with the butt of 
 his musket fought, after his powder had given out, 
 till he fell like many another. But not so grave, 
 little Betsey; he will soon again shoulder arms and 
 help to win our cause." And then, for the first 
 time, Betsey noticed that Uncle Abiel himself was 
 wounded about the face and head, and that his 
 right hand was bandaged. 
 
 " Oh ! and you are hurt, too, Uncle Abiel," she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " A mere scratch, one that will leave not so much 
 as an honorable scar." 
 
 "And where lies my father?" 
 
 " We have borne him back to camp. There is 
 yet hot work before us, and the God of battles alone 
 knows how it will end." 
 
 " It was a stout resistance, was it not ? " asked 
 Betsey s mother. 
 
 " It was in truth. Men never fought better, and 
 your Charlestown boys distinguished themselves." 
 
 " Oh, tell us about it ! " said Betsey, eagerly. 
 
 "The brave men at the redoubt would have been 
 cut off, but for the good fellows at the rail fence 
 and at the bank of the Mystic, for they held the 
 enemy in check till the main body had left the hill,
 
 58 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 and covered the retreat gallantly. Even though 
 their colonel, our worthy Thomas Gardner, was killed, 
 your townsman Josiah Harris s company behaved 
 nobly, for they w y ere the last to retreat." 
 
 "Oh, good! good!" cried Betsey. "I m proud of 
 them." 
 
 " Thomas Gardner lost to us ? " said Mrs. Hall. 
 
 " Yes, and he is heartily mourned. Yes, we have 
 lost some brave, true men. Joseph Warren s place 
 will be hard to fill." 
 
 "True; none could have been more poorly spared." 
 
 " But we made a good fight ; " and Uncle Abiel drew 
 himself up proudly. " Even if the British have our hill, 
 we ve taught them something. And as General Greene 
 says, we ll be glad to let them have another hill at the 
 same price." 
 
 Uncle Abiel left them the same day, for he was 
 anxious to get home, to reassure his wife, and to take 
 her the news of the engagement. 
 
 Betsey was left in such a state of excitement that 
 she almost forgot that she was going out to Aunt Nancy 
 Breed s, and she was surprised at the appearance of 
 Abby, who she had not remembered was coming for 
 her. However, it did not take her long to get ready, 
 and they were soon on the country road which led out 
 to the old farm-house.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A YOUNG FIFER. 
 
 JUST as she was about to leave her mother, Betsey 
 was informed that her various aunts, uncles, and 
 cousins had talked the matter over, and that it was 
 decided she was to remain for the present with Abby s 
 mother, Aunt Nancy Breed, and Betsey was well 
 pleased with the prospect of spending her summer days 
 at the country house. 
 
 " Oh, Betsey ! " cried Abby, " I am so glad, and I 
 hope you won t mind if I give you something." They 
 were on their way, and were full of plans. 
 
 "Give me something. Why, what?" 
 
 " You haven t saved any clothes at all, have you ? " 
 
 " Scarcely any." 
 
 "Then, oh, Betsey! I m going to give you half of 
 mine." 
 
 "Oh, no, Abby!" 
 
 " Yes, mother said I might. You see I can t be a 
 patriot any other way." 
 
 Betsey laughed, and then Abby saw what a funny 
 speech she had made. 
 
 59
 
 6O A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " Well, at any rate," she went on, " what I mean is 
 that I do want to help some way, and I am so glad to 
 have some little to give, Betsey." 
 
 Half of Abby s wardrobe did not represent such a 
 vast amount, nor a great variety. It meant plenty of 
 homespun linen underclothing, and two or three blue 
 and white check frocks and pinafores. Her mother 
 had long ago given up the encouraging of foreign 
 wear, and homespun took the place of even muslins 
 and calicoes. Abby s example fired numerous others 
 to do likewise, and before Betsey was twenty-four hours 
 under her aunt Nancy s roof, she had received no less 
 than six packages of clothing which various cousins 
 begged her to accept. She, therefore, settled down 
 under Aunt Nancy s roof very comfortably and happily. 
 
 About a week after her arrival there, she and Abby 
 were playing together in the garden under a large 
 elm tree, where they usually spent their spare moments. 
 They were considered to be rather big girls to be idle, 
 and each had a little work-bag which held her knitting. 
 They had finished the prescribed number of rows, and 
 were about to invent more pleasant pastime, when the 
 inspiring notes of a fife were heard. 
 
 They both jumped to their feet. "The British," 
 cried Abby. " Oh, Betsey ! " 
 
 "No, I think not." Betsey was peering over the
 
 A YOUNG KIFER. 6 1 
 
 fence. " It is only a company of volunteers on their 
 way to Medford. Let us watch them, and wave to 
 them as they go by. I wonder if they have come from 
 a distance." 
 
 The two girls peeped over the fence and watched 
 with much interest the approach of the little band of 
 patriots. The young fifer, marching ahead, was play 
 ing "The White Cockade" with much spirit. He was 
 a tall, erect lad, although very young. The men fol 
 lowing stepped along with firm, resolute tread. In each 
 face shone the fire of devotion. They wore linsey- 
 woolsey clothing, and were plain farmer lads, but they 
 were none the less of such stuff as heroes are made. 
 Nearer and nearer they came ; shriller and shriller 
 sounded the fife. 
 
 Suddenly Betsey gave a cry, and catching off her 
 pinafore she waved it frantically. "Amos! Amos!" 
 she cried. 
 
 The little fifer turned, and for one moment the strains 
 of "The White Cockade" came less bravely, but he did 
 not falter in his marching, and soon the company 
 passed by, leaving Betsey with tears in her eyes but 
 with a strange exultant smile on her lips. 
 
 "Why, Betsey," said Abby, "who was that? and 
 why did you cry out that way ? " 
 
 " It was Amos Dwight," Betsey answered, her eyes
 
 62 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 shining. " He has gone to the war and he is scarce 
 two years older than I. You must have seen him at 
 some time, Abby. He has been my friend ever since 
 I was a tiny little thing." 
 
 "Why, yes, I remember him." Abby turned and 
 with her cousin looked after the company, now dis 
 appearing over the hill, and giving Betsey the last 
 view of Amos which she was to have for many a day. 
 
 "Oh, Betsey, what a brave lad!" Abby broke the 
 silence by saying. 
 
 " He is brave," was Betsey s reply, and then she 
 stood still quietly thinking. A rush of memories came 
 over her. She remembered how Amos loved music ; 
 how he had often played on that same fife, on training- 
 days, that very tune for the little company of lads in 
 the town, who, imitating their elders, marched blithely 
 through the streets to the Common, where they drilled 
 with as much earnestness as the men, and how many 
 of those same lads would soon share the fortunes of 
 war with fathers and grandfathers. There were other 
 things, too, of which Betsey was reminded by the tune 
 of "The White Cockade." She had stolen off to the 
 stable more times than once to try her own powers on 
 her grandsire s fife, which her father treasured. And 
 had she not surprised Amos one training day by blow 
 ing as sturdily as he, standing above him in the stable
 
 A VOUXC; FIFF.R. 63 
 
 which overlooked a field of her father s where the 
 boys were gathered ? How astonished Amos was, and 
 what a compliment she had thought it that he said if 
 she were only a boy she could be their fifer. Ah, yes! 
 now that was all past, and from henceforth "The White 
 Cockade" must bring other memories. 
 
 The soldiers had hardly disappeared when little 
 Stephen was seen coming stumbling up the road. 
 He was dusty and tear-stained, and had evidently been 
 running till he was worn out. 
 
 " Why, Stephen!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "You poor 
 little sonny ! Are you running after the soldiers ? 
 You aren t big enough yet to list ; " and she smiled. 
 
 But Stephen broke out into a piteous cry. " Oh, 
 Betsey ! some mans have got Brindle and are driving 
 him off, and I corned all the way to tell you, and I fell 
 down, and I was so fraid the redcoats would get me 
 and shoot me before I got here." 
 
 " Why, how did you know the way ? " asked Abby 
 in astonishment. 
 
 "I just knew it was up the road that goes to the 
 country," panted Stephen. " Mother said it was." 
 
 " And did mother bid you come ? " 
 
 " No ; nobody told me. I corned my own self. I 
 runned after the men." 
 
 " And are they coming this way ? "
 
 64 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Stephen nodded. "They are down there. I see 
 them. Will they shoot me ? " 
 
 "They d better not try it," said Betsey, shortly, and 
 she put her arms protecting!} around the child who 
 felt perfectly safe under the wing of his dear Betsey. 
 
 " Who do you suppose they are ? " she asked Abby. 
 
 " They are some miscreant Tories, no doubt. They 
 are sneaking around in all directions, so I ve heard 
 grandsir say, and they know that most of the men 
 are away, so they have taken off your ox from your 
 uncle Simon s in his absence, thinking to furnish sup 
 plies to the British in some underhanded way." 
 
 Such a thought struck terror to Betsey s soul. Dear 
 old Brindle to be served up as a meal for the dreadful 
 redcoats, even though a tough meal he should be ! 
 She would shed her heart s blood before she would 
 allow it. 
 
 But what could two little girls and one very small 
 boy do ? They could not fight, but perhaps they could 
 outwit these men. 
 
 " How many men were there?" asked Betsey. 
 
 " Free no, two," said Stephen, after wisely con 
 sidering. 
 
 " Good ! " exclaimed Betsey ; " we might be able to 
 manage two." 
 
 There was not a man on the place this warm sum-
 
 A YOUNG FIFER. 65 
 
 mer afternoon except old great-grandsire, nodding 
 under the shade of a tree near the house; but, after 
 a hurried consultation with Abby, Betsey ran up the 
 garden walk, leaving Abby and Stephen to intercept 
 the men driving old Brindle. They were now coming 
 slowly up the hill. Abby s round cheeks glowed as 
 red as two apples ; her eyes shone ; the little pig-tail 
 braid at the back of her head seemed fairly to bristle. 
 She clutched the fence with her two plump hands, 
 and, as the men with the ox reached a point near, 
 she cried out, " Halt ! " 
 
 The men stood still and looked around in surprise 
 at the little figure in the homely brown frock, standing 
 so defiantly. 
 
 "You men, I know you," continued Abby. "Where 
 did you get that ox?" 
 
 " This ox ? We bought him down to Medford. So 
 you know us, sissy." 
 
 "Yes, I do. You," pointing a finger at one, "you 
 are Jabez Danforth, and you," indicating the other, 
 "are Thomas Black." 
 
 The men grinned sheepishly. " Seems to be a 
 smart missy," said one to the other. 
 
 " And I know that ox, too," continued Abby. 
 " You never in the world bought him, for he belongs 
 to a worthy patriot who is fighting for his country,
 
 66 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 while you are sneaking around trying to rob him of 
 the little he has left. So, so, Brindle." Abby had 
 jumped the fence and fearlessly approached the 
 old ox. 
 
 Stephen was following her, his chubby legs in 
 their stout trousers, struggling to get over. Half 
 tumbling, half climbing, he managed to reach the 
 ground, and the ox began to move toward him, snif 
 fing him knowingly. 
 
 " He s our own old Brindle," piped up Stephen ; 
 " and we had such a time getting him on the boat 
 when we came across the river. My father won t 
 let you have him, and when I get big, I ll shoot you 
 if you don t let him go." 
 
 " I vum ! it s the little chap that passed us on the 
 road," said one of the men, and the other made a 
 grab at the child, but Mr. Stephen took refuge be 
 hind the ox, which lowered his widespread horns 
 and kept the pursuer off. 
 
 " You d better clear out this minute, and leave that 
 ox here if you know what s good for you," said 
 Abby. She was trembling violently inside, but out 
 wardly she was very brave. 
 
 " I d like to know why," said one of the men. " He s 
 not yours." 
 
 " No ; but he s my cousin s, and if you want to
 
 NEARER AND NEARER CAME THE SOUND OF THE MUSIC.
 
 A YOUNG FIFER. 67 
 
 know why you d better leave him, it s because a body 
 of our troops have just passed this way. We ve but 
 to tell them, and you ll see whether they ll allow such 
 marauding. Hark ! What did I tell you ? " 
 
 At this moment came the distant sound of a fife. 
 Again it was "The White Cockade." The men looked 
 at each other. 
 
 "Help! Help!" cried Abby. "This way! This 
 way ! " 
 
 There was the sudden crack of a rifle. The men 
 looked around wildly. Nearer and nearer came the 
 sound of the music, and, leaving old Brindle standing 
 in the road, the two thieves took to their heels, 
 tumbled tumultuously over a rail fence at a little dis 
 tance, and made for the woods. 
 
 Stephen jumped up and down with delight. 
 "They ve runned away! They ve runned away!" he 
 cried. 
 
 At this moment could be seen coming toward them 
 from the house two figures : one was Betsey, still 
 playing merrily upon the fife ; the other was great- 
 grandsire, bearing the old musket which he had carried 
 through many a perilous tramp in Lovewell s war. 
 The old man bore himself as a soldier, in spite of his 
 eighty years. 
 
 " And so we ve routed them," he said. " A little
 
 68 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 strategy goes well in war time;" and he laughed as 
 Abby described the sudden night of the men. 
 
 Old Brindle was led in triumph to the stable, bedded 
 down well, and a good supper given him. " Good old 
 Brindle," Betsey said over and over again to him. 
 "You were so patient and bore us so well from 
 danger, to think of your going into the enemies hands 
 was more than I could bear." 
 
 " How comes it that he alone of your father s stock 
 was brought from Charlestown ? " inquired grandsire. 
 
 " My father had need for all his other teams at the 
 camp, and in throwing up the earthworks. Brindle 
 is so old and so slow that he was left for us ; my 
 father thought that we would have left the town 
 earlier in the day, and that Brindle could serve us 
 quite well enough." 
 
 " He is safer here, your mother had best let him 
 stay till you again need him," said grandsire. " But 
 what of this little master?" he inquired, looking down 
 at Stephen. " Will his mother not be fearing for his 
 safety ? " 
 
 " I never thought of it ; but that she will, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " I will take word," grandsire assured her. " It is 
 not safe for you lasses to be upon the road. I will 
 take my staff, and if I can t make a three-mile walk
 
 A YOUNG FIFER. 69 
 
 without injuring myself, I m a poor stick. I m young 
 enough for that and a deal more. Mayhap it is well 
 I should begin to loosen up my joints, for I would 
 fain be ready if I am needed. I am yearning for 
 more news, and would hear something of what is 
 going on around Boston town." So, putting on his 
 cocked hat, and taking his staff, the old man started 
 down the sweet-smelling country road. 
 
 Little Stephen was very content to stay wherever 
 Betsey was, and when he was set before such a supper 
 as he could scarcely remember having tasted, he looked 
 up at his aunt and said, " It s like Thanksgiving day. 
 I don t want to go home." 
 
 "We haven t any home," remarked Betsey, sorrow 
 fully. 
 
 " There, there, never mind ! " interrupted Aunt 
 Nancy. " You have a home here as long as you 
 want it." 
 
 " I wonder what time grandsir will get back ; I 
 want to hear the news," said Abby, peering out into 
 the yard, where the fast-gathering shadows revealed 
 objects but faintly. 
 
 " Grandsir s a pretty smart walker," said Aunt 
 Nancy. " He ll be along after a while. You eat your 
 supper, Abby, and don t bother about him. Then 
 you and Betsey can clear off the table. It ll be dark
 
 /O A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 before you can look for grandsir . Like as not he ll 
 stop and talk till the last minute, he s so stirred up 
 over affairs, and well he may be." 
 
 Aunt Nancy gave a quick little sigh. Her first 
 born, her only son, as well as her husband, were at 
 the camp which lay at Cambridge. 
 
 However, she straightened herself up, and with a 
 brisk air turned cheerfully to little Stephen to know 
 if he d have another seed-cake. 
 
 Stephen was in a state of beaming complacency, 
 and spreading his hands over his fat little body as if 
 to ascertain whether there was still an unsatisfied 
 corner, he solemnly shook his head. " Thank you, 
 Aunt Nancy, I m sorry I must say no ma am." 
 
 The girls clapped their hands over their mouths to 
 suppress a burst of laughter, for, even with no other 
 grown person but Aunt Nancy present, they felt that 
 open hilarity would be out of place at table. But 
 Aunt Nancy smiled indulgently, and in a few mo 
 ments the baked apples were set away in the pantry, 
 the seed-cakes turned into the stone crock, the hasty 
 pudding put aside to fry for breakfast, and grandsire s 
 plate of cold beans kept covered for him. 
 
 The little girls bustled about the kitchen. Aunt 
 Nancy took Stephen up in her lap, but though her arms 
 encircled him, her hands kept steadily at her knitting.
 
 A YOUNG FIFER. 7 1 
 
 " I don t know as grandsir hasn t concluded to stay 
 somewhere to supper," she said, after frequent glances 
 down toward the road. " I presume he was tired and 
 thought he d get freshened up at Simon s. More 
 than likely he ll be coming along with some of the 
 folks after a while. You d better go to bed, children, 
 if you ve got the dishes out of the w r ay. You ve had 
 about enough excitement for one day, and it s late to 
 be up. You ought to be in bed early." 
 
 The girls would like to have stayed up in the 
 dreamy, sweet, evening air. The afterglow was still 
 showing a lingering color in the sky, and the stars 
 were only beginning to come out; but they did not 
 for a moment think of trying to alter the decision, 
 and they meekly started upstairs with a candle, 
 sleepy little Stephen toiling up with them, grasping 
 his sister s hand, and murmuring something about 
 "more cakes to-morrow." 
 
 Betsey had hardly snuggled down by the side of 
 Abby in the big, four-posted bed when the sound of 
 approaching hoofs was heard. A horseman was 
 coming up the road. 
 
 Both girls raised their heads but did not say a 
 word. They were always charged not to speak after 
 they had said their prayers. However, Abby nudged 
 Betsey who answered with a corresponding pressure
 
 72 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 of her elbow against Abby s soft little arm. Then they 
 both sat up in bed, straining their ears as the sound of 
 the hoofs ceased and voices were heard below. 
 
 Presently Betsey announced, as if to herself, " I 
 believe I ll get up." 
 
 Abby sat still. Betsey had no mother at hand to 
 whom to render account, and it was quite as well that 
 she should take the initiative. So Abby contented 
 herself with hugging her knees very hard, and in 
 watching Betsey in the dimness as she pattered over 
 to the window. 
 
 Betsey craned her neck over the wide sill. She 
 saw the horse from which the rider had not alighted, 
 and she watched till he rode away. Then she turned 
 around and made the announcement, as if to her bare 
 toes, " I m going down to see what it all means." 
 
 Obedient little Abby did not budge. Stephen lay 
 sleeping in the trundle-bed. As Betsey crept down 
 stairs the sound of the departing hoofs grew fainter 
 and fainter. The flame of the candle on the table 
 in the living-room was blown about by the wafts of 
 night air which came in at the open door. For a 
 moment Betsey did not see her aunt. Then she 
 espied her on her knees before the old rush-bottomed 
 chair in which grandsire always sat. The child stood 
 still, awed in the presence of a soul s struggle.
 
 A YOUNG FIFER. 73 
 
 She was about to steal away softly to the upper 
 room, when Aunt Nancy arose. Her eyes were wet, 
 but her lips were firm and sweet. She caught sight 
 of Betsey hovering on the steps between upstairs and 
 down. 
 
 "Were you alarmed, Betsey?" she asked. "Did 
 you fear bad news ? Poor child, you have had so many 
 terrors, no wonder ! The messenger was John Barnes. 
 He brought me tidings of grandsir . He has listed." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Nancy, old, old grandsir ?" 
 
 " Yes, child. He sends me word that in his coun 
 try s need he could not tarry." 
 
 " Oh, the dear old man ! May I tell Abby ? We 
 will say our prayers over again." 
 
 " You may tell her, and pray God to watch over 
 grandsir ." 
 
 "And bring him back safe." 
 
 Her aunt nodded in reply. Betsey stood still for a 
 moment, and then ran up and threw her arms around 
 her. Caresses were few and far between among 
 these self-contained New Englanders, but the woman 
 stooped and kissed the child s forehead. " God bless 
 you, little Betsey!" she said gently. And the girl 
 turned and ran back upstairs to her cousin to tell her 
 that another of their near and dear ones had shouldered 
 arms and had erone forth to fight for freedom.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A LITTLE SCHEME. 
 
 THERE was quite a stir in the old farm-house on 
 the morning of the third of July, 17/5. Aunt 
 Nancy was up and stepping about briskly before even 
 the girls were downstairs, and then it was scarce five 
 o clock. With no men on the farm, Aunt Nancy had 
 her double share of work : the stock to feed, garden 
 to tend, household arrangements to oversee. Both 
 little maids were kept busy, and even the small 
 Stephen lent a hand in many directions, tugging at 
 logs of firewood, fetching pails of water ; feeding 
 the fowls, carrying water to old Brindlc. All these 
 things even a little lad of five or six years old can do, 
 if he has a willing heart with ready hands. As for 
 Betsey and Abby, they cleaned and scoured and 
 cooked, they mended and spun, and did a hundred 
 things to help along, feeling that it was an important 
 duty to give assistance where they could. "For," 
 said Abby, "if mother does father s work we must 
 do hers." And it was she who first stirred on this 
 summer morning, and gently shook her sleeping 
 
 74
 
 A LITTLE SCHEME. 75 
 
 cousin. "Betsey, Betsey," she called, "wake up." 
 Betsey rubbed her eyes sleepily, but the scorn with 
 which her grandmother always regarded what she 
 was pleased to call "a sluggard" had long ago taught 
 the little girl to jump up the instant she was aroused, 
 so by the time Abby had slipped out of bed, she was 
 ready to follow, and was soon on the floor putting on 
 her home-knit stockings. Aunt Nancy had a brisk 
 word for the two when they appeared. " Come, girls, 
 stir yourselves," was the greeting she gave them. 
 " We ve much to do. While the men are fighting, 
 the women must not be laggards. John Barnes 
 stopped for a moment this morning on his way to 
 Pepperell. He says General Washington arrived at 
 Cambridge last night and that to-day he will take the 
 chief command." 
 
 "I thought General Artemas Ward was com 
 mander," Abby ventured. 
 
 " So he was by courtesy till General Washington 
 should arrive." 
 
 " Oh, Abby, shouldn t you like to see General Wash 
 ington?" exclaimed Betsey. "What will he do, 
 Aunt Nancy ? " 
 
 " I do not know, my child. I am fain to hope he 
 will rid Boston of the infesting army of redcoats." 
 
 " They are all thieves and murderers, aren t they,
 
 76 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 mother?" Abby remarked, as she briskly stirred the 
 porridge into which she was carefully sprinkling meal. 
 
 Betsey laughed. "They re not, are they, Aunt 
 Nancy ? Mr. Jarvis was a very gentle young man, 
 and Captain Yorke, though of not quite so courteous 
 a manner at all times, was really, my mother said, an 
 honest gentleman, and but for bearing arms against 
 us might be called our friend." 
 
 Abby looked quite taken aback by such distinct dif 
 fering with her, and continued to stir the porridge in 
 silence, while her mother said: "You are quite right, 
 Betsey. As a whole we must disapprove of them, and 
 consider them our enemies ; yet, no doubt, there arc 
 many good men among them." 
 
 " I should like to be at Cambridge to-day," Abby 
 observed. " It will be fine to see so many of our 
 men. How many do you think, mother?" 
 
 " Not far from sixteen thousand, I am told." 
 
 "Such a number, and among them are father and 
 brother Eben, and grandsir , and your father, Betsey." 
 
 "Yes, and Uncle Abiel, and Amos Dwight, and 
 ever so many more we know. I am glad Amos will 
 see the commander," Betsey continued. "Think, 
 Abby, it is not yet three months since my father 
 was called to join the minute-men, and we have had 
 two battles."
 
 A LITTLE SCHEME. 77 
 
 "Never- mind battles now," interrupted Aunt 
 Nancy. "Come, children, and we ll eat breakfast. 
 Don t waste time over your food. Time is too pre 
 cious to squander it in such profitless employment as 
 indulging the senses." 
 
 Therefore, Abby and Betsey fell to eating their 
 porridge silently and swiftly, while Stephen gravely 
 did the same. 
 
 The sun was hardly well up before an ox-cart was 
 seen slowly moving up the road ; and Stephen, who 
 was out in the yard, busily occupied in feeding the 
 hens, caught sight of a beloved and familiar form. 
 
 "Oh, mother! mother!" he cried, running to the 
 house. " Oh, Betsey, here comes mother and Polly 
 and Aunt Desire !" 
 
 Betsey quickly dried the bowl she was wiping, and 
 ran to the door. Sure enough, it was her beloved 
 mother. The children did not dance up and down, 
 or clap their hands, but their eyes sparkled, and 
 Betsey held out her arms to take little Polly, who 
 had not, as yet, learned the meaning of self-repres 
 sion, and could, consequently, show her feelings by 
 jumping and crowing in her mother s arms. 
 
 Betsey bore her tenderly to the house, and the 
 others followed. 
 
 "This is such a nice surprise, mother. You have
 
 78 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 only been out here once the whole time I have been 
 here," Betsey said with a glad look. 
 
 Aunt Desire broke in with the question, "Where 
 is Nancy ? " 
 
 "She s out seeing after the cows," Stephen in 
 formed her. 
 
 "You just show me where she is," Aunt Desire 
 went on. " We re going to stay over-night. Abby, 
 I ve got considerable to say to your mother, and I 
 rather guess I ll go long with Stephen and put up 
 Buck and Spark." 
 
 " Oh, mother, you re going to stay all night ! How 
 nice," Betsey exclaimed, looking after her aunt De 
 sire s lank, angular figure, mounting the ox-cart. 
 
 Her mother smiled. Abby had gone with her 
 aunt Desire. " We may stay even longer, daughter. 
 It seemed best for us to leave Medford. Your 
 father wrote that he would feel better satisfied to 
 have us in Salem." 
 
 " Oh, mother!" 
 
 "Of course I shall take you, too;" and Betsey looked 
 more cheerful, though she said, " I shall be sorry to 
 leave Abby." 
 
 " No doubt ; but you may see her again almost any 
 time. Salem is not so great a distance away. Your 
 grandfather and your uncle Abiel are very solicitous
 
 A LITTLE SCHEME. 79 
 
 that we should make our home there till these troubles 
 are ended." 
 
 "And shall we go back to Charlestown then?" 
 
 " We cannot tell. I fear there is no hope of return 
 ing as matters look now. It will be long before it is 
 rebuilt. If so be that your father is spared to us, 
 we will talk of these things when peace is restored. 
 Now we have other matters to concern us, and can 
 only take thought for the actual morrow. Here come 
 your aunt Desire and aunt Nancy." 
 
 The two women were in close conversation. 
 
 "Jeduthan stopped and told us," Aunt Desire was 
 saying. "He says his mother s one of em, and she 
 wanted I should come along and scatter the word 
 broadcast." 
 
 Desire Tolman stood up, gaunt and tall. She wore 
 a black bonnet of the muskmelon order, that is, it 
 had numerous whalebone stiffeners set in about an inch 
 apart ; her dress was of homespun, and hung in straight 
 folds about her lean person. Aunt Desire was not 
 beautiful, but the fire of patriotism lighted up her 
 homely face as she spoke, and as she stood there, 
 grim and erect, she bore the look of one who would 
 be ready to die for the right, but who would never 
 yield to a weakness. It was only a few days before 
 that she had sent her youngest son forth to join
 
 80 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 the army at Cambridge. Of six sons, he was the 
 only one left. Four had succumbed to that scourge 
 of New England, consumption, and she had placed 
 in the hands of her eldest boy, who fell at Bunker 
 Hill, her husband s fowling-piece. The good man him 
 self had shouldered his musket at the first alarm, and 
 was off and away with all the family store of ammuni 
 tion. In this crisis, therefore, Aunt Desire cut up 
 her pewter spoons, and as she poured the slugs into 
 her son s bag, she said, "Jeremiah, those will do you 
 till you can find better arms." Alas, poor Jeremiah ! 
 he never had the opportunity, for he died at his post. 
 But when little Abner set forth, his mother had 
 nothing to give him but a rusty old sword. " Never 
 mind, son," she encouraged him by saying. "David 
 slew Goliath with stones from a brook. The Lord will 
 find you a proper weapon. What our country needs 
 is the will of her patriots; the way will not be missing." 
 
 And so Abner set out, and, sure enough, his mother 
 had that very morning heard from him that he had, 
 by strategy, captured the gun of a Tory. Aunt Desire 
 told her story triumphantly. The tears shed for her 
 first-born were wept in secret ; and if she quailed before 
 the prospect of losing Abner, none discerned it in 
 her fearless bearing. 
 
 Betsey looked at her with growing admiration and
 
 A LITTLE SCHEME. 8 1 
 
 respect. She stood holding her ox-goad in her strong 
 bony hand, as if it were a spear, and looked about her 
 with a steady eye. 
 
 " Were you speaking of Jeduthan Corey, Aunt De 
 sire ? " said Betsey s mother. 
 
 " Ves, I was telling Nancy what word Martha 
 Corey sent." 
 
 Aunt Desire looked mysterious and Betsey won 
 dered what the mighty secret could be. She noticed 
 that her aunt Nancy was very thoughtful and at 
 times cast a wistful eye at Abby, and the next morn 
 ing as they were starting off Aunt Desire seemed to 
 be making a final appeal. " Well, Nancy, I suppose 
 you remember that you re a Daughter of Liberty. 
 Have you made up your mind what to do?" 
 
 Aunt Nancy s answer was given with a little troubled 
 look. " I ve given the matter prayerful thought, De 
 sire, and I can t see my way clear to go. I believe I ll 
 have a chance right here. Seems to me my duty s to 
 stay at home. I don t know as I shan t do more for 
 the cause by staying and getting in the crops so they ll 
 have food." 
 
 Aunt Desire did not attempt to dissuade her. She 
 only said: Well, Nancy, it s between you and your 
 Maker. Maybe your light s clearer than mine on 
 your personal duty."
 
 82 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 It sounded serious to Betsey, but she was used to 
 hearing rather every -day matters discussed in just 
 such a manner, so she climbed up in the ox-cart by 
 the side of her mother, and with a good-by to Abby, 
 whose face looked very mournful, the Hall family 
 again started on a journey. 
 
 By slow degrees the distance was overcome. Every 
 where they were made welcome, and their news heard 
 with eagerness. 
 
 It was toward sunset when they entered one of 
 the hospitable farm-houses along the way. " Well, 
 Desire Tolman," said its mistress, "who d thought of 
 seeing you ! Come, get right out, all of you, and 
 come in. Why, if it isn t Polly Hall ! I am glad to 
 see you." Then she looked cautiously about from 
 one side to the other. "Be careful what you say," 
 Betsey heard her whisper. 
 
 As they went into the big living-room, a man 
 arose from his seat by the door and bowed politely, 
 at the same time eying them sharply. 
 
 Mrs. Mills talked volubly as she led her guests 
 through into the kitchen where supper was spread. 
 "Here I am," she said, "with all the men away, no 
 body on the place but women folks. I don t know 
 as I shall be able to offer you much, but you re wel 
 come over and over again to what there is. But,
 
 A LITTLE SCHEME. 83 
 
 there, I m bringing you out here without asking you 
 to go up and lay off your things;" and she nodded 
 knowingly toward the door of the next room. 
 
 Aunt Desire took in the situation and remarked : 
 " Well, Keziah, I don t know as I shouldn t like to go 
 up for a minute and get off some of this dust, and I 
 guess Polly Hall feels the same. We ve travelled 
 extra fast so s to get here before night. I didn t 
 want that the children should be out after nightfall." 
 
 Onee upstairs she asked, "Who is he, Keziah?" 
 
 " I rather guess he s a Tory." 
 
 " You do ? " 
 
 Betsey drew near and listened eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, I do," reiterated Mrs. Mills. "I ve reason 
 to, and I ve an idea he s got despatches or something. 
 He acts kind of suspicious. He says he s going, 
 after supper." 
 
 "Humph!" Aunt Desire stood and pinched her 
 under lip reflectively. Then, seeing Betsey s eager 
 eyes, she exclaimed sharply : " Little pitchers have 
 big ears. What are you listening to, child?" 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Desire, is he a Tory ? Can t we take 
 him prisoner ? " 
 
 "Listen to the child, we. What are you going 
 to do?" 
 
 " Why, you know. Why, Aunt Desire, I can do
 
 84 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 something. Abby and I scared away the men who 
 stole Brindle." 
 
 " I thought Grandsir Hopkins did that," Aunt De 
 sire said. 
 
 Betsey looked appealingly at her mother. She felt 
 that to press her claims to valor would not win her 
 a place in Aunt Desire s esteem. 
 
 "It was Betsey s plan," Mrs. Hall said quietly. 
 "Grandsir told us, himself, all about it; and he said 
 Betsey had an ingenious mind, and that when she 
 struck up The White Cockade he almost imagined 
 the soldiers were at hand. As soon as he realized 
 what really was going on he ran for his musket and 
 fired the shot." 
 
 Aunt Desire looked Betsey over with a more toler 
 ant eye. "She s pretty well grown," she remarked. 
 "Well, Betsey, have you got a plan this time?" 
 
 "Yes, ma am," Betsey replied modestly. Aunt 
 Desire s eyes were very penetrating. The little girl 
 thought that she should not like to be a wrong-doer 
 compelled to face, for judgment, this resolute dame. 
 
 "Well, out with it. Who s downstairs, Keziah ? " 
 
 "Both my girls; they ll keep a sharp lookout." 
 
 "Go on, Betsey, and speak low." 
 
 "I thought," Betsey whispered, "if some of us 
 she must say ns "could dress up in men s clothes,
 
 A LITTLE SCHEME. 85 
 
 and sneak out by the side of the road, if the man 
 goes about dark, we could wait for him and cry Halt ! 
 and could capture him before he was aware. I saw 
 pistols downstairs." 
 
 "So you did," interposed Mrs. Mills. "That s a 
 notion, Betsey. I can rig you out. Desire, you d pass 
 for a man anywhere, and, let us see, will you go, 
 Mrs. Hall ? No, I think you look too tired already. 
 You re not right strong, any one can see that. Well, 
 I ll go, or maybe my Ellen can." 
 
 " And oh, mayn t I ? " cried Betsey. 
 
 " You ! " Her aunt Desire spoke with scorn. 
 
 "Yes, ma am. I m nearly as tall as Amos Dwight, 
 and as your Abner, Aunt Desire, and both of whom 
 have joined the army." 
 
 A softer look came into Aunt Desire s face. 
 
 " As your mother says, Betsey," she answered. " I 
 think, Keziah, you d better stay here, for that man 
 might suspect if you were to leave, and he may have 
 accomplices in the neighborhood." 
 
 Betsey was in such a state of excitement that she 
 could scarcely eat her supper. She was going to take 
 a hand in doing a real service to her country. This 
 was very different from rescuing Brindle, for that 
 was simply recovering one s own property. Would 
 her mother allow her to join the little expedition ?
 
 86 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Ellen Mills, a slim, hazel-eyed girl, smiled as she 
 saw the frequent glances Betsey cast at the Tory 
 guest, and noticed that the child left her supper 
 nearly untasted. As they pushed back their chairs, 
 Ellen s eyes seemed to hold an invitation for Betsey 
 to follow her, which was quickly and silently done. 
 
 "There s a suit of clothes in the garret which will 
 just fit you, Betsey," she whispered. " Come up with 
 me and put them on ; then go ask your mother if 
 you re not man enough to help us ! " 
 
 Betsey gave Ellen s hand a squeeze for reply, and 
 they stole up into the shadowy garret, where, from a 
 nail on the rafters, the older girl took down a suit of 
 clothes which her brother had outgrown. The two 
 laughed mirthfully but quietly, as Betsey, having 
 donned the garments, stood for inspection, and then 
 they stole down the steep stairway to the room below, 
 where Aunt Desire was getting into the unfamiliar 
 costume of William Mills. 
 
 Betsey clapped her hands over her mouth as she 
 saw her aunt Desire solemnly pulling on a pair of 
 breeches. She would not for the world have had the 
 good woman discover her amusement, so she turned 
 her back, and went over to her mother, before whom 
 she stood shyly smiling. 
 
 " Am I not fit to go, mother ? " she asked.
 
 A LITTLP: SCHEME. 87 
 
 Her mother smiled in return. " I think you are, and 
 you seem quite a courageous little lad. Don t get 
 hurt, my child." 
 
 Betsey tucked her braids of hair under her farmer s 
 hat, and put her hands in the pockets of her smock, 
 then stood looking- roguishly at Aunt Desire, who was 
 examining the pistols which Margaret Mills had secured 
 from the room below stairs, while the rest were at supper. 
 
 Soon Ellen appeared in her disguise, and then the 
 three stole forth to watch which way the late guest 
 should go. He had already left the house, and was 
 mounting his horse. 
 
 As he tinned down the road the three watchers 
 hastily jumped a fence. "This way," Ellen said in a 
 low tone. " We must cut across the field by the 
 spring, and hide behind the bushes so as to intercept 
 him. Follow me ; we shall have to hurry or we shall 
 miss him." 
 
 Over fences, down hollows, and through ploughed 
 fields they went, Aunt Desire showing herself quite 
 as agile as either of her younger companions, and 
 finally Ellen whispered, " Here." 
 
 They stood behind a big tree by the side of the 
 road, Betsey s heart beating fast. Suppose they had 
 missed him, or suppose he should fire at them. For 
 a moment she felt like turning to run, but an instant
 
 88 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 after she remembered what her father had said to 
 her, and she would not have budged for worlds. 
 
 Nearer and nearer came the horseman. They could 
 see his dark figure, a silhouette against the sky. He 
 was not travelling at great speed, and seemed to con 
 sider himself perfectly safe. 
 
 Just as he appeared opposite the tree, Aunt Desire 
 sprang out, Ellen after her. " Halt ! " cried Aunt 
 Desire in a gruff voice, at the same time snatching 
 at the bridle rein, and presenting her pistol ; while 
 Ellen, hardly less quick, jumped to the other side, also 
 presenting her pistol. Betsey, wishing that she were 
 a few inches taller, ran to join the others. 
 
 " Down with you!" commanded Aunt Desire; "you re 
 our prisoner." 
 
 In the dimness the man could not see whether or 
 not there were others who backed up this determined 
 trio, but he began to bluster. " Why are you stopping 
 a quiet traveller in this way ? Can t a man go about 
 on his own business without being halted by a band 
 of robbers ? " 
 
 "That s all very smart talk," returned Aunt Desire, 
 "but it won t go down. Hand over your papers." 
 
 " What papers ? " 
 
 "We ll find out; that s what we ve started to do. 
 Pull off his boots, El " Aunt Desire almost be
 
 A LITTLE SCHEME. 89 
 
 trayed herself, but she was quick-witted enough to 
 finish the name with a masculine termination; " Elna- 
 than," she concluded her sentence by saying. 
 
 Ellen and Betsey each tugged at the unfortunate 
 prisoner whom Aunt Desire had disarmed, and had 
 compelled to be seated on the roadside while she 
 covered him with her pistol. 
 
 It was the work of a few moments to find their 
 search rewarded. Aunt Desire took the papers which 
 Ellen handed her. "Are these all?" she asked per 
 emptorily. "Answer truthfully or it will be the worse 
 for you." 
 
 Eor answer the man handed her a slip which was 
 concealed in his cap. 
 
 " You are released on parole," said Aunt Desire, 
 " but you ll have to give up your horse. Your country 
 needs him, and you ll do better to travel in some other 
 way. You are under suspicion, and it will be well for 
 you to get away from these parts if you don t want 
 to be hung for a spy." Aunt Desire was terrible in 
 her grim, peremptory manner, and the man, now with 
 out weapons for defence, and with no means of es 
 cape beyond the swiftness of his own legs, stood still 
 while he saw the three march off leading his horse 
 and carrying the despatches. He watched them help 
 lessly and then he set off down the road.
 
 90 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " I felt sure that man was a Tory as soon as I 
 clapped eyes on him," said Ellen, when they were 
 at a safe distance. "When he came in and asked 
 if we could give him supper, there was something 
 about the way he acted that made us all suspicious." 
 
 Aunt Desire began to chuckle. " I declare," she 
 said, "I never thought I d take to play-actin . It 
 wasn t much of a trick, after all ; the man was a 
 white-livered coward, and we could have done as 
 well if we d scared him into giving up the papers 
 before he left the house." 
 
 However, Betsey was not so sure of that, and felt 
 that Aunt Desire said this, that her youngest assist 
 ant in the plot might not feel vainglorious over the 
 result of a scheme which she had suggested.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BRAVE GIRLS. 
 
 BEFORE Salem was reached Aunt Desire left 
 them. She had heard rumors of an advance of 
 the British from Boston, and hastened to join other 
 brave women of Middlesex who were determined to 
 do their part in preventing the easy approach of the 
 enemy, and who had banded together with the set 
 design of hindering the redcoats all they could. This 
 enterprise was that of which Aunt Desire had mys 
 teriously hinted, and at the first suggestion of being 
 needed she hurried off, leaving the rest of the party 
 at Lynn, from whence they could readily make their 
 way to Salem. Family connections were large in 
 those days, and it was easy to find kith and kin scat 
 tered widely over a community of towns ; therefore 
 an escort was not hard to discover. 
 
 It was Grandmother Hall, herself, who stood wait 
 ing for them at the door of Uncle Abiel s house. 
 Their approach was watched by many interested 
 neighbors, for the story of their reverses had gone 
 
 91
 
 Q2 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 before them, and the sympathy felt for refugees was 
 unbounded. 
 
 For once, Betsey saw her grandmother unbend from 
 her usual dignity, for she almost ran to lift little 
 Polly from her mother s arms. " Oh, my children ! 
 my children!" she cried. "Thank God! I have you 
 once again." 
 
 It was a great pleasure, after so many ups and 
 downs, to feel settled at last, for Uncle Abiel s 
 house always seemed like home. This old house 
 was a large hip-roofed dwelling, which still stands on 
 one of the side streets of venerable Salem town ; and 
 although the big garden, where currant and goose 
 berry bushes rooted, where hollyhocks and pretty- 
 by-nights, love-in-a-mist, youth-and-old-age, and such 
 flowers showed themselves, has been more and more 
 encroached upon, there are still to be seen a few 
 fruit trees and wandering bushes, scions of an old 
 stock. 
 
 But here, through many long summer afternoons, 
 Betsey, Stephen, and Polly passed many happy hours 
 under a gnarled old apple tree, where, with broken 
 bits of china and a funny little wooden doll, Betsey 
 kept house for her little sister and brother. 
 
 Betsey was still child enough to enjoy such plays, 
 although she could be very grave and discreet, and
 
 BRAVE (URLS. 93 
 
 in many ways appeared like a little woman ; but she- 
 liked to be mistress of a feast provided by indulgent 
 aunt Pamela, and she liked to plan exciting plays 
 for Stephen to carry out. Sometimes Betsey would 
 finish her own stent of knitting or sewing early in 
 the afternoon, and then she and Stephen would fight 
 imaginary battles ; would have exciting encounters 
 with make-believe redcoats ; would take each other 
 prisoners, and do a hundred things to develop a 
 martial as well as a patriotic spirit. 
 
 Every day brought some new excitement, for these 
 were trying times, and thrilling incidents were the 
 order rather than the exception. 
 
 The first great shock came with the news that 
 Stephen Hall would march with Arnold on a secret 
 expedition. He had seemed safely near in the camp 
 at Cambridge, and although there had been frequent 
 rumors of possible orders for marching, heretofore, 
 nothing had come of them. 
 
 At the first report of a change of base, Betsey 
 had been taken aback. " Won t we see him at 
 all before he goes ? " she asked piteously. " Perhaps, 
 perhaps we shall never see him again," she said in a 
 choking voice. 
 
 " Betsey ! " called her aunt Pamela, and beckoned 
 her out of the room. " Your mother s got just about
 
 94 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 as much as she can stand," Aunt Pamela said when 
 Betsey was safely outside ; " and your grandmother 
 has her share, too. Now, if you want to help them 
 in their trials^ don t you go lolloping over on them as 
 if you were the only one that had any trouble. 
 Keep it to yourself, and if bad news comes and 
 you ve got to cry, why, go off where nobody can see 
 you. You won t find your mother nor your grand 
 mother giving way like two sentimental, weak-minded 
 lollies. Your grandmother is a soldier s mother and 
 a soldier s sister. Your mother s a soldier s wife, and 
 you re a soldier s daughter." By such Spartan-like 
 methods were the girls of 76 reared. So Betsey 
 gave a gulp to swallow her sobs, and drew herself 
 up. Her voice trembled, and her lips quivered, while 
 she faced her aunt and said, "I won t forget again 
 that I m Stephen Hall s daughter ; " and she marched 
 out of the room with her head held high, although 
 tears, which Aunt Pamela did not sec, would roll 
 down from the brown eyes. 
 
 And then Aunt Pamela, herself, buried her face in 
 her hands, and for a few moments her form was 
 shaken convulsively, but no sound was heard. She, 
 too, was sending away one well-beloved : the lover of 
 her youth; the father of her one little son, long 
 since laid to rest in the quiet churchyard ; the kind,
 
 BRAVE CURLS. 95 
 
 gentle, considerate husband who was all in all to 
 her. 
 
 It seemed to Betsey that after that day she would 
 never really be a little girl again. She looked at 
 Stephen and Polly, so gleeful and merry, with a sort 
 of pitying tolerance. She told herself that they did not 
 know what war meant ; they did not know that each 
 moment increased the danger for their father, for, 
 although the reports of marching orders had not as 
 yet been true ones, all knew that it was probably 
 only a question of time when such news would come. 
 " I will be brave," Betsey said, setting her teeth. 
 "And I won t cry. I won t, I won t." Even then the 
 tears were filling her eyes, but she winked them 
 away, and made a sudden dart forward and out the 
 door into the old garden. 
 
 How sweet it smelled there! The autumn flowers 
 were already in bloom, and Betsey, with a soul to enjoy 
 nature, stood looking at them, her hands behind her. 
 It was still very warm, but here there was always a 
 pleasant saltness in the air. Betsey felt restless. She 
 wished there were something she could do ; something 
 which required a lot of energy. She was realizing the 
 blessedness of work as a remedy for sorrow. She 
 stood for a moment breathing in the sweet odors, and 
 then she ran back to the house. "Aunt Pamela," she
 
 Cj6 A GIRL OF 70. 
 
 said, " isn t there something that I can do ? Something 
 that is real exercise? I d like to run ten miles." 
 
 Her aunt Pamela looked at her, reflectively. " How- 
 should you like to go to Manchester, and take a mes 
 sage ? I d like to send some word to John s folks, and 
 there s nobody can go, unless it s you. You don t need 
 to go any further than your uncle Benjamin s to-night ; 
 you could stay there till morning, and then go on to 
 Manchester to-morrow." 
 
 " I d like to go. I can easily walk to Beverly." 
 
 " So you can. Well, run along and ask your mother 
 if she ll allow you to go. Tell her I think it will do 
 you good." 
 
 Betsey ran up and made her request. 
 
 " Why, I don t see why you shouldn t," spoke up 
 her grandmother. " I d like to hear from Benjamin 
 and John, myself, and I ve a little parcel I d like 
 to send to John s Mary. I think she d as well go, 
 Polly." 
 
 Benjamin and John Porter were brothers of Uncle 
 Abiel and Grandmother Hall. Betsey did not know 
 them so well as Uncle Abiel, but she was quite willing 
 to take the little trip ; and she started forth after having 
 received numerous charges. 
 
 "Now don t tire yourself out, Betsey," said Aunt 
 Pamela. " Maybe some of Benjamin s folks can see
 
 BRAVE GIRLS. 97 
 
 that you get over to John s safely. Like as not some 
 of them will be sending over." 
 
 Betsey nodded. She did not have the least fear, for 
 the further from Boston the less danger of stragglers, 
 and this bright September afternoon the walk would 
 be a pleasant one. 
 
 True to her expectation she arrived safe and sound 
 at her great-uncle Benjamin Porter s, where she spent 
 the night, and then took an early start for Manchester, 
 this time in fine style, for she rode on a pillory, behind 
 her uncle Benjamin, whose stout, sober, brown horse 
 was used to carrying a double load. 
 
 This uncle was quite an old man, older than Uncle 
 Abiel, and he was not a very jolly companion ; neither 
 was his old jog-trot horse a remarkably gallant steed. 
 However, Betsey was glad of the lift, and liked travel 
 ling in this way better than riding in an ox-cart. 
 
 " I don t know that I ll be going back till pretty 
 late, Betsey," Uncle Benjamin remarked as he lifted 
 her down, " but I guess you ll be ready when I 
 am." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " returned Betsey 
 
 How good it seemed to be near the big salt ocean. 
 It seemed much nearer than at Salem, and the waves 
 dashed up on the rocks in such a fascinating way. 
 Betsey wondered if any of her cousins would go
 
 98 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 down on the beach with her. She would like a good 
 hard scramble over the bowlders. Uncle Benjamin 
 had said he had business to attend to, and had left 
 Betsey standing on the steps of Uncle John s house. 
 At the sound of the heavy knocker, the door was 
 opened to the visitor by a girl two or three years 
 older than herself. The two looked at each other. 
 Then Betsey spoke up : 
 
 " I m Betsey Hall. I have come up from Salem 
 for Aunt Pamela Porter." 
 
 " Why, of course it s Betsey. It s been so long 
 since I saw you I didn t recognize you for a second. 
 Do come in. We ve heard all abolit what a sad time 
 you have been having. Mother will be so glad to 
 see you. Have you brought any news from Uncle 
 Abiel?" 
 
 " Nothing very special. We fear any day to hear 
 that his regiment and my father s will be ordered on 
 the march, and that may mean anything, my grand 
 mother says." 
 
 . "Oh!" The girl looked startled. "I wish I knew 
 if any really would be ordered out." She looked ap- 
 pealingly at Betsey. "Come see mother." 
 
 Betsey followed her into the house. At the door 
 of the sitting-room her cousin paused. "You haven t 
 heard anything of the Marblehead men, have you ?
 
 BRAVE GIRLS. 99 
 
 Joseph Pearce is one of them. We were to have been 
 married soon." 
 
 Betsey looked at her with new interest. Sixteen 
 was considered quite a suitable age for girls to marry 
 at that time, and Lydia Porter could not have been 
 more. She looked even younger. 
 
 "Oh!" said Betsey, "I hope he will not be ordered 
 away. Perhaps he never will be," she said cheer 
 fully. Lydia was the first girl she had seen who 
 actually had a lover in the army, or, at least, of whom 
 Betsey knew such a fact. Fathers, brothers, cousins, 
 uncles, and even grandfathers and great-grandfathers 
 she knew had gone forth, but sweethearts Betsey had 
 taken little account of. So she eyed Lydia with some 
 thing like curiosity as she followed her into the room 
 where her mother sat. 
 
 " Mother, this is Betsey Hall. Cousin Betsey, who 
 was burnt out at Charlestown ; " Lydia made the 
 announcement. 
 
 "I want to know!" exclaimed Mrs. Porter. "Why, 
 Betsey, come here. I ve not seen you this good 
 while. How you ve grown. Come here and let me 
 see who you are going to look like." 
 
 Betsey stood bravely under the scrutiny. 
 
 "You favor the Halls, I think," Mrs. Porter decided. 
 " You ve got a little look of the Porters, too, and
 
 IOO A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 there, that s your mother s smile. She was Mary 
 Harris of Medford. I know her well. How does she 
 do, Betsey?" 
 
 " She s not very well. She s not been for some time." 
 
 " No wonder. Can t you get Betsey a doughnut, 
 Lyddy ? She must be hungry after her ride." 
 
 " I brought a package from grandmother," Betsey 
 informed Mrs. Porter. " She said it was for your 
 Mary." 
 
 "Oh, yes! I don t believe you ve seen her since 
 she was married. You must go over and see her. 
 What do you hear from camp ? " 
 
 Betsey repeated what she had said to Lydia. 
 
 "You re not going back with Benjamin," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Porter, as Betsey ventured to say if she were 
 going to her cousin Mary s she would best start. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" replied Betsey, "I must. I came on 
 horseback with him, and said I would be ready to 
 return the same way." 
 
 " Well, now, that s too bad. Never mind, we ll 
 see if we can t persuade Benjamin to leave you." 
 
 But Betsey protested. She had had enough of 
 separation. So she set forth with Lydia to see Mary 
 Dodge who lived nearer the shore. 
 
 There seemed to be quite a commotion in the yard 
 of the little house when they reached there.
 
 BRAVE GIRLS. IOI 
 
 "What is going on, I wonder?" Betsey said, turn 
 ing to her companion. 
 
 " I can t imagine. It is always quite lively at 
 Mary s, for she has two or three sisters-in-law and 
 they are full of fun ; but there seems an unusual 
 commotion." 
 
 " Oh ! " Betsey thought this promised well. The 
 half dozen girls who were running about the grounds 
 did seem to be bent upon something requiring a great 
 display of energy, whether the business were fun or 
 earnest, and Lydia called out as she came near, 
 " What are you doing, girls ? " 
 
 " Oh, Lydcly, is that you ? " responded a bright lass 
 of about Betsey s age. " Come on and help us." 
 
 " What are you doing ? " 
 
 "Come along, and we ll tell you." 
 
 Lydia looked at Betsey, and they both set out to 
 run. 
 
 There were three or four girls surrounding a tall 
 tree which, straight and strong, stood in the centre 
 of the grounds. 
 
 "What is up in the tree?" asked Lydia as the two 
 came up. 
 
 " Nothing but leaves and branches," one made 
 answer. 
 
 " Then why do you gaze up ? "
 
 102 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "Tell her, Dorcas." The girls looked askance at 
 Betsey. 
 
 " Oh, this is my cousin, Betsey Hall ! " said Lydia 
 by way of introduction. 
 
 "She isn t a Tory, is she?" said one of the girls, 
 looking mischievously at Betsey. 
 
 "Of course not. Imagine such a thing." 
 
 Lydia was quite indignant at such a possibility be 
 ing even suggested. " Why, her father is one of the 
 stanchest of our patriots ; he is in the army now, 
 and if you could hear how Betsey piloted her family 
 out of Charlestown, and how she helped to capture a 
 miscreant with his seditious papers, and how she out 
 witted a pair of scamps who tried to steal her father s 
 ox, you d know better than to insult her by such an 
 imputation." 
 
 "Now Lyddy, don t get angry," cried the girls. 
 " Dorcas did but ask. Of course we didn t know. 
 We are honored over and over by meeting her. 
 Shake hands with us, Betsey," cried one and another. 
 
 So Betsey, who was quite indignant for a moment, 
 was entirely reconciled by these overtures. 
 
 " Let her fire the tree," cried Dorcas. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Why, Betsey Hall." 
 
 "What for? What is the excitement anyhow, 
 girls ? " inquired Lydia.
 
 BRAVE GIRLS. 1 03 
 
 "Oh, to be sure you don t know!" spoke up a girl 
 they called Ruth. " Why, it is this. A British vessel 
 got caught out in the storm of day before yesterday, 
 and put in here. There she lies now, out there at 
 anchor. One mast is gone, as you see." 
 
 Betsey and Lyclia directed their eyes to where 
 Ruth pointed, and saw a vessel lying off some distance. 
 
 "Well," continued one of the other girls, "this 
 morning 
 
 "All right, Margaret. You may finish," laughed 
 Ruth. 
 
 " Oh, you began, didn t you ? " 
 
 "Never mind, go ahead." 
 
 Margaret in her eagerness did not wait for further 
 encouragement, but went on : "Well, these impertinent 
 Britishers, what must they do but come here and say 
 they will have our big tree, that it will do finely to 
 take the place of their broken mast, and willy-nilly 
 we must perforce let them have it." 
 
 "And shall you?" asked Betsey all alert. 
 
 "No!" shouted four determined voices, "we shall 
 do nothing of the kind. Our tree which has sheltered 
 us and our sires serve a Britisher? No." Again 
 came the shout. "Are you going to chop it down?" 
 asked Lydia. 
 
 " No, we re going to blow it up."
 
 104 A GIRL OF 7 6 - 
 
 " Oh ! how will you do it ? " cried the two who had 
 newly arrived. 
 
 " We ve bored holes in it, and we re going to fill 
 them with gunpowder. We love the dear old tree, 
 but it shall be shattered to pieces, yes, it shall be 
 shattered to pieces before we ll let those mariners have 
 it. It is the only tree around which is so good for 
 their purpose, but they ll have to whistle for it, before 
 another hour." 
 
 " Oh, let me help ! " begged Betsey, eagerly. 
 
 "Can you climb? We want one more hole filled." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I can do it." And with five pairs of 
 hands to give her the first "boost," she began to 
 make her ascent, carrying the little can of gunpowder, 
 which was to be poured into the hole which the girls 
 had already bored. 
 
 Up, up, half way. " High enough," cried a chorus 
 of voices. "There s no need to go higher." And 
 Betsey performed her task. 
 
 The coming down was harder, but, at last, her feet 
 touched the lower boughs and she was received into 
 outstretched arms. 
 
 "There, now, how are we to set it off?" said Ruth. 
 "We don t want to get killed, any of us, so we ll 
 have to be careful." 
 
 "We must have a slow-match, I suppose," Betsey
 
 BRAVE GIRLS. 1 05 
 
 advised. " If we can manage to get it placed just 
 right, by contriving a torch we can light it from 
 below, and all run before there begins to be any 
 danger." 
 
 After much discussion Betsey s plan was adopted. 
 The match was adjusted, the torch applied, and the 
 girls ran off to a safe distance. 
 
 "Suppose it doesn t work," suggested Ruth; "what 
 a disappointment it will be." 
 
 " It shall work," Betsey declared. 
 
 " Good ! Good ! " cried the others. 
 
 Then Margaret laughed. "You re going to show 
 us that you re open to no insinuations, Miss Betsey. 
 You re the fiercest one of us, and it isn t your tree 
 either." 
 
 Betsey laughed, too: "No, but it s my cause." 
 
 The girls exclaimed again, " Good ! Good ! you d 
 better not say any more, Miss Peggy. Betsey shall 
 have the honor of lighting the fuse." 
 
 It was really very scary work. The fuse was not 
 a long one, and as Betsey approached the tree with 
 her lighted torch she feared greatly that she might 
 in some way send a spark to the gunpowder. But 
 the girls had taken the precaution to tie a red rag 
 on the end of the fuse so it could be plainly seen, 
 and, cautiously, Betsey brought the tip of her torch
 
 106 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 against it. To gain her a high enough stand she 
 was mounted on a ladder, and now she clambered 
 down in haste, in dread lest the explosion should come 
 too soon. But it did not, and the girls took to their 
 heels to gain a point indoors where they could watch. 
 
 The little glowing spark crept nearer and nearer 
 to the first auger-hole in one of the big, branching 
 limbs ; once or twice it was lost sight of, and they 
 thought it had gone out, but again the tiny red eye 
 was visible, creeping silently along. 
 
 Presently, bang! bang! crack! crack! Half the top 
 of the tree was blown off and broken into a hundred 
 leafy fragments. Another season of watching, and 
 then a second report, a scattering of branches and a 
 whirling of limbs. A third time the small spark did 
 its work, and the ground was strewn with chips, 
 strippings of bark, and wrenched bits of trunk. A 
 final bang ! sent big slivers flying, and then the poor 
 dismembered tree stood, minus all but a few feet of 
 trunk, a monument to patriotism. 
 
 The girls stood huddled together at one of the 
 dormer windows of the old house. At the sight of 
 the utter ruin Margaret gave a long sigh, and Ruth s 
 eyes filled with tears ; but at Betsey s energetic " I 
 hope they saw it. I just hope they did. Do you 
 believe they could from the vessel?" the girls all
 
 BRAVE GIRLS. IO/ 
 
 laughed, and the sacrifice was lost in the glory of the 
 triumph. 
 
 Whether the performance was seen or not, it was 
 certain that no mariners came near the house from 
 that vessel, and where a spar was procured the girls 
 never found out. 
 
 The excitement over, Betsey came to a realizing 
 sense that she had overstayed her time, for all this 
 had not been clone in a moment ; and so she hastily 
 gave her package and her message to Mary Dodge, 
 and then the two girls ran back to Lydia s home. 
 About all they said on the way was, "Aren t you 
 glad? Wasn t it splendid?" But when they reached 
 John Porter s, Betsey was dismayed at finding out 
 how late it was, and to learn that her uncle Benjamin 
 had started off without her. 
 
 " I persuaded him to leave you here over-night," 
 Mrs. Porter said. " I presume we ve a right to a 
 little visit, as well as Benjamin s folks, and some of 
 the neighbors can give you a lift to-morrow. Timothy 
 Powell makes a trip every day. You can always de 
 pend on him. There ll be no trouble about it." 
 
 So Betsey must fain make the most of it, although 
 she had a little feeling of not having obeyed strictly. 
 She knew that, although Uncle John Porter s wife 
 was spoken of as a good enough woman, grandmother
 
 108 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 did not altogether approve of her, and often said 
 John might have done better than marry Samantha, 
 whether it was because Mrs. John Porter s family 
 came of plainer stock than the Porters and the Halls 
 or whether it was a question of character, Betsey had 
 not taken the trouble to decide. At all events, she 
 did not feel quite comfortable about staying, for it 
 was understood at home that she was to spend her 
 night in Beverly so as to reach Salem the next day, 
 and this last she was afraid she could not do. So 
 her little Puritan conscience troubled her not a little, 
 as she lay awake listening to the roar of the waves 
 breaking on the rocks down by Manchester shore.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ON THE WAY. 
 
 TIMOTHY POWELL is here, on his way to Bev 
 erly," Mrs. Porter announced to Betsey early 
 the next morning. " I wish you d stay, but I suppose 
 you ll be wanting to get back." 
 
 Oh, yes, ma am, I must! Mother and all of them 
 would be worried if I am away longer, and I don t 
 want to be disobedient." 
 
 " No, of course not. You re a proper child, Betsey. 
 Tell your grandmother I don t know as I shan t be com 
 ing to Salem town, and I ll stop and see you all at 
 Abiel s." Then followed various messages to which 
 Betsey gave close heed, fearing lest she might forget 
 some of them. They were not very important, but 
 Betsey conscientiously checked them off on her fingers, 
 resolving that none should be omitted, and that she 
 would prove herself a trustworthy messenger. 
 
 She gave pretty Lydia an affectionate hand pressure, 
 as she bade her good-by. " Don t worry, Lyddy," she 
 said in a whisper. Then, with a substantial basket of 
 luncheon packed in beside her, and a bundle to carry 
 
 109
 
 HO A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 back to her mother, she climbed up by the side of Tim 
 othy Powell, and they set off. 
 
 " I don t know as you d better stop at all in Beverly, 
 except to tell them you re safe, for if you re bound to get 
 home before dark, you won t have such a deal of time. 
 And Betsey, I d advise you to eat your lunch before you 
 get there ; I ve put up enough for Timothy, too," were 
 Mrs. Porter s last words. 
 
 " I ve got mine, Mrs. Porter," shouted back Timothy, 
 as he drove off. " There war nt no need of your doin 
 that; I dunno as I ain t got more n I need, anyhow." 
 And turning to Betsey he said : " Mrs. Porter s always in 
 a fuss over folks not gettin enough to eat. I shouldn t 
 wonder if she hadn t stuffed in a box of oats some eres 
 for my boss. I believe if the hull reg mint of Essex 
 soldiers was to git shot, she d go round comfortin the 
 widders an orphans with vittles." 
 
 " Why don t you go to the war ? " asked Betsey, with 
 some spirit. 
 
 A quizzical look came into the jolly countryman s 
 eyes as he lifted up an empty sleeve which Betsey had 
 not perceived. " I left that useful bit of me at Bunker 
 Hill," he explained, "but I dunno as I ain t pretty able- 
 bodied yit, and I may git another crack at the redcoats 
 before I m through." 
 
 Betsey s eyes danced. This was the spirit which
 
 ON THE WAY. Ill 
 
 pleased her. " Oh, I beg your pardon ! " she said ; " I 
 should have noticed." 
 
 " Tain t nothin ! " returned Timothy, good hu- 
 moredly. " I m glad you re so patriotic. Let me 
 see, ain t you the one that lit up the Dodges tree so 
 pretty yist day ? " 
 
 Betsey laughed. " I helped, but it was not my idea." 
 
 " Where do you hail from ? " asked Timothy. 
 
 Betsey reflected. " We did live at Charlestown, but 
 since our house was burned we have been in two or 
 three places. I think, though, that we shall stay at 
 Salem while my father is in the army." 
 
 " So your father s in the thick of it. And you was 
 to Charlestown when it got burnt. I want to know ! 
 We was close neighbors there." Betsey smiled brightly, 
 and the two chatted like old comrades, eating their 
 luncheon together as became mess-mates. A fellow 
 feeling made them very friendly, so that when Bev 
 erly was reached, Betsey was really sorry to part 
 with the good, honest, old fellow, and she shook his 
 hand heartily, saying she had enjoyed her drive very 
 much. 
 
 " I shall be going Salem way myself, pretty soon," 
 Timothy told her, "and I ll bring you down some 
 apples from my place when they re ripe." Then he 
 left his travelling companion at her uncle Benjamin s
 
 112 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 door, from which she issued an hour later to set out 
 for her walk home. 
 
 The road was pleasant enough on this September 
 afternoon. Wayside weeds in their luxuriant grace 
 were turning their blossoms to no less beautiful seed- 
 pods. The maple trees were already beginning to 
 show a tinge of red, and some of the trailing vines, 
 at the first touch of frost, had caught the same 
 tint. 
 
 Winter is coming, thought Betsey, and her thoughts 
 travelled back to Russell s pasture ; to the old school- 
 house ; to the ice pond ; to the hill where the boys 
 coasted, and up which Amos had so often drawn her 
 on his sled. All these familiar spots of old Charles- 
 town seemed to have vanished forever. She thought, 
 too, of that December day when she had gone down 
 to gather up the tea, and she smiled to think how 
 ardent a patriot her grandmother now declared her 
 self to be. She thought of the cosy home, and each 
 detail of its pleasant rooms came before her. The 
 little familiar articles which made the place homelike 
 were now mixed with the elements, or if any vestige 
 remained it was in the shape of charred bits or cold 
 embers. 
 
 She had been so absorbed in her memories that 
 she did not notice a footstep behind her, and was
 
 ON THE WAY. 113 
 
 startled by hearing some one at her elbow say, 
 " Hello, sissy." 
 
 If there was anything which Betsey disliked, it was 
 to be called sissy, and she turned, with an expression 
 of indignant protest, to see who spoke thus, and dis 
 covered a stranger at her side. " What do you 
 want ? " she asked. 
 
 The man smiled. " I just thought I d ask if you 
 didn t want a lift," he said, with an amused look. 
 "I m going toward Salem, and I suppose that s 
 your way, too." 
 
 Yes, Betsey was going that way. She eyed the 
 man a moment. He did not look like a farmer, and 
 she felt a little suspicious. 
 
 "My horse and chaise are right here," the man 
 told her, "and I can take you along as well as not." 
 
 Betsey concluded it was rather rude to refuse so 
 kind an offer, when she really had no good reason 
 for not accepting, so she said, " I thank you, sir, I 
 shall be very glad to accompany you, since you are 
 so kind." 
 
 The man smiled again at the little set phrasing 
 of her speech, and led up his horse, helping Betsey 
 into the chaise very politely. 
 
 " I suppose, my little maid, that you belong here 
 abouts," he opened conversation by saying. 
 
 H
 
 114 A GIRL OF 7 6 - 
 
 Betsey hesitated. " I don t exactly belong in 
 Salem, because I used to live in Charlestown before 
 it was burned so cruelly by the wicked Britishers." 
 
 "Oh, then you re a little rebel!" 
 
 Betsey drew herself up. " If being true to my 
 country is being a rebel, then I am." 
 
 " How do you know you re being true to your 
 country? Isn t England our mother-country, and isn t 
 his Majesty, King George, our king? 
 
 " Not a bit of it," exclaimed Betsey, fiercely. 
 " We don t acknowledge King George for our 
 sovereign." 
 
 "Then where .r cca? 1 ^.- your government?" 
 
 Betsey wr,= silent. She was not so thoroughly 
 inforr: : j - on polit : cs as to give a proper reply at 
 once. "We have a Congress," she at last remem 
 bered to ^ay, "and Sons of Liberty. I know all 
 that." 
 
 "Oh, w?~l. they amount to nothing! You ll come 
 back to your allegiance after a while. You don t 
 suppose a little handful of farmers can stand out 
 against King George s well-trained troops for very 
 long, do you ? " 
 
 Betsey s eyes snapped. " I think you ll find out 
 that farmers, too, can fight. Didn t they prove it 
 at Bunker Hill?"
 
 ON TIIK WAY. 115 
 
 "Oh, well, they got beaten at the last! They had 
 to retreat." 
 
 Betsey was in a white rage. She could not bear 
 such imputations. Even Captain Yorke had not 
 treated her in such a way, and she was used to hear 
 ing but one side of the question. " We didn t get 
 beaten," she cried. " It was because the powder gave 
 out. Only a coward would say such a thing." 
 
 The man threw back his head and laughed. He 
 was enjoying the situation. " You are a fierce little 
 rebel," he said. " It is quite amusing to hear you. 
 Go on. Tell me what your people mean to do next. 
 How many men do you suppose there are in camp 
 at Cambridge ready to defy the British ? Surely 
 not enough to do much harm." 
 
 Betsey was silent. She was beginning to be afraid 
 of this clever questioner, who was so amiable and 
 pleasant, despite his teasing. "I I don t know," 
 she faltered. 
 
 " I suppose you have brothers and cousins and all 
 sorts of kinsfolk in camp ? " the man went on. 
 " Doubtless you hear all sorts of talk of their being 
 ordered hither and thither. Your father, for in 
 stance, where is he ? " 
 
 Betsey was beginning to be still more scared, but 
 she answered hesitatingly, "When we last heard
 
 Il6 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 from him, he was at the Cambridge encampment." 
 Then came the thought that she was accepting a 
 service from a Tory, an open enemy, perhaps even 
 an out and out Britisher, and she was quite over 
 come by the situation. The blood surged up into 
 her face, and she spoke again : " Please let me get 
 out. I would rather walk." 
 
 " And why so ? Are you not comfortable ? I should 
 be sorry to offend so bright a little lass. Come, we 
 will not speak of our differences." 
 
 Betsey shook her head. " But I do not wish to 
 ride with you at all," she protested. 
 
 "Why, am I so ungallant that you will have naught 
 to do with me ? I am sorry, and I confess the men 
 of England did not come hither to war on gentle dam 
 sels, but to put down rebellious and hot-headed men. 
 I will say no more, my little lass." 
 
 But these last words only added to Betsey s anger. 
 " Whether you come hither from England or not, sir, 
 I do not know; but this I do know: an American 
 girl accepts no favors from her country s enemies. I 
 would I could show you that even the maidens can 
 do service for the cause of freedom. I would I had 
 arms that I might make you a prisoner, for British 
 spy or wretched Tory you are, and I will not keep 
 your company."
 
 ON THE WAY. I I/ 
 
 The man looked a little startled, and, whipping up 
 his horse, drove on more rapidly. " So much for a 
 deed of gallantry," he muttered between his teeth, 
 as he cast a glance at Betsey, who, now finding that 
 she could not escape, sat silently looking at the 
 man ; and, as is likely to be the habit with young 
 people, she took in every detail. "I shall remember 
 him," she thought; "I am convinced that he is a 
 wretched spy. I would that I could arrest him." 
 
 She glanced to the right and the left. There was 
 no chance to escape or to call for some one to re 
 lease her from the situation which was fast becoming 
 more and more unpleasant. No one passed by, 
 although Salem town was not far away. The man 
 had lapsed into silence, and seemed in deep thought. 
 He once in a while cast furtive glances at his com 
 panion. Presently he said quite sternly : " What if 
 I make you my prisoner, and carry you to Boston, 
 to Governor Howe ? " 
 
 Betsey started. Such a possibility had never entered 
 her head. Here, in the very heart of the patriots 
 stronghold, the homes of hundreds of loyal Americans 
 on every side ! She would not have it so. It could 
 not be. 
 
 " How do I know but that you have seditious 
 matter about you ? " said the man, still sternly.
 
 I 1 8 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Betsey quailed. She did not know what was in 
 the bundle she had brought from Manchester, and, 
 for the moment, she did not reflect that it might 
 have been absurd to send despatches by her when 
 the way \vas entirely open to send them by other 
 messengers in a regular way. So she stared amaz- 
 edly, first at her companion, and then at the dusty 
 length of highway. They were coming to a cross 
 road, and the man sa\v, what the girl did not, that 
 two men were approaching. It was part of the man s 
 plan to frighten Betsey, as she afterward concluded. 
 
 " If I put you down," said the man, slackening his 
 horse s pace, " will you run home as fast as you can, 
 without turning to the right or the left ? " 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes!" replied Betsey, too glad of such a 
 prospect to quibble. 
 
 The man stopped, and Betsey hastily got out, 
 clutching her bundle. The man scarce tarried to see 
 if she were safe, but, gathering up his lines and 
 whipping up his horse, he disappeared in a cloud of 
 dust down the cross-road, just as Betsey came to 
 her senses and saw that two men were approaching. 
 Then it dawned upon her that she had been out 
 witted ; and that if she had not been so frightened, 
 if she had but remained in the chaise, and had called 
 to the men to rescue her, then the spy, as she be-
 
 OX THE WAY. 
 
 licvcd him to be, might have been taken. She stood 
 covered with confusion, till the men came up. 
 
 "Wai, marm," said one of them, as he neared the 
 girl, " what you standin so still fur ? You ain t took 
 root, are you? Anything the matter?" 
 
 "Oh, no, nothing much, only I wish I had waited! 
 If I had only seen you two coming we might have made 
 that man a prisoner. I believe he s a spy a Tory." 
 
 " Wai, I vum ! " exclaimed one of the men. " How 
 d ye know we ain t the same stripe? " asked the other. 
 "We re fine Tories, I rather guess. Ain t we, Dan l? " 
 
 The first man grinned. 
 
 Betsey looked alarmed. Were dangers thickening ? 
 She was very indiscreet, she told herself. 
 
 The men seeing her startled face, smiled kindly at 
 her. " Never mind, sis," said the one called Dan l. 
 " It s too bad to scare you, when you re so spunky, 
 too. We re Yankees to the backbone, just off on leave 
 from Cambridge to look after our farms. I rather 
 guess if you d shouted soon enough, we could have 
 taken your man, even if he was armed, as I rather 
 guess he was." 
 
 Betsey looked relieved. There might have been 
 bloodshed, she reflected. 
 
 " Tain t safe, nohow, for you to be travelling around 
 the country by yourself. Don t you do it again."
 
 I2O A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " There wasn t any one else to go, and I hadn t had 
 a bit of trouble. I was so near home, too." 
 
 " Tain t always safest nearest home. Come, Joe, 
 let s walk back a bit with her, till she gets to where 
 there s habitations." And Betsey, thus escorted, 
 entered Salem, feeling that a guard of honor was 
 hers. 
 
 It was with a feeling of thankfulness that she 
 turned into the streets of Salem town, and found her 
 self, at last, safe under her uncle Abiel s roof. 
 
 " I m so thankful I m safe," she exclaimed as she 
 came in. 
 
 "Why, Betsey Hall, what do you mean?" her 
 grandmother cried, and her mother, startled, stopped 
 her spinning-wheel. And then Betsey, now that the 
 excitement was over, sat down and began weeping 
 spasmodically. 
 
 "What are you crying about?" her grandmother 
 asked sharply, although it must be confessed that she 
 was really alarmed at this exhibition of "nerves" on 
 Betsey s part. " Speak up here, Betsey. Is anybody 
 dead?" she continued. 
 
 Betsey shook her head. 
 
 "Give her some lavender drops, Mary," grandmother 
 said ; and Betsey was made to sip the draught, and 
 soon overcame her excitement.
 
 ON THE WAY. 121 
 
 "I ve been a prisoner, that is almost," she said 
 finally. 
 
 " Why, Betsey Hall, what do you mean ? " and the 
 three women gathered closely around her. " Here, 
 Stephen, run out and play," grandmother ordered, 
 feeling as if there might be something divulged which 
 would arouse the fears of the little fellow. 
 
 Then Betsey told her tale which was listened to 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Well, you did well," declared Aunt Pamela. 
 
 " She only did what was right, and not that al 
 together," asserted her grandmother. " And I think 
 you d best stay at home for one while, Betsey. I 
 don t approve of a child like you trapesing over the 
 face of the country. You ll be so self-conceited after 
 a while there ll be no doing anything with you." 
 
 "Why, Mother Hall," interposed Betsey s mother, 
 " I don t think Betsey s conceited." 
 
 " No, but she s on a fair way toward being. It 
 does her no good to be treated as if she were about 
 as smart as she could well be. She needs a meek 
 and quiet spirit." Betsey heard herself thus dis 
 cussed with a little feeling of indignation. To have 
 the wind thus taken out of her sails was not pleas 
 ant. She had felt herself quite a heroine, and she 
 deserved some appreciation of it.
 
 122 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " I guess you ve had enough jaunting about to last 
 you," continued grandmother, addressing herself to 
 Betsey. " I think the best thing for you, for some 
 time to come, is to stay at home and go to school." 
 
 School ! Betsey had almost forgotten there was 
 such a thing as school. It would be rather nice to 
 be associated with girls of her own age, and to go 
 back to the humdrum quiet of every-day life. 
 
 " Go take off your things. There s no use idling 
 away precious moments," came grandmother s voice, 
 interrupting her meditations. " I want some one to 
 hold this yarn, and it is time to work. You have 
 had your frolic." 
 
 So Betsey left the room, hearing her aunt say, be 
 fore she was out of hearing, " Now, Elizabeth, you re 
 too hard on the child; she did nobly, and deserves 
 a medal." 
 
 " I don t believe in fostering the seeds of pride 
 and vainglory in a child, Pamela," returned grand 
 mother. "To be sure she did well, and I m proud 
 of her, but it doesn t do to tell her so." 
 
 Betsey felt quite comforted at this, and was thinking 
 pleasantly of the prospect of school, when Stephen 
 came pattering up the stairs to her room. He was 
 delighted to see his sister, and to have her a moment 
 to himself. He climbed up into her lap, hugging
 
 OX THE WAY. 123 
 
 her vigorously. "I m so glad you ve corned back, 
 Betsey," he said. "I fought you never, never would 
 any more." 
 
 " You don t get rid of me so easily, my young 
 master," she replied; "come, I ll carry you down 
 stairs piggy-back. I must go and hold some yarn 
 for grandmother." And the two entered the sitting- 
 room together, still talking. 
 
 " Now, while I am holding the yarn, tell me what 
 you have bjen doing since I went away," Betsey 
 siiid, as she slipped her hands into the gray lengths 
 of wool. 
 
 " I has been playing soldier. Faver showed me 
 how." 
 
 " Father? Oh, no, father is way off; oh, you mean 
 he used to show you!" 
 
 Stephen shook his head. " But he did show me 
 yest day. I saw him my own self." Betsey looked 
 puzzled, and, glancing up, caught a warning frown 
 directed at Stephen by her grandmother. 
 
 "Grandmother," cried she, "has father been here?" 
 
 "There, child, we didn t mean to tell you just yet; 
 we told Stephen not to say anything about it, but 
 he s too small to keep a secret. Yes, your father had 
 a day s leave, and came to us the day you left. We 
 think he must have suspected that he might not see
 
 124 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 us soon again, for a hasty note came from him this 
 noon, saying he had joined an expedition under 
 Arnold, that would march at once under strict 
 orders. Now don t make another scene." Grand 
 mother looked very firm, and spoke in a matter-of- 
 fact way, but Betsey saw a little quiver of her chin, 
 which showed the secret spring of her affections was 
 surely stirred. 
 
 The tears welled up into Betsey s eyes, and as 
 soon as the winding was finished she fled from the 
 room. It seemed more than she could bear. Her 
 beloved father ! To think she had missed him. For 
 a moment she had very mutinous thoughts against 
 Aunt Pamela, against everybody. Oh, why did it 
 happen that just at this time she must be away ? 
 It seemed to the brave little heart that if much 
 more trouble came to her she could not bear it. 
 They had all seen her father excepting herself, 
 herself, his daughter, the only one of the three 
 children who could really have appreciated the visit. 
 To think that she must be absent. She was sitting 
 forlornly trying to choke back her tears, so as to 
 present some sort of self-control at the supper table, 
 when Stephen s little fat fists pounded on her door. 
 
 " Ise fetched you sumpin , Betsey," he called out to 
 her, and she opened the door to take in the letter he
 
 ON THK WAV. 125 
 
 held out. Obeying instructions given below stairs, 
 Stephen beat a hasty retreat as soon as his errand 
 was done, and Betsey, retiring to her little dormer 
 window, proceeded to read the letter which proved 
 to be one from her father, and which read as follows : 
 
 " Knowing, my dear daughter, that it will be a sore disap 
 pointment to you, to find that you have missed this visit which 
 I am able to make to my family, I take this means of trying 
 to compensate you in some measure for the loss which I know 
 you will consider your absence will bring you. Do not, my 
 dear Betsey, give way to any lively fear on my account, for if 
 it be the will of God that you become fatherless through the 
 fortunes of war, it will but be anticipating an event which must 
 sooner or later take place, and for which we must all, from the 
 oldest to the youngest, hold ourselves in readiness. Moreover, 
 to die for one s country is a far more enviable prospect than 
 that which promises dissolution through painful or wasting 
 disease. 
 
 " 1 hasten to assure you of my very great gratification at hear 
 ing of your courageous conduct in more than one instance. 
 Had you been my son instead of my daughter I had expected 
 nothing less ; but your tender years, and those soft and gentle 
 qualities of mind which we generally deem the prerogative of 
 the weaker sex, have in your case been superseded by such 
 courage, steadfastness, and ingenuity as may well make a 
 father s heart leap for joy. My dear girl, I trust if future 
 opportunities are given you to further serve our cause of 
 freedom, that you will be given strength and resolution to per-
 
 126 A CTRL OF 76. 
 
 form your duty as becomes a daughter of Liberty. But let me 
 bid you remember to be as wise as a serpent, and as innocent 
 as a dove, never forgetting to pray to your Heavenly Father 
 for guidance in every undertaking. And, now. may the God of 
 all, bless you, and, if in accordance with his holy will, may He 
 bring about a future meeting, one which shall see our country 
 free from invasion, while peace dwells throughout her borders. 
 " Adieu, my beloved child ! Honor and dutifully obey your 
 beloved mother, and be to her a strength and a dependence. 
 May God have you all in his keeping ! 
 
 "Your aff. father, 
 
 " STEPHEN HALL." 
 
 Betsey read this letter over and over. It was very 
 unlike what a girl of to-day might expect from a 
 parent, but to the child brought up under strict dis 
 cipline, and with a reverence and respect for her 
 elders, it seemed a most precious and familiar com 
 munication, and made her feel as though she had 
 been suddenly lifted to her father s level, and that 
 he trusted, respected, and considered her worthy of 
 a confidence and esteem which her years hardly war 
 ranted. It did much toward comforting her for hav 
 ing missed her father s visit. " For," she told herself, 
 " if I had seen father, I should not then have had the 
 letter which now I can always keep and read over 
 every day." 
 
 Then came the summons to supper, and laying
 
 ON THE WAY. \2J 
 
 her letter reverently between the leaves of her Bible, 
 she went downstairs with very red eyes and a 
 shiny nose, but with an uplifted feeling in her 
 heart. 
 
 Aunt Pamela looked at her sharply from behind 
 her tall urn, but Betsey returned the look with one 
 of such sweet calmness that Aunt Pamela dropped 
 her eyes, and presently bestowed upon her niece an 
 extra treat in the form of a little scalloped patty-pan 
 pie, most excellently sweet and tasty, with its juicy 
 tilling of apples. " I presume the child s half starved," 
 she said. "After all that way that she has come 
 to-day, and only a bite on the road before noon. I 
 think, Polly, she needs something a little more stay 
 ing than hasty pudding to-night." The latter being 
 Betsey s usual supper, she was grateful to Aunt Pamela 
 for her consideration, and nibbled her patty-pie with 
 a relish.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A WAYFARER. 
 
 AND now the days settled into periods of quiet 
 usefulness. Betsey started to school without 
 delay, and was soon absorbed in her new interests. 
 She enjoyed the deference which her adventures 
 drew from her schoolmates ; but these were times 
 when a less show of patriotism would be decried, 
 and he who did his best, did only what was expected 
 of him ; therefore, before stories of privation and 
 valor, endured by others, Betsey came to think her 
 own performances of very little account. 
 
 The struggles of the army were made in accom 
 plishing wearisome journeys through the Maine woods, 
 and on Canadian rivers. Cold, hungry, worn-out men 
 they were, who at last pushed their way through the 
 primeval forests, and stood with Arnold on the 
 heights of Abraham. Meanwhile Washington, quietly 
 and gradually, was drawing his army closer around 
 Boston. 
 
 There were stirs of indignation when the news 
 came of the employment of the Hessians to fight 
 
 128
 
 A WAYFARER. I2Q 
 
 King George s battles. The appearance of " hired 
 mercenaries " added to the courage of conviction the 
 bitterness of defiant rancor. We have, in this day, 
 come to think more tolerantly of the much despised 
 Hessians who were helpless in the matter, and were 
 but puppets in the hands of their government ; and, 
 while we can never condone their many acts of 
 wanton cruelty, we can hold them less blameworthy in 
 coming over to fight, since we can realize more impar 
 tially the position in which they were placed, and 
 can remember how many of them became actual 
 settlers in the United States. However, their arrival 
 sent the already hot blood of the patriots up to 
 boiling point. 
 
 Another act which roused a great bitterness of 
 spirit was that which took place in October of that 
 year, when the little town of Falmouth, now Portland, 
 was almost entirely consumed by fire, by the order 
 of Captain Muatt of the British army, who sailed 
 into the harbor, and caused shells and grenades to 
 be directed against the place, the result being that a 
 thousand innocent persons were turned out into the 
 world, homeless and unprovided for, at a season of year 
 when the weather was daily becoming more rigorous. 
 
 In consequence of all this, the little army at Cam 
 bridge came more and more to command the solici- 
 i
 
 130 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 tude of the people in the surrounding country. 
 Every day could be seen the spectacle of great, 
 heavy carts rumbling into Cambridge, laden with 
 whatever could be spared by those faithfully doing 
 their part at home, and it became a matter of pride 
 in families to see who could exercise the most self- 
 denial in order to add to the supplies of food, clothes, 
 and such stores which might be of use to the soldiers 
 at camp. 
 
 The news from the troops who had gone to Canada 
 was vague and unsatisfactory. One, who had early 
 turned back, brought, one day, word from Stephen 
 Hall and from Uncle Abiel. They were well and, 
 although enduring hardships, hoped to reach their 
 destination safely. 
 
 The thought of what might be, kept Betsey awake 
 a long time the night that the news was brought, and, 
 contrary to her usual habit of sleeping till she was 
 called, she awoke in the dimness of the winter morn 
 ing and crept downstairs where all was silent. She 
 raked open the embers in the big fireplace, and soon 
 a fire was blazing, but she needed more wood, and ran 
 out to the shed to get it. She had gathered up one 
 or two large sticks, when her attention was attracted 
 by a figure leaning against the fence, poorly clad, shoe 
 less, miserable.
 
 A WAYFARER. 131 
 
 Dropping her wood, Betsey ran toward the gate, 
 all her sympathies stirred by this object of forlornity. 
 The weather was not very cold, for it had been a 
 more than usually open winter, but still it was frosty 
 enough to nip one sharply, and, as Betsey opened the 
 gate, she said, " Won t you come inside and get warm ? " 
 
 The ragged individual turned his weary eyes upon 
 her, and Betsey gave a cry, "Oh, Amos! Amos!" 
 She scarcely knew how she got the poor lad indoors, 
 for he was faint and weak, but in a few moments he 
 was resting before the blazing fire, Betsey rubbing 
 his cold hands, and uttering soft little exclamations 
 of sorrow and pity as she saw his wretched condi 
 tion. He could only speak in whispered gasps, 
 words that she could scarcely distinguish. 
 
 It was thus that Aunt Pamela found them. 
 " Why, child ! " she exclaimed, coming near and 
 looking curiously at the lad, "who is this? Where 
 did he come from? What is he doing here?" 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Pamela ! " Betsey answered, " it is Amos 
 Dwight ; he is a soldier. I saw him in the street by 
 our gate, and I brought him in. Oh, see, how thin 
 he is, and look at his poor hands and feet!" 
 
 Aunt Pamela s lips trembled. A soldier and so mis 
 erable, what pictures did not his condition conjure up 
 before her !
 
 132 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 It was no time before she had the boy in bed, and 
 then the whole family being astir, their attention was 
 concentrated on the care of the lad. But it was Aunt 
 Pamela who was the most assiduous in her attentions ; 
 hot herb teas, comforting broth, warm blankets, at last 
 caused him to drop into a sound sleep. 
 
 " I should like to know where he has been and how 
 he came to be like this," said Betsey. 
 
 " Don t you pester him with questions, Betsey," cau 
 tioned grandmother. " When he s strong enough he ll 
 tell us. The Lord has given him into our hands, and 
 we ll take care of him. If he lives through it, we ll 
 know the whys and wherefores; if he doesn t, then it 
 is the Lord s will, and likely the boy will have a right 
 to a hero s grave." 
 
 For Amos to have the right to any grave at all, 
 was too much for Betsey, and she made haste to find 
 her mother. "Oh, mother! mother!" she sobbed. "Is 
 Amos going to die ? " 
 
 " Why, I hope not. Who said so ? I think he only 
 needs care. He has a good constitution, I presume, 
 and he s sleeping beautifully." 
 
 " And can I see him when he wakes up ? " 
 
 Her mother hesitated. " I think not yet. If he is 
 better to-morrow, you may, perhaps." 
 
 This was hard for Betsey. He was her discovery,
 
 A WAYFARER. 133 
 
 her old playmate. It did seem too much that she was 
 shut out of the room, and that Aunt Pamela sat all 
 night by his pillow, while she could not so much as 
 peep at him. And it was several days before she was 
 allowed to see him, bolstered up in a big chair ; for 
 fever followed the exhaustion and the severe cold, so 
 that for a little time there seemed slim chances for 
 his recovery. 
 
 Betsey tiptoed around the house, keeping the chil 
 dren quiet when they were noisy, and helping the de 
 voted nurses in their work. When at last she was 
 admitted to the sick-room, it seemed hardly possible 
 that this gaunt, tall lad could be the sturdy, rosy- 
 cheeked Amos who had trudged by her side to school, 
 and who was always her ideal of boyish strength. 
 
 " Betsey," he said in a weak voice, holding out his 
 thin hand. 
 
 Betsey answered with a warm clasp. " It is so good 
 to hear you speak," she told him. " I do hope you ll 
 get well soon. Oh, Amos, I ve so much to tell you ! " 
 The words were very familiar ones. How many times 
 had she said the same thing on her way home from 
 school in those old Charlestown days. 
 
 Amos smiled quite cheerfully. " I ll do my best, 
 Betsey." 
 
 She was about to carry on the conversation further,
 
 134 A GIRL OF 7 6 - 
 
 but her aunt Pamela stopped her by saying, " There, 
 there, Betsey, don t excite him. You ve seen him now, 
 and that will do for to-day." So, after all, it was 
 not a very satisfactory interview, except so far as it 
 served to show her that Amos was ready to be friends 
 again, and that was a source of comfort to Betsey, 
 who had grieved greatly over the fact of there being 
 a breach between herself and her old schoolfellow. 
 
 She wished very much to let him know in some 
 way that she was devoted to her father s cause, and 
 that she had shown herself to be made of such stuff 
 as patriots might approve ; but she did not like to 
 make her own boast, nor did she dare to tell her 
 grandmother that the affair of the tea had come near 
 to losing her Amos s friendship. 
 
 "I would tell mother," she said to herself, "but 
 then that would seem like complaining of grand 
 mother." 
 
 At last she concluded to confide in Aunt Pamela. 
 So, one evening, when they two were in the big kitchen 
 together, where Aunt Pamela was preparing a savory 
 broth for Amos, she broached the subject. "Aunt 
 Pamela," she said, "Amos thinks I m a Tory." 
 
 In her surprise, Aunt Pamela nearly dropped the 
 salt-box which she held in her hand. " Why, Betsey 
 Hall," she exclaimed, "what a notion! Like as not
 
 A WAYFARER. 135 
 
 he was out of his head. He s talked at random con 
 siderably, poor boy. He has something on his mind, 
 for he has said over and over in his delirium, I must 
 tell her. I must tell her ; and his great blue eyes 
 follow me around the room, now, with a sort of ques 
 tioning look. It can t be that; he wouldn t think so, 
 now he s conscious." 
 
 " No, I don t believe it is on his mind like that ; 
 but, Aunt Pamela, you know that grandma used to 
 be a Tory before- before Lexington, and that time." 
 
 " Why, yes, I know that. She and Abiel used to 
 have it hot and heavy. She even went so far as to 
 use tea after every one else had given it up. She 
 told me herself about a pretty time she made in your 
 father s house with her tea-party." 
 
 " Oh, did she tell you ? I m so glad." 
 
 " To be sure she did, but you d have to hunt the 
 country over to find a stancher patriot than she is 
 to-day. Like many another she had her eyes opened 
 at last. But why are you glad she told me, Betsey ? 
 She was right well ashamed of it, she said." 
 
 " I am glad because that is why Amos thinks 
 I m a Tory." 
 
 " Because your grandmother drank tea ? Nonsense ! 
 the boy s not so foolish, and he s not likely to forget 
 your father s part in the cause."
 
 136 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " No, but, Aunt Pamela, it was I who got that 
 tea." 
 
 " You did ? why, Betsey ! Your grandmother didn t 
 tell me that part. She sent you, did she ? Humph ! 
 I ll be bound you went with a lagging foot." 
 
 " I was unwilling, but then grandma persuaded me 
 that her side was the right one, and I did not under 
 stand as well as I do now, so I went, and Amos saw 
 me with the bag of tea. We had hot words. He 
 was masterful, and I was angry that he should try 
 to rule me. At last he called me a Tory and cast 
 me off, saying I should never be friend of his. From 
 that day he has scarcely spoken to me except when 
 he was obliged to, and so, Aunt Pamela, I want him 
 to know I am a true patriot." 
 
 " Humph ! " Aunt Pamela carefully skimmed the 
 " eyes " from her broth before she spoke again. " He s 
 a good lad, isn t he ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, so good ! My father thinks much of 
 him." 
 
 " And you ve known him always. Did his parents 
 live in Charlestovvn ? " 
 
 " No, ma am, they were of Boston, but both died 
 when Amos was not four years old. Since that time 
 he lived with his uncle s family in Charlestown till 
 it was destroyed."
 
 A WAYFARER. 137 
 
 "Humph! I hope they were good to him." 
 
 " Yes, ma am, right good ; but I think they were 
 not very loving, and Amos has felt my mother a 
 very near friend." 
 
 " Poor, little orphan boy ! " Aunt Pamela s head 
 bent lower to discover if one speck of grease were left 
 on the broth. She seemed so preoccupied that Betsey 
 was afraid she had forgotten her anxiety about being 
 established as a patriot in Amos s eyes. 
 
 "Aunt Pamela," she said, "will you please, ma am, 
 tell him I m not a Tory?" 
 
 Aunt Pamela smiled. " Oh, why, yes, certainly, 
 child ! I ll tell him how it was." 
 
 "And don t let him blame grandmother." The 
 brown eyes were wistful. 
 
 " What a child ! Of course not ! She s settled her 
 peace with him long ago ; whatever he once thought, 
 he knows her now." 
 
 Betsey did not like to ask to have her valorous 
 deeds proclaimed and her praises sung, but she hoped 
 Aunt Pamela would be very positive in declaring her 
 niece s convictions. 
 
 She looked wistfully at Amos every day after this, 
 hoping Aunt Pamela had reestablished her in the 
 lad s good graces. But he did not say anything to 
 warrant her in believing him more than grateful to
 
 138 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 her for ministering to him. Yet his eyes followed her 
 around, and he seemed glad when she came into the 
 room. The worried look, however, did not leave his 
 face, even after he was able to sit up and be bolstered 
 in a big chair by the window. 
 
 " The boy has something on his mind," declared 
 Aunt Pamela. " I wonder if he thinks he has de 
 serted!" She spoke half to herself. 
 
 " Oh ! " Betsey looked up, shocked at such a sug 
 gestion. " Oh, Aunt Pamela ! you don t know Amos ; 
 he d die, but he would never give up." 
 
 " I didn t say he would. I said maybe he thought 
 so. He s not strong enough to tell us all he s gone 
 through. I ve hinted that he should, once or twice ; 
 but he looks so distressed, and has a fit of trembling, 
 and then seems not to want to look at me for hours 
 after. Well, all we can do is to try to get up his 
 strength, and after a while he will tell of his own 
 accord. Maybe he d tell you, Betsey, sooner than 
 he would us. Suppose you go take him this baked 
 apple, and sit with him awhile. I rather guess your 
 grandmother ought to go down to see Mrs. Punchard. 
 She sent for one of us to come if we could. Her 
 daughter s in a deep consumption. She s had a sad 
 time with her daughters. Jerusha ran off with a 
 British soldier. Diraxa died of a languishment, and
 
 A WAYFARER. 139 
 
 now Zerviah is about to pass away, I presume. Some 
 times I ve felt like being rebellious because my little 
 boy didn t live to grow up ; but the Lord knows 
 best, for now I haven t that grief to live through 
 again." 
 
 Aunt Pamela was given to talking quite freely to 
 Betsey, probably because she had never known what 
 it was to have young people in the house, and her 
 love for them made her open her heart more freely 
 to them than to their elders. 
 
 Betsey took up the little blue and white plate, on 
 which Aunt Pamela had placed the apple, and started 
 for Amos s room. 
 
 " You tell your grandmother that I say I can t go 
 to Mrs. Punchard s to-day," Aunt Pamela called after 
 her. " And tell her I say if she wants to go, that 
 you can sit with Amos. There is nothing to do for 
 him. You might read him a chapter if you like ; the 
 fourteenth of St. John or the thirty-seventh psalm 
 is comforting. Or he might like you to sing for 
 him." 
 
 Betsey went on upstairs, and knocked at the 
 door of the pleasant front room, where the sunlight, 
 streaming in through the window, was softened by 
 the white curtains. The high four-poster bedstead, 
 with its valance of white, and its patchwork quilt,
 
 140 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 looked plump and nesty. Amos was not in it, but 
 was sitting in a large chintz-covered armchair before 
 the fire ; a comfortable was tucked about him, and 
 by his side was a small table whereon stood a cup 
 and a candlestick. Grandmother Hall, tall, upright, 
 with the inevitable knitting, sat by the window. She 
 looked up as Betsey entered, but her needles did not 
 stop. Amos opened his eyes wearily, but he smiled 
 when he saw who it was. Betsey delivered her mes 
 sage, and set the plate down on the little stand. 
 
 "Well, I ll go," her grandmother decided. "There ll 
 be nothing for you to do. If Amos gets thirsty give 
 him some of the boneset tea in that pitcher. Your 
 mother s in the next room if he wants anything else. 
 Keep up a good fire. What s your aunt doing?" 
 
 "She s baking bread to send to camp." 
 
 " Oh, well, then she is busy ! Amos, if you want 
 to get back to bed, I guess Betsey s able to help 
 you." 
 
 Amos smiled in reply, but did not seem inclined 
 for speech. 
 
 Grandmother left the room, and Betsey settled her 
 self in her place, first seeing that Amos had the 
 apple comfortably near him. " Shall I read to you, 
 Amos ? " she asked presently. 
 
 "If you like, Betsey."
 
 A WAYFARER. 14! 
 
 So she took her little Bible and began reading the 
 chapter suggested by Aunt Pamela. She drew a little 
 nearer to the fire, for the afternoon was beginning to 
 wane, and the sun had left the windows. After she 
 had read the chapter and the psalm, she sat quite 
 silent. She did not know just what to say to a sick 
 lad, and she turned over in her mind several remarks. 
 Finally she concluded to say, "You don t get strong 
 very fast, do you, Amos ? " 
 
 "I m doing my best, Betsey, but 
 
 " What, Amos ? " 
 
 " Betsey, if you had a hard thing to do, don t you 
 think you ought to do it, whether you feel weak or not? " 
 
 " I don t know, it depends." 
 
 "On what?" 
 
 "On what the thing is. If it ( is a right thing, 
 then it must be done, of course. Is it anything I 
 could do for you, Amos ? " 
 
 " No, no one can. It must be done by me. I 
 promised." He looked agitated, and in his weakness 
 the tears began to roll down his pale cheeks. 
 
 " Oh, Amos, don t, don t ! " Betsey was alarmed. 
 She had never before seen him cry, and the sight of 
 tears awed her. Grown persons big boys like 
 Amos never did so. " Shall I call mother ? " she 
 asked.
 
 142 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " No, no, I can t help it, Betsey. It is just 
 because I ve been sick, I guess, I won t do so 
 again;" and with a supreme effort he controlled him 
 self, and made the request, " Betsey, will you hand 
 me that little case under the pillow ? " 
 
 She obeyed, and gave him the small packet tied 
 up in a leather cover. 
 
 Amos held it in his hand for a few moments with 
 out speaking, then he said : " After supper will you 
 all come up here? I don t think I ll ever get well till 
 I ve freed my mind. It gets harder every day. It 
 is so dreadful to hurt those who have shown such 
 kindness, but I ll be a coward no longer. Thank 
 you for the reading, Betsey, it did me good." 
 
 " Let me help you to lie down," she returned, 
 "and then I ll sing to you, Let not your heart be 
 troubled, Amos." 
 
 He gave an answering smile, and she helped him 
 to his feet and guided him over to the bed. 
 
 An hour later Mrs. Hall, coming in at twilight, saw 
 Betsey curled up in a big chair before the blazing 
 fire, and Amos calmly sleeping.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AMOS S STORY. 
 
 THE flickering blaze of a candle added little to 
 the firelight which cast its gleam abroad through 
 the room where the family assembled at Amos s 
 request. Back in the shadow sat Betsey by her 
 mother. Aunt Pamela and grandmother, their needles 
 going, occupied chairs near the table. Amos, propped 
 up in the easy chair opposite the fire, looked very 
 grave. It seemed a solemn company to Betsey. 
 
 " Are you sure you re feeling strong enough, Amos, 
 to see so many of us at once ? " asked Aunt Pamela, 
 solicitously. 
 
 " Yes ; I ll not get strong till I ve performed my 
 duty, Mrs. Porter." 
 
 "We d like to hear everything from the start," 
 she said. " We ve not questioned you even about 
 our folks, for we felt when the time came you d tell 
 us. You ve been too sick to be thinking about what 
 we desired, and now we d like to hear all there is to 
 tell, if you feel able."
 
 144 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " I feel able. It s a pretty gloomy story, I ll tell 
 you at once." 
 
 "Well, we re strong enough to hear it, if you are 
 strong enough to tell it." There was a little pucker 
 of anxiety beginning to show on Aunt Pamela s 
 brow. 
 
 Amos laid a hand on each arm of the chair and 
 began. 
 
 "One morning very early, while we were in camp 
 at Cambridge, the drums beat in every regiment, and 
 we were all ordered out, as if for parade. I won 
 dered what it all meant, but I soon found out, for a 
 hollow square was formed, and secret orders from Con 
 gress were read. Then the regiments were picked 
 out to go to Quebec, on an expedition, and next 
 came the order, Volunteers step one step in ad 
 vance. 
 
 Betsey, sitting with her chin in her hands, never 
 took her eyes off Amos s face. The others were not 
 less interested. 
 
 "Not one hesitated." Aunt Pamela spoke up 
 proudly. 
 
 " Father, and Uncle Abiel, and Cousin Abner," put 
 in Betsey. 
 
 Amos nodded, and his face quivered. He was 
 only a lad, and as yet an invalid.
 
 AMOS S STORY. 145 
 
 " We marched first to Newburyport, and there 
 we set out in boats for the mouth of the Kennebec. 
 I ll never forget that Sunday we stayed in Newbury 
 port ; it was such a solemn day, and such a sermon 
 as we heard. As many of us as could be marched 
 into the church, went ; then the arms were stacked 
 all up and down the aisles. In the galleries were the 
 people of the town. The Rev. Mr. Spring, our chap 
 lain, spoke to us. He was with us all through that 
 dreadful time." Amos paused as if the memory were 
 too much for him. 
 
 "Don t tell us now," said Betsey s mother, gently; 
 "wait till you are stronger, Amos." 
 
 But he shook his head. " I am strong enough ; I 
 want to get it over. Well, we reached the Kenne 
 bec all right. General Morgan went on ahead, and 
 we followed, led by General Arnold. You cannot im 
 agine the loneliness, the grandeur of those big forests 
 through which we had to cut our way. Sometimes 
 the boats had to be carried on the men s backs 
 through swamps, and sometimes they had to drag 
 them up precipices. It was all well enough through 
 October, but when the November rains came on, it 
 was pretty hard. We lost many men at the outset. 
 It grew colder and colder, but we pushed on ; we 
 were nearly starving, for provisions grew scarce. One 
 K
 
 146 A GIRL OK 76. 
 
 after another dropped by the way, yet few could re 
 fuse to follow where Morgan and Arnold led." 
 
 Amos paused. Aunt Pamela silently handed him 
 a cup of herb tea. He drank it passively, and 
 handed her back the cup, with eyes turned away 
 and overflowing with tears. 
 
 "From time to time," he continued, "some, too 
 ill to go on, would be left, and often a watcher was 
 ordered to stay with him to the last, to hunt up 
 some game and to ease his dying moments. You 
 do not know how desolate it was in that howling 
 wilderness. I think I should have lost all heart 
 many a time but for Mr. Abiel Porter, who shielded 
 me as a father would have done. Mr. Stephen Hall 
 was in the advance party, and I saw little of him 
 after the start. He was well, and as resolute as 
 ever when he bade me good-by at last." 
 
 Amos paused again ; a little nervous quiver passed 
 over him, and then he went on. " Our good chap 
 lain, Mr. Spring, put heart into us who were left to 
 follow. There were many sick and dispirited whom 
 he tended and comforted like a brother. The work 
 of the camp was at first not beyond our powers of 
 endurance, but when snow came, and we had to walk 
 through icy waters, or struggle up precipices and 
 over sharp rocks, it was wearisome, very weari-
 
 AMOS S STORY. 147 
 
 some. One day I noticed that Mr. Porter stumbled 
 often and the next morning was unable to rise. He 
 was ill, -very ill." 
 
 Aunt Pamela clasped her hands so tightly that the 
 knuckles looked white and strained, but she said not 
 a word, only leaned eagerly forward. 
 
 "At first," Amos went on with his story, "we 
 carried him, but at last this seemed no longer possi 
 ble, and I begged leave to stay with him, and hoped 
 as soon as he recovered that we could push on 
 ahead. They left us a small supply of provision, all 
 that could be spared, and in the wilderness we two 
 stayed. For a day or two I thought Mr. Porter 
 seemed about the same, and I hoped the rest and 
 quiet would restore him. I shot a squirrel or two, 
 but he could not eat, and one night he called me to 
 him, and gave me a letter to take to you, Mrs. Por 
 ter. He said : Amos, lad, I want you to comfort 
 my wife as best you can. We had a little one once, 
 and I m going to join him, and " and Amos s voice 
 faltered. " I cannot, I cannot," he murmured. 
 
 "Go on," said Aunt Pamela in a fierce, hard 
 whisper. 
 
 Amos still held the little packet in his hand. 
 "After that he grew weaker and weaker, and one 
 bitter night he left me. Oh, Mrs. Porter, you have
 
 148 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 been so kind to me, and I must be the one to tell you 
 this, that he is no more. This is his last message ; " 
 
 o > 
 
 and the lad with streaming eyes held out the packet. 
 
 For one moment Aunt Pamela sat mute and mo 
 tionless as a statue. Then she arose to her feet, and 
 lifted her hands high above her head, shrilling out 
 in a voice of strange, unnatural pitch, "The Lord 
 gave and the Lord taketh away." Then she stag 
 gered, and fell in an unconscious heap on the floor. 
 Grandmother Hall dropped on her knees and gath 
 ered the prostrate figure in her arms. " Oh, my sis 
 ter ! my sister!" she said, "we are indeed bereft." 
 
 "Dear uncle Abiel ! " sobbed Betsey. "Oh, it is 
 hard, so hard ! " 
 
 Not one of the family but felt stricken by the loss 
 of one so true and brave. Dear, kind, gentle uncle 
 Abiel ! Grief shadowed the house darkly for days. 
 Aunt Pamela went about quietly, never once faltering 
 in the performance of her duty. But there was a 
 mournful look in her eyes which never left them, 
 firm and faithful though she continued to be in word 
 and deed. She redoubled her attentions to Amos, 
 and never wearied of listening to his accounts of the 
 march through the forest. It seemed as if, from the 
 first, the presence of the lad comforted her, and she 
 treated him as if he were her own son.
 
 AMOS S STORY. 149 
 
 It was not till later that Betsey heard how Amos 
 managed to find his way back. Seeing Aunt Pamela s 
 interest, he went into the details of his adventures. 
 
 " Left all alone, after I had committed Mr. Porter s 
 earthly body to the grave I was able to dig for him, 
 my first hope was to push on ahead and rejoin the 
 party ; but I lost my bearings, and wandered in a 
 wrong direction. I think I must have been in a sort 
 of a daze from hunger and privation. I wonder that 
 the wild animals in the forest did not devour me, 
 but I was preserved for some purpose. I managed 
 to break the frozen ground with my hatchet, and dig 
 a few roots which helped to sustain me, and water 
 was plentiful. While my powder lasted, I was able 
 to shoot small game ; but at last this gave out, and 
 the roots I could find were my only sustenance. I 
 stumbled on while I could, and then lay where I fell 
 till I could summon fresh strength to go on. I do 
 not know how many days I travelled thus, nor why 
 I did not succumb altogether. I think because I had 
 hope that each day would bring me up to some of 
 my comrades. My clothes were so worn that they 
 could scarcely hold together. My feet were bare, and 
 if it had turned colder instead of warmer, I could not 
 have stood it; but I felt I don t know why that 
 it was worth while to press on, even when it seemed
 
 150 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 that each step must be my last. And the time came 
 when I did fail utterly, and I dropped clown, as I 
 thought, to die. I do not know how long I lay with 
 the rain beating on me. I thought I was dreaming 
 when I heard voices close to me. The first words 
 I heard were : See here, Samson, I rather guess 
 we re not the only ones who ve come this way. 
 Here s a young fellow about done for. 
 
 " Raise him up and let s see/ another voice said. 
 
 " I was lifted in a pair of strong arms, and some 
 spirits were forced between my teeth. These revived 
 me so that I could open my eyes, and then I saw 
 two sturdy fellows rubbing my hands and feet. 
 Hello, youngster! said one; where on airth did 
 you come from ? Ef you ain t about as big a sur 
 prise as I ever come across, I clunno nawthin about 
 it." Amos s eye twinkled as he imitated the rough 
 woodsman. The boy had been steadily gaining ever 
 since the night when he had given the sad news to 
 the family, and now, a week later, he was more like 
 himself than they had yet seen him. 
 
 " Go on, Amos," said Stephen, who had been ad 
 mitted to this gathering and was vastly entertained. 
 
 Amos proceeded. "When I was able I told them 
 who I was, and how I came to be there. You look 
 ready for a fight with the Britishers, said one of
 
 AMOS S STORY. 151 
 
 them. I dunno, Samson, as we can burden ourselves 
 with a great, overgrown, hearty lummox like this fel 
 low. I guess we d better let him go on and shoot 
 redcoats. 
 
 " He docs look putty well fed, said the other; 
 where do ye hail from, you bag o bones ? 
 
 " I told him, and they sat and discussed the situa 
 tion Then one of them said: See here, young man, 
 we re going down the river, and you kin go long, I 
 guess, as fur as we do, and that s to Portland. I guess 
 when we git there we kin git you aboard a boat going 
 to Newburyport, and then you ll be near home. 
 
 " I was too weak to make any protest, and was glad 
 enough when they lifted me up and carried me to a boat 
 which lay on the river. I didn t realize that I was 
 so near habitations, but there was a settlement not 
 far off, and, at first, the two men thought of leaving 
 me there ; but my one wish was to get home and 
 deliver Mr. Porter s letter, and then report at camp. 
 So they agreed to take me with them, and brought 
 me on, covering me up from the cold and making me 
 a bed of skins to lie on. So that I was comfortable, 
 except that I was, even then, ill, and lay in a sort 
 of a stupor all the way. When we got to Portland 
 I roused sufficiently to know that they were discuss 
 ing: the wisdom of sending me on. Twould be more
 
 152 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 merciful to let him die here on a good bed/ said one 
 of the men. I knew enough to object to that, and 
 so I spoke up and said, I don t mean to die. I must 
 go on if I swim. 
 
 " Swim! said Samson Beebe ; you ll sink before 
 you swim, although you re no heavier than a cork. 
 
 " But after some powwowing I was transferred to 
 another boat, although I hardly had sense enough left 
 to thank the good men who had brought me thus far." 
 
 "What were their names?" asked Betsey. 
 
 " Samson Beebe and Jeremiah Fowle," returned 
 Amos ; " and I shall never forget them, nor their friend 
 Enoch Mason who brought me to Newburyport, and 
 fitted me out with the old clothes he could spare me 
 from his own bundle ; he hadn t much. I should have 
 done pretty well in walking here from Newburyport, 
 if I had not been still too weak to go far at a time ; 
 and I had calculated on getting here in short order 
 till I set out, and then my legs refused to do their 
 duty. But I crawled along, more dead than alive, out 
 of the town, and little by little, each day, made some 
 of the distance, sleeping in some barn at night." 
 
 " It s a mercy you got here at all," remarked Grand 
 mother Hall. 
 
 " I don t believe you ve told how much you suffered, 
 but it s easy to see," Aunt Pamela told him.
 
 AMOS S STORY. 153 
 
 When the others had left the room she remained, 
 and leaning over the lad, who sat with his face buried 
 in his hands, again living over his dreadful experiences, 
 "Amos," the good woman said, " Abiel Porter desired 
 that I should be to you a mother. Will you be to me 
 a son ? " 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Porter, how gladly ! but I cannot stay 
 here long, my country needs me." 
 
 " No, nor do I gainsay you ; but until you are 
 stronger, remain, and think of this house as always 
 your home." 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. Porter." 
 
 "Call me Aunt Pamela;" and bending down she 
 kissed the lad s forehead. 
 
 He looked up and caught her hand in both of his. 
 "That is the first kiss I have had given me since 
 my mother died," he said. 
 
 Aunt Pamela was not given to caresses any more 
 than the rest of her New England sisters, but she 
 took the lad s face gently between her hands and said : 
 " Until I join my husband and my own son, you 
 are my boy, Amos. Now, have you made known your 
 presence here to the proper authorities?" 
 
 " Yes, and my term of enlistment expired Decem 
 ber 3ist." 
 
 "Ah, then you will reenlist ; but meanwhile there
 
 154 A GIRL F 76. 
 
 is no reason why you should not abide here, is 
 there?" 
 
 "Not any." 
 
 "Your uncle and aunt, where are they?" 
 
 " My uncle is in the army ; my aunt and her chil 
 dren in Chelmsford with relatives." 
 
 " Then they do not need you. There comes 
 Betsey ; what news has she that she comes so fast ? " 
 
 Betsey entered the room, her face glowing. 
 
 "What do you think, Aunt Pamela? News, Amos, 
 news! On this first day of 1776 Washington has 
 unfurled a banner of our own over the camp. It 
 was told me by one who has just come from there." 
 
 "And what is it like ? " 
 
 " Let me see ; I made him tell me very clearly, so 
 I could not forget. It has thirteen stripes, red first, 
 then white, in the field, and in the corner the united 
 crosses of St. George and St. Andrew on a blue 
 ground. Must it not be a pretty one ? " 
 
 "Truly, it must." 
 
 " If I but had the colors, I would fashion one for 
 you, Amos ; a tiny one." 
 
 "I am not a soldier; I perhaps do not deserve it," 
 replied Amos, smiling. 
 
 "Not a soldier? what is this I hear?" 
 
 "Amos but means that his term of enlistment
 
 AMOS S STORY. 155. 
 
 expired, like that of many others, on the last day of 
 the year. But do not look so astonished, Betsey; he 
 is not going to be a stay-at-home. As soon as he is 
 quite strong we shall send him forth again. If you 
 will go up garret, I think you may find, in a blue bag 
 hanging on the left side of the far window, some 
 pieces suitable for your banner." 
 
 "Oh, thank you, aunt." And Betsey s busy fingers 
 were soon at work upon a small flag which, when 
 done, she gayly waved over Amos s head, and routed 
 him for being a plain civilian. Despite the sadness 
 which the boy had brought to the family, he was 
 very happy to be in their midst, and the sweet, sacred 
 relation which he felt now existed between him and 
 Aunt Pamela gave him a new sense of responsibility 
 and pride. 
 
 Betsey felt herself quite crowded out by this state 
 of affairs, yet she rejoiced at the affection existing 
 between him and her aunt, and even laughingly called 
 him her cousin, but, for all this he seemed so much 
 older and graver that she did not consider herself to be 
 on quite the same footing with him as she had been 
 with her old school-fellow, and she sat silently by 
 while he talked to the older members of the family. 
 Sometimes she caught him looking at her with a 
 spark of the old spirit in his eye. And one day he
 
 156 A tilRL OF 76. 
 
 said : " Betsey, you are getting quite grown up. 
 You ll have better schooling than I, I m afraid." 
 
 " I don t care," returned Betsey. 
 
 " Don t care what ? " 
 
 "Why, that that I mean I am not grown up, 
 Amos, and you d be just the same whether you had 
 book learning or not. You will always know much, 
 much more than I do; for you have gone through 
 those things that a man endures, and I am still a 
 little girl." 
 
 " Not a very little girl. You are growing so tall. 
 Many, many a time, Betsey, I ve meant to ask your 
 pardon for having been so cross and stern to you." 
 
 " I didn t mind anything except your calling me 
 a Tory, and oh, Amos, I ve tried so hard to prove to 
 every one that I was not." 
 
 " I should think you had, you poor child ! Did my 
 speech rankle so ? I don t think so now. How could 
 I ? I think you re the bravest, most patriotic girl any 
 where. I m so proud of you that I d like to dress you 
 up in boy s clothes, and take you off to war with me." 
 
 "Oh, Amos!" No higher compliment could be 
 hers. Betsey s face glowed with joy and pride. " I m 
 so glad," she said. " I thought you d never be friends 
 again. I wish I could fight, but I will always do what 
 I can for my country for my father s cause."
 
 AMOS S STORY. 157 
 
 She looked the very embodiment of girlish enthu 
 siasm, standing there in her homely blue homespun 
 gown. Her little head, with its sleek, soft bands of 
 brown hair, parted above her white forehead, was held 
 erect, her dark eyes shone with patriotic fire, and her 
 red lips were curved in such a smile as one sees on the 
 face of some impassioned saint. Amos sat looking at 
 her steadily. " You dear Betsey," he said presently, 
 in an undertone. Then he dropped his eyes on his 
 book, and did not speak again for some time ; while 
 the girl seated herself on a little stool, and went on 
 with her knitting. 
 
 From the next room could be heard the constant 
 whir-whir of the spinning-wheel. There was no cessa 
 tion in the labors for the army, and there was, also, 
 much indignant discussion at the tardiness of the 
 men in coming forward to increase the number of 
 troops. 
 
 "Money, forsooth!" said Aunt Pamela. "Are they 
 fighting for money instead of liberty ? What if they 
 are not paid off ; do their families complain ? At least 
 we women will do our part, and give and give while 
 we have a pennyworth to bestow." 
 
 It was her voice rising above the hum of the wheel 
 which roused Amos to say: - 
 
 " There is a new enlistment going on. Betsey, you
 
 158 A CilRL OF 76. 
 
 know there are more troops sadly needed, and it is too 
 true that they are slow in coming forward. I cannot 
 be a laggard. I am well enough now to go, and I 
 must do it." 
 
 Betsey dropped a stitch, and forgot to take it up, 
 but she said steadily : " The Lord go with you, Amos. 
 I am sure you are right." A prim little speech to 
 come from the rosy lips of a girl not yet sixteen, but 
 it was to such that she had been reared. 
 
 " I shall go to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, and there is singing-school to-night. I hoped 
 you d go." The girlishness asserted itself now, and 
 Amos smiled, as he rose, displaying his six feet of 
 height. 
 
 " It will be a pleasant recollection to take away 
 with me. We will go, Betsey. Meantime, I must go 
 and tell Aunt Pamela." 
 
 The whir of the wheel stopped, and Mrs. Porter 
 compressed her lips, as Amos, standing in the door 
 way, told his decision. Then came the words: "God 
 speed you, my boy. You have tarried longer than 
 you willed, at our desire." 
 
 "You shall go well provided for," spoke up grand 
 mother, her needles fairly flying as she toed off the 
 stocking she was at work upon. 
 
 "Yes, my lad," broke in Mary Hall s sweet voice,
 
 AM OS S STORY. 159 
 
 "we have all been working for you, knowing you 
 must soon be ready to leave." 
 
 Betsey still sat knitting in the room where they 
 had been talking together. "There," she said, as 
 Amos came back, " I hope your feet won t grow in 
 proportion to your height, or these will soon be too 
 small. Tuck these away in your bundle, Amos, and 
 remember they are not made by a Tory." And she 
 handed the stockings to him, hoping he would not 
 notice two wet spots upon the gray yarn. 
 
 Amos took them, and said gently, " I shall keep 
 them just as they are." 
 
 " Oh, no, you mustn t," Betsey s practical sense 
 caused her to object; "you must wear them." 
 
 "Not till I have to," he replied. 
 
 " Are they, then, such bungling work ? " asked Bet 
 sey, mischievously. 
 
 " You know they are not," replied Amos, bluntly.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "YANKEE DOODLE." 
 
 THROUGH the cold streets on that nipping 
 evening the two old schoolmates took their way. 
 Betsey with cloak, hood, and mittens bundling her up 
 warmly ; Amos with a snug comforter over ears, and 
 around neck, his mittened hands thrust into the 
 pockets of his new butternut-colored great-coat. 
 
 Into the schoolhouse the young people of the 
 town were swarming, exchanging nods and witticisms. 
 A dry sort of humor prevailed ; real Yankee wit, 
 which had been learned from their elders as they 
 sat around the fire and indulged their fancy for 
 cracking jokes at the same time that they pleased 
 their appetites by cracking nuts. 
 
 "What s Parnel saying to you, Ben?" asked 
 Betsey, seeing one of the boys shaking with laughter. 
 
 " Why don t you laugh, young man? " put in Amos, 
 gravely; "you don t appear to be tickled at all." 
 
 Ben confessed to being thus amused, because the 
 old singing-master had offered to let little Jonas 
 Whipple sit in his high seat and give out the tunes, 
 
 160
 
 "YANKEE DOODLE." l6l 
 
 that evening. " I guess Jonas will be considerably 
 stuck on some of "em," said Ben. As Jonas was not 
 five years old, and stammered at that, it was a 
 reasonable supposition. 
 
 " What did Master Eaton promise him that for ? " 
 inquired Betsey. 
 
 " The little youngster poked a kernel of corn in his 
 ear, and master told him if he d let him get it out 
 he d give him sixpence and let him give out the 
 tunes," Parnel told her. 
 
 This was so like good old Master Eaton that 
 Betsey joined in the laugh, and the little group en 
 tered the schoolhouse. There was much whispering, 
 talking, and turning over of the leaves of the singing- 
 books, until the master appeared with his big violon 
 cello. He came stumping in, and with a sharp rap 
 of his bow, called the assemblage to order. 
 
 The small Jonas on his high seat looked around 
 at first somewhat abashed, but he gathered courage 
 and shrilled out, in his high, piping voice, the first 
 tune. There was suppressed tittering, which ceased 
 when Master Eaton looked sharply around. Then 
 came the full, sonorous strains of the cello in the old 
 fugue tunes, with their many twists and turns, chas 
 ings up of the tenors by the basses, holding of high 
 notes by the sopranos, while the altos performed
 
 1 62 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 their parts. Earnest, spontaneous, unspoiled voices 
 rang out sweetly, Betsey s among the rest. She and 
 Amos held the same book, and while her voice 
 soared away into the upper octaves, his dropped into 
 the lower register, for the boy, now nearly seventeen, 
 had developed a fine baritone. Such tunes as " St. 
 Martins" and "Brattle Street" with quaint old English 
 glees were heard at this time. It was reserved for a 
 Massachusetts boy, the younger brother of one of 
 Amos Dwight s companion fifers, to give to the world 
 the tune "Coronation." 
 
 Suddenly, in a silence before the announcement 
 of a tune, a voice in the rear of the hall called out, 
 " Give us God save the King. 
 
 Like a clarion note came from Amos the cry of 
 "Traitor." 
 
 Who was the daring individual ? No one seemed 
 to know. Hisses and groans broke the quiet, and 
 Amos, as if inspired, whipped out his fife from the 
 inside of his coat, and putting it to his lips began 
 to play " Yankee Doodle." The old schoolmaster 
 arose, and his wooden leg came clumping down the 
 room. He reached Amos and whispered something 
 to him. The boy nodded, and still playing, he fol 
 lowed the old man to the platform. Every one in 
 the room arose. There was a suppressed excitement
 
 "YAXKKK DOODLE." 163 
 
 apparent. Master Eaton drew his bow across his 
 cello strings, and the old instrument growled its 
 undertones to the penetrating notes of the fife. 
 " Yankee Doodle," and still " Yankee Doodle," while 
 the old veteran of the old wars and the young volun 
 teer in the battles for freedom led the rest. 
 
 At last there was an end to it, and Amos, waving 
 his fife over his head, called out : " I m going back 
 to the army to-morrow, boys. Who ll go with me ? 
 We may never get our pay in coin, but we ll get it 
 in whipping the redcoats. Who wants to help drive 
 them out of Boston ? " 
 
 " I ! I ! " One and another spoke till six boys 
 filed out into the aisle, and carried away by enthusi 
 asm, Amos forgot Betsey, forgot Master Eaton, for 
 got all, save that he, for the moment, was a leader 
 in a great cause. Down the aisle the lads followed 
 Amos, marching well. At the door they were stopped 
 by Master Eaton s voice : " Three cheers for the new 
 flag, for General Washington, and for freedom ! " 
 
 And upon the air rang out the shout, the girls 
 
 joining in no less heartily than the boys. " Down 
 
 with the British ! Death to traitors ! " came next 
 
 and then the master s voice said solemnly, "Praise 
 
 God from whom all blessings flow." 
 
 The excitement subsided, and instead a deep solem-
 
 164 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 nity settled upon the company. The boys returned 
 to their places, the old cello sounded the first slow 
 notes of " Old Hundred," and the words of the dignified 
 old hymn arose from the throats of all present. 
 
 And then they all flocked out, gathering into little 
 knots outside to discuss the exciting events of the 
 evening. 
 
 Once more Betsey saw Amos march away, but this 
 time it was not to the sound of fife and drum, 
 for he and six other stalwart lads tramped silently 
 down the street, while Aunt Pamela, who had shed 
 no tears when the news of her husband s loss came 
 to her, wept openly. 
 
 Betsey watched the little company as far as she 
 could see them, from the door, and then she stole up 
 to the dim old room high in the hipped roof, a room 
 smelling of herbs and of musty odds and ends. 
 There was a small window at one end which over 
 looked the street, and to it Betsey crept to see the 
 six lads led by one taller than the rest, still march 
 ing down the street. Smaller and smaller grew the 
 figures, and at last they vanished, while Betsey drew 
 a long sigh. "Ah, if I could only have gone too!" 
 she whispered. 
 
 But the girl was not allowed to eat the bread of 
 idleness, and at a call from her grandmother she ran
 
 "YANKEE DOODLE." 165 
 
 downstairs, to find that she was needed in comfort 
 ing little Mary, who had burnt one of her small 
 fingers, and was trying hard not to cry. 
 
 Mary s troubles helped Betsey to forget her larger 
 ones, and she w r as soon absorbed in her usual duties. 
 And next came a real trouble in the news that her 
 father was a prisoner. 
 
 The school which Betsey attended was taught by 
 the same Master Eaton who had charge of the sing 
 ing-school. He was an old soldier who had lost a 
 leg in one of the Indian wars, a kindly, genial, 
 courteous gentleman he was, but one who believed 
 in strict discipline and the most correct deportment. 
 Master Eaton was much in demand these days ; for, 
 as scrivener, he was called upon to write many a 
 letter which found its way to camp, and as leader of 
 the singing-school he supplied the one entertainment 
 which was general. And the young people flocked 
 to singing-school once a week, not only because it 
 furnished about their only evening amusement, but 
 because it was a place w r here all the latest news 
 could be gleaned. 
 
 Betsey s studies were not many ; reading, writing, 
 ciphering, spelling, and defining, and a little grammar 
 were about all. And such queer, old-fashioned books 
 as she used would raise a laugh to-day in any school.
 
 l66 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Her chosen companion was Parncl Beman. A hun 
 dred years or so earlier it is quite likely that she would 
 have been considered a witch, such a tricksy, mis 
 chievous little somebody she was. From the first 
 she took a violent fancy to Betsey ; and as she was 
 warm-hearted, perfectly fearless, bright as a button, 
 and an enthusiastic lover of the cause of freedom, 
 the two girls became great friends. 
 
 " Betsey," whispered Parnel, one morning before 
 school, " I want to speak to you at noon. Don t you 
 go off and eat your luncheon with any one else." 
 
 "I promise," returned Betsey; and then she gravely 
 and decorously took her seat, opening her Webster s 
 book of grammar, and trying very hard to remember 
 her exceedingly dry lesson. Later in the clay she 
 would parse in some abstruse book of poetry. She 
 liked this kindly, genial Master Eaton better than 
 most of the teachers she had known in Charlestown, 
 for she soon found that no such punishments as pull 
 ing of hair, tweaking of noses, boxing of ears, or the 
 snapping at them with India rubber were resorted 
 to by Master Eaton. Neither did he set a chip of 
 very uncomfortable size between the jaws of pupils 
 to prevent whispering. Rarely was one feruled on 
 the hand. A dunce cap would perhaps be used, or 
 a girl who forgot her dignity \vas made to sit with
 
 "VAXKEK DOODLE." 167 
 
 the boys, to her everlasting shame and confusion ; 
 or a boy would have a girl s apron tied on him, and 
 be placed in the girls seats, his red ears, and con 
 scious, shame-faced grin showing how disgraced he 
 felt himself to be. Yet Master Eaton kept excellent 
 order, and after his wooden leg had gone thumping 
 up the aisle, you could have heard a pin drop. 
 
 On this special morning Betsey worked diligently, 
 and at the noon recess went out to find Parnel en 
 sconced in a corner of the steps, with her lunch- 
 basket beside her. Betsey was getting to be one of 
 the big girls, and did not race about quite so freely 
 as she had done a year before. The boys were in a 
 jolly mood, for the first freeze had come, and there 
 were great plans being made for going to the pond to 
 skate or slide. 
 
 " Betsey," said Parnel, making room for her, " can t 
 you go down to the pond on Saturday afternoon ? It 
 will be a half-holiday, you know." 
 
 Betsey shook her head. " No ; I always have my 
 sewing and mending then." 
 
 " Ah, but just this once. Your mother wouldn t 
 mind. I ve a whole pocketful of chestnuts, and the 
 boys are going to make a fire, and we girls are going 
 to take apples and roast them, and then \ve can have 
 a feast. My mother ll give me a big piece of lection
 
 168 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 cake and some turnovers. I know she will, for it is 
 baking day ; and Anne Pierce is going to bring 
 doughnuts. Can t you bring something?" 
 
 Betsey shook her head again. " We don t have 
 those things now ; we live as plain as plain can be, 
 so as to send everything to camp." 
 
 Parnel looked quite abashed for a moment ; she 
 had not exercised such self-denial, and she felt that 
 Betsey had risen to loftier heights by reason of her 
 sacrifices. 
 
 " Oh, but, Betsey," she continued, her humility not 
 lasting long, " you don t have to have anything. 
 Everybody will know you have sent your share to 
 the soldiers, and I ll divide with you. Just this once. 
 Your mother won t care. I ll come and ask her; then 
 if she says yes, will you go ? " 
 
 Betsey did not believe there was much prospect of 
 this request being granted, but she was only too glad 
 to promise to do her part, the more so that when she 
 reached home she found that Timothy Powell had 
 been there, and had left her a big bag of apples 
 and several ears of pop-corn. 
 
 "Oh, I m sorry I didn t see him," she exclaimed, at 
 sight of this little gift. " He s such a real good man, 
 mother, and, oh, mother, mayn t I go down on the 
 pond, Saturday afternoon ? The boys say the ice is
 
 "YANKEE DOODLE." l6q 
 
 fine, and we re going to build a fire and all bring 
 something for a feast. I could take some pop-corn 
 and apples, and I should so like to go." 
 
 " You would much better have a fast than a feast," 
 remarked her grandmother, who had overheard her. 
 "That is wanton indulgence in these times. Polly, I 
 should advise Betsey s learning that it is not a time 
 for indulging the poor, perishing body. It would be 
 much more to your credit, my child, if you and your 
 companions were to mortify the flesh in this time of 
 our country s danger." 
 
 Betsey dropped her eyes. She didn t think it would 
 really be such a terrible thing to go out on the ice 
 with her friends. She would send all the apples but 
 a few to the soldiers, and Stephen should share the 
 pop-corn with her. She was still child enough to wish 
 for play-time, and presently she lifted her eyes wist 
 fully to her mother, but Mary Hall was busily stitch 
 ing away at the warm clothing she was getting ready 
 to send to camp, and she did not see the look in her 
 daughter s face. 
 
 But Parnel had laid her plans, and on Saturday 
 she came with a sedate manner bearing a message 
 from her mother to Mrs. Hall. Betsey had told of 
 her supply of pop-corn and apples. " My very own, 
 they are," she said triumphantly, and Parnel s black
 
 I/O A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 eyes danced ; but she looked very demure as she 
 gave her message. 
 
 " Mother wants to know, Mrs. Hall, if you will 
 allow Betsey to spend the afternoon with me. She 
 can bring her sewing. We, too, are working for the 
 soldiers, and my mother thought it would not be 
 amiss if we shared the pleasure of the afternoon." 
 
 Betsey stared. She was about to say, " Why, 
 Parnel, I thought you were going down on the ice- 
 pond;" but her mother spoke, and Betsey would 
 never dream of interrupting an older person, an 
 example of politeness which it might not be so easy 
 to find nowadays. 
 
 So when her mother said, " Give my compliments 
 to your mother, Parnel, and say I am pleased to 
 accept her invitation for Betsey, you may go, 
 daughter," -- Betsey ran off, thinking how kind of 
 Parnel to give up her frolic for her sake ; and she 
 presently appeared cloaked and hooded, and carry 
 ing her little work-bag, which held her sewing. 
 
 " I believe I ll take an ear or two of pop-corn," 
 she decided on her way downstairs ; " for Parnel has 
 none, and she was so kind as to come for me." So 
 the two little girls set out, two ears of pop-corn 
 being thrust into the work-bag, and two into Betsey s 
 pocket.
 
 "YANKEE DOODLE." 171 
 
 There was a mischievous look in Parnel s eyes 
 which Betsey did not understand until she reached 
 the house where the Bemans lived. "Here s Betsey, 
 mother," said Parnel. 
 
 Mrs. Beman came forward. " So her mother did 
 not deny you ? I am glad to see you, Betsey. Here, 
 Parnel, is your basket. Hurry along now, and have 
 your frolic." 
 
 Betsey looked amazed, but Parnel hustled her out 
 of the house; and when they were outside, she 
 laughed heartily at her friend s puzzled countenance. 
 
 " Your mother said you could come. She did, she 
 did ! You are my company, and I can take you 
 where I choose. We are going to the ice-pond, after 
 all, Miss Betsey." 
 
 "Oh, no! no!" Betsey exclaimed, startled and hor 
 rified. 
 
 "But you will." 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 " But, Betsey, I asked your mother if you could 
 spend the afternoon with me, and she said you 
 could. How can you if you don t go to the ice- 
 pond where I shall be ? " 
 
 Such reasoning was too subtle for Betsey to 
 answer at once, but at last she protested. 
 
 " You said I could bring my sewing."
 
 1/2 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "Well, was there any reason why you couldn t?" 
 
 " And you said you, too, were sewing for the 
 soldiers." 
 
 " So we are." 
 
 They were walking along rapidly, and each mo 
 ment brought them nearer the pond. Suddenly Bet 
 sey stopped short. 
 
 " Oh, Parnel, I cannot go." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " My mother did not say I could." 
 
 "Did she say you couldn t?" 
 
 "No; grandmother advised her not to allow me." 
 
 "Well, that was all that was said, wasn t it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You great gump ! Then how do you know she 
 wouldn t ? She said you could spend the afternoon 
 with me, and that is positive. The other isn t. I 
 don t think you re very polite, when my mother sent 
 the message." 
 
 Betsey was troubled. She did want so much to 
 go on the ice, and Parnel s sophistry at length won 
 her ; for she reluctantly agreed to go, yet feeling a 
 consciousness of wrong-doing which was not at all 
 agreeable. 
 
 However, as the afternoon wore on, she almost 
 forgot that she had felt any compunctions. It was
 
 "YANKEE DOODLE." 173 
 
 such fun to go spinning down a particularly fine 
 slide, to be whizzed over the ice by a couple of 
 boys, whose skates carried them flying along; and 
 even if she fell off the sled all in a heap, it only 
 added to the merriment. When had she been in 
 such a jolly crowd ! 
 
 And then the big roaring fire, which the boys kin 
 dled, and around which they all thronged, was so 
 cheering. It was so appetizing to smell apples roast 
 ing, and to see corn, held in shovels over hot embers, 
 popping in every direction, while the boys scrambled 
 to pick up the snowy kernels. And then the dough 
 nuts, lection cake, and other dainties, which appeared 
 mysteriously from pockets and bundles, tasted far better 
 than they did \vhen decorously eaten at table. Every 
 one was specially pleasant to Betsey. They knew she 
 had gone through tribulation, and the boys, especially, 
 could not forget the stories of her adventures, which 
 she was made to repeat more than once. 
 
 At last, one after another came to a realizing sense 
 that it was dark, that it was Saturday, that the morrow 
 would be the Sabbath, and that it behooved all re 
 spectable lads and lasses to get home, lest there 
 might be extra temptation to lie abed the next morn 
 ing, and also for fear that they might not be in a 
 sufficiently serious frame of mind ; for the old Puritan
 
 1/4 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 ideas still lingered, and Saturday evening was a season 
 of preparation. 
 
 So down this and that street the children skurried, 
 Parnel accompanying Betsey to her very door. " I 
 have had a fine time, Parnel," said the latter; but she 
 did not dare stop to waste words, for it was already 
 late, and she was beginning to feel more of those com 
 punctions which for the past tw r o hours had not been 
 heard from.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A QUEER DINNER. 
 
 ETSEY opened the door hastily, and went into 
 the big room, where the fire, sending sparkling 
 glints over the furniture, showed dancing lights upon 
 brass handles and polished surfaces. 
 
 Three or four persons sat around the chimney-place, 
 and all looked up as Betsey, with cheeks glowing and 
 eyes bright from exercise, brought a vision of health 
 and spirits with the breath of cold air which swept 
 into the room as she entered. 
 
 She was received in silence till her grandmother 
 asked solemnly, "Betsey, where have you been?" 
 
 It wasn t quite honest, but it was a natural result 
 of what had gone before that her answer was, 
 " Mother said I might spend the afternoon with Par- 
 nel Beman." 
 
 " But I did not say you might go to the ice-pond, 
 Betsey. My child, how could you deceive me ? " 
 There was grief as well as sternness in her mother s 
 tone. 
 
 Betsey glanced around the room. There sat grand- 
 
 175
 
 1/6 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 mother, her knitting-needles sharply clicking. There 
 sat Aunt Pamela, her needles not less busy ; only in her 
 mother s lap was a half-finished stocking lying. And 
 the fourth figure, which had stirred as the girl entered, 
 but which grandmother s sharp nod deterred from 
 yielding to an impulse to run forward and greet Betsey ? 
 Why, that was Lyddy, sweet, pretty Lyddy ! " Oh," 
 Betsey exclaimed. But her grandmother saw the move 
 ment toward Lyddy s chair, and prevented it. 
 
 " Go to your room, and go to bed, Betsey," she said. 
 " Perhaps if you commune with yourself you will be in 
 a repentant frame of mind by the Sabbath. You have 
 been taught that this evening should be one of prepa 
 ration, and not to be wasted in poor carnal pleasures. 
 In my youth we regarded the last evening of the week 
 as the time to be devoted to solemn thought and self- 
 examination so as to be ready for the sacred duties of 
 the morrow." Betsey looked appealingly at her mother, 
 whose eyes were, however, cast down, and whose low 
 voice said, " Go, Betsey; I will come to you." 
 
 Poor little Betsey ! it did seem terrible to be thus dis 
 graced before company, in the presence of Lyddy, to 
 whom she had only lately appeared as such a heroine. 
 Oh, it was such a mortifying sentence, to be sent to bed 
 like a baby ! She who had thought herself almost a 
 woman, who had been so uplifted because her father
 
 A QUKKR DINNER. 1 77 
 
 had thought her so worthy of his respect. The hot 
 tears coursed down the child s checks as she meekly 
 took her way upstairs, and as meekly she undressed 
 and got in between the cold sheets. She reached out 
 and found her father s letter which lay in between the 
 leaves of her Bible. She clasped it in her hand as if 
 its presence were a solace. Then came the dreadful 
 thought, suppose her grandmother or some one should 
 tell him of this punishment. Oh, she could stand any 
 thing better than that, and now the tears came faster 
 and faster, and by the time her mother came to her the 
 pillow was wet with them. 
 
 Her dear mother ! Betsey poured out her heart to 
 her, and perhaps because Mary Hall had not forgotten 
 certain shortcomings of her own girlhood, or because 
 she felt that Parnel was the real sinner, she was very 
 gentle in her reproof. 
 
 " You did not forbid me to go, mother," Betsey said. 
 
 " No, my child, I did not, but you know I did not ex 
 pect you to go, and that I thought you at Mrs. Beman s 
 house. You did not disobey in the letter, perhaps, but 
 in the spirit. It was deceit of a very dangerous kind, 
 daughter." 
 
 Betsey heaved a great sigh. She knew all that, and 
 then she faltered out her plea that her father might 
 not be told, if he ever returned.
 
 178 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Her mother promised this, and furthermore told her 
 that her cousin Lydia had come to spend the Sabbath, 
 that Timothy Powell was to call for her and go with 
 her to camp, where her lover lay ill. " And," said Mrs. 
 Hall, after a little hesitation, " as I think you are truly 
 penitent, Betsey, and since you are less to blame than I 
 at first thought, I will tell you that Lydia hopes you will 
 go with her to Cambridge. She has an aunt there who 
 will take charge of you. I will tell you more on 
 Monday." 
 
 " Oh, mother! " Betsey sat up straight in bed. " Oh, 
 mother, am I to go ? Tell me but that one thing." 
 
 Her mother did not reply for a moment, and then 
 yielding to a kindly impulse, she answered, " I think we 
 shall permit it." At the same time, she laid her cool 
 hand against the hot, t^ar-stained cheek. 
 
 Betsey drew the kind hand to her lips and kissed 
 it. She was so grateful for this little rift in the 
 clouds surrounding her. "Ah, mother, you are so 
 good," she sighed. "There is no one like you. How 
 could I be such a naughty child ! " And the poor 
 little contrite girl, filled with self-reproach, and a 
 sense of having committed a most flagrant sin, thought 
 nothing of having gone without her supper, although 
 it is likely she did not need it, and an hour later 
 when her mother looked in on her, she lay fast asleep,
 
 A QUEER DINNER. 179 
 
 wet drops still clinging to the long lashes, her little 
 brown head covered completely by her close night 
 cap, and her hand tightly clasping her father s letter. 
 
 It would have been a more than usually solemn 
 Sabbath to Betsey if she had not looked forward to 
 the prospect of a pleasant visit from Lydia. Her 
 grandmother wore her Sunday face, which was a most 
 lugubriously lengthened visage, and a funereal quiet 
 reigned in the house. 
 
 Lydia, to Betsey s relief, was as sweet and cordial 
 as if she had not seen the culprit arraigned for sen 
 tence, and Betsey appreciated this. To be sure, grand 
 mother eyed them sharply, when she saw them 
 whispering together, and warned them not to carry 
 on a light conversation ; reminding them that they 
 ought to be storing their minds with such knowledge 
 as holy books would give them, and advised Fox s 
 " Book of Martyrs " and Taylor s " Holy Living " for 
 their perusal. The two girls accepted the sugges 
 tion obediently, but that f did not prevent their thoughts 
 from wandering, and many significant and sympa 
 thetic glances from passing between them, so that 
 although Betsey s eyes read the words which related 
 about John Rogers, his wife, and seven small children, 
 she was in reality travelling along toward camp, 
 wishing that her father were to be there. However,
 
 ISO A t;iRL OK 76, 
 
 she looked forward to seeing many whom she did 
 know, and she counted over her little store of apples 
 in her mind, dividing them up, in thought, among 
 her friends. 
 
 It is not at all likely, either, that Lydia took in the 
 sense of the book over which her fair head was bend 
 ing, for every tick of the solemn old clock, in the 
 corner, meant that a second of time had elapsed, and 
 that her meeting with Joseph Pearce was that much 
 nearer. It was small wonder, then, that the most 
 serious subject for her to contemplate at that moment 
 was her lover s health. 
 
 They were two excited and eager maidens who 
 mounted Timothy Powell s big wagon the next morn 
 ing. All sorts of bags and bundles were stowed in 
 around them ; clothing and food in large and small 
 quantities, as the senders could afford ; medicines and 
 supplies of all kinds ; and the party as they set off 
 looked much as if they had provisioned themselves 
 lor a trip to the west. Many precious packages had 
 been sent before this, for thirteen thousand coats 
 had been demanded by the Provincial Congress for 
 the use of the army, and these were largely supplied 
 by the devoted women, who not only made them, but 
 spun and carded the wool and wove on their looms 
 the cloth of which they were made. And as a man
 
 A nUKKK LUNXKK. iSl 
 
 serving for eight months was promised one of these 
 coats, they were considered very choice articles. 
 For how many days Betsey had watched the big- 
 wheel turning around, her aunt Pamela, her mother, 
 or her grandmother, stepping briskly to the tune of 
 the humming. Hut October, when the coats were 
 required, was now past, and shirts, stockings, or 
 breeches were the principal garments sent. Already 
 many a house had been stripped of its blankets to 
 cover the shivering lads at camp. Later, would come 
 the order for more, and already spinning-wheels were 
 whirring busily day and night in anticipation. 
 
 All went well with the little travelling company for 
 a time. The roads were not good, to be sure ; for 
 there had come a thaw which did not add to their 
 condition of safety, after so many heavy teams had 
 passed over them ; but Timothy s horses strained and 
 pulled heartily most of the distance, but finally a 
 sudden lurch came, a crack and a snap, as the wheels 
 went down suddenly and deeply into an unobserved 
 mud-hole. 
 
 "Wai, I vum ! " said Timothy, ruefully. "I dimno 
 as we ain t broke down." 
 
 He looked around to see where the nearest help 
 could be obtained. This was a lonely part of the 
 road, and a single house lav a short distance awav,
 
 1 82 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 the only one within sight. Timothy looked from it 
 to the girls. " I ain t so sure of them folks ; near as 
 I kin recollect they re suspected of being blamed 
 Tories, and I dunno as I want to ask a favor of em ; 
 but this wagon s got to be fixed, or we can t go on. 
 I guess we ll have to make the best of it and go up 
 there. You gals can stay till I get this axle-tree 
 into shape again." 
 
 The girls looked at each other in dismay ; neither 
 relished the idea. Timothy stood a moment, rubbing 
 his stubby chin, and looking from one girl to the 
 other, as if in a brown study. Finally he said, 
 " S posin you get out first, Betsey Hall. I want a 
 word with you." 
 
 Betsey obeyed, and following a beckoning finger, 
 went behind the wagon with Timothy, who said in a 
 low voice : " I know you re to be trusted; besides that, 
 you ain t nawthin but a little girl nohow, and folks won t 
 suspect you. I ve got a letter here Mis Parker wanted 
 I should take to Gin ral Washington. I dunno as 
 there s anything very partickiler in it, and then again 
 I dunno as there ain t. Cap n Parker, up to Canady, 
 got it to her somehow, an Mis Parker thinks maybe 
 some of the news in it might give the gin ral a notion 
 of how things air going on in some directions. Any 
 how, tain t wise to let it fall into the hands of the inimy,
 
 A QUEER DINNER. 183 
 
 and I want you should take keer of it. Twon t be so 
 likely to git nabbed. Just hide it in the buzzum of 
 your frock. If anything should happen, destroy it 
 if you can. I m noway disposed to think anything is 
 goin to happen. Tain t likely, but you can t tell 
 these times. Lyddy s older n you an goin to camp 
 sweet-heartin , so they might think she had papers, 
 but I rather guess they ll not suspect you." And tak 
 ing from an inside pocket a letter, he handed it to 
 Betsey, who concealed it in her frock and then stood 
 waiting for Lydia to join her. This she presently did, 
 and with Timothy taking the lead they made their way 
 to the house, where the necessary help was promised 
 them. 
 
 Leaving the two girls, Timothy, accompanied by a 
 lad, went back to mend the broken wagon, and the 
 two girls were left at the house to wait for him. 
 
 The woman who received them eyed them rather 
 sharply before she bade them come in and warm them 
 selves. She conducted them to an upper room, where 
 a fire offered its comforting warmth. A man writing 
 at a table arose and left the room, taking some papers 
 with him. Betsey thought his face looked familiar, 
 and as she sat warming herself she wondered where 
 she had seen the man before. The girls in the quiet 
 room were left alone. They talked in a low, subdued
 
 1 84 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 tone. It seemed to them as if they could not be quite 
 sure of a welcome, although the mistress of the house 
 had spoken pleasantly, and had expressed her concern 
 at their accident. 
 
 The place was so still that the murmur of voices in 
 another room could be heard. It was not long before 
 the woman came back, and going up to Betsey, said, 
 " My husband would like to speak to you." 
 
 The girl addressed looked up in surprise. The 
 man did know her, then. Who was he ? " I suppose 
 my friend can come too ? " she said. 
 
 The woman looked embarrassed. " It is you he 
 wishes to speak to." 
 
 " I will go, too," said Lyddy, rising and coming to 
 the door, as if to frustrate any attempt to prevent her 
 going. 
 
 Quick as a wink the woman gave Betsey a little 
 push back into the next room, shut the door, turned 
 the key in the lock, and left her alone. 
 
 For a moment she felt disposed to smile : it was all 
 done so quickly, and she was so surprised at finding 
 herself in another apartment. There was no fire here. 
 A big four-poster bedstead with feather-bed atop, a 
 few chairs, an escritoire, and a table constituted the 
 furniture. Betsey tip-toed across the room and sat 
 down. She wondered how long she would be shut
 
 A QUEER DINNER. 185 
 
 up ; if she were to be searched ; if Lyddy, too, were 
 to be put under lock and key. " Nice doings," she 
 said aloud. Then the key in another door turned, and 
 a man stood before her. 
 
 As she looked up she suddenly recognized him. He 
 was the man who had set her down so suddenly in the 
 road during that memorable journey from Beverly. 
 Yes, he was the spy whom she had so desired to cap 
 ture, and a second time he had her in his power. 
 
 He stood smiling down at the girl, who, straight 
 and tall, stood before him with defiance written on 
 every line of her face. 
 
 "Well, miss," he began, "so we have the pleasure 
 of a second meeting. It is a kindness most unex 
 pected to receive a visit from you." 
 
 " I shouldn t have come if I could have helped it," 
 responded Betsey, bluntly. 
 
 " Right well I know that, fair damsel ; but, since 
 you are here, we will have a little chat. I am desir 
 ous that you should receive, at least, the courtesy of 
 that much attention from me. Pray, did you meet 
 with any adventures on your way to Salem after I 
 last parted from you?" 
 
 " I met with none so unpleasant, sir, as that which 
 threw me in your company." 
 
 "The same spirit, I see. For so young a maid,
 
 1 86 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 methinks you do not possess the meekness one could 
 look for." 
 
 Betsey stood stiff as an Indian, but vouchsafed no 
 reply. 
 
 " Pray be seated," continued the man. " I would 
 have further speech with you, miss, and ask you a 
 few questions. You may remember I was interested 
 in hearing of your kinsfolk, of the movements of your 
 father, and what not ; perchance you are now bear 
 ing a letter to camp from him or some other." The 
 man spoke at random, and was really only teasing 
 the child, but she started and bit her lip, so that 
 he leaned forward and looked at the child with added 
 interest. 
 
 " So," he said, after a pause, " my little maid, be 
 so good as to hand me over that letter." 
 
 Betsey was silent. She was too truthful to deny 
 the charge, but she would not give up the letter, 
 that she would not, so she decided ; consequently she 
 sat now very pale, but very determined. 
 
 " Ah, you will not, I see. Well, then, we must 
 have you searched. I had not thought of treating 
 you uncivilly, but it seems I have chanced upon a 
 discovery, and the adage, many a true word is 
 spoken in jest, fits the case. My wife will see you 
 presently, miss." And the man arose from his chair.
 
 A QUEER DINNER. 187 
 
 At the same moment some one rapped at the door. 
 "James," a voice called. The man opened and 
 answered. 
 
 "Two of your friends are below," Betsey managed 
 to hear. "They are waiting. Papers despatches 
 These words she made out. Then something was said 
 which she could not hear. 
 
 " I must give them something to eat first. It will 
 do her good to rest here awhile," at last the woman 
 outside was heard to say in a louder voice. 
 
 The man returned. " I must ask you to excuse 
 me, young lady. My wife will call on you a little 
 later; meanwhile, make yourself at home." And go 
 ing to the desk in the corner, he unlocked it, ran 
 over several papers, selected two or three, re-locked 
 the desk, and passing out of the door of the room, 
 shut and locked that after him. 
 
 Betsey sat still and listened for a moment. Then 
 she went to the door of the next room, and put her 
 mouth to the crack. " Lycldy ! Lyddy ! " she called 
 softly. Not a sound. 
 
 She then explored the room, tried the window. 
 It was fastened down securely. She looked up the 
 chimney. Nothing but soot and ashes, and far up a 
 bit of cold blue winter sky could be seen. 
 
 Then she thought of her concealed letter. She
 
 1 88 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 must destroy it, but how get rid of the bits ? The 
 floor was bare, the windows offered no possibilities; 
 the room was empty of any hiding-place. Betsey 
 listened for any noise from outside. From what she 
 had been able to overhear, it was evident that she 
 would not be intruded upon for some time. And 
 what of Timothy? Would these men perhaps capture 
 him and his wagon-load of stores, here on patriotic 
 ground ? Betsey s blood boiled at the thought. She 
 would inform her people of these vile Tories, who 
 sat like spiders in a web to capture the unwary. 
 
 But what should she do with the letter, which 
 she now drew from her bosom, listening mean 
 while to every sound, and dreading to hear a foot 
 upon the stair ? 
 
 The seals of the wrapping had been broken, but 
 it had been re-sealed, and Betsey first removed the 
 wax, grinding it into the stone beneath with her 
 heel. Then she tore up the letter into small pieces, 
 trying to make up her mind, meanwhile, how she 
 should dispose of them. There seemed to be abso 
 lutely no way in the bare, bleak room, but discover 
 it these persons should not; and at last, all other 
 alternations failing, the prisoner conceived of but one 
 plan, and that was, to eat up the letter, bit by bit. 
 There was an irony of fate in this, for from below
 
 A Ol KKK DINNER. 189 
 
 stairs came up the odors of cooking, and she fancied 
 a bountiful table, furnished, it might be, from Timo 
 thy Powell s well-filled wagon. At this thought the 
 eating of the letter became easier, although, said 
 Betsey afterward, "It was rather a queer dinner;" 
 and it was certainly not a very digestible one. 
 
 She had hardly finished this very unsatisfactory 
 meal, when feeling the room to be too cold, and the 
 sitting still too tiresome for an active little body like 
 herself, she began to pace the floor in order to stir 
 her blood. She was quite elated over having dis 
 posed of the only possible object which could bring 
 suspicion upon her, and did not dread the re 
 appearance of the woman who, she expected, would 
 search for contraband articles or papers. Her 
 pocket contained a few butternuts, and a little house 
 wife which her grandmother had given her before 
 she started, saying that there was no knowing but 
 what she might need it on her journey. 
 
 Betsey remembered the butternuts ; she took them 
 as dessert, and then resumed her marching.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OLD FRIENDS AND FOES. 
 
 ALL at once Betsey s eye caught sight of a 
 corner of paper protruding from under the crack 
 of the door. Could Lyddy have thrust it there ? 
 With eager fingers she drew it out, but, to her sur 
 prise, found it was not addressed to her, but to one 
 of the commanders of the British forces at Boston. 
 She hesitated a moment before she opened it, and 
 then she only glanced at the heading, for she shrank 
 from being a spy even in a good cause. It might, 
 or might not, be an important document ; she con 
 cluded she would not try to find that out, but it 
 must not reach its destination. The man in leaving 
 the room had stopped to lock the door ; it must 
 have been then that he dropped it. She remem 
 bered the latch had stuck and he had opened the 
 door again before finally locking it. She turned the 
 document over. It was rather too bulky, she re 
 flected, to get rid of as easily as the other. " I 
 can t possibly eat it," she said to herself, " and if 
 I hide it, they ll be sure to find it if they search 
 
 190
 
 OLD FRIENDS AND FOES. IQI 
 
 me." Her host would probably miss it and come 
 back for it. If she would dispose of it she must 
 hurry ; what should she do ? She put her hand into 
 the pocket hanging beneath her frock and felt to 
 see if there were a remaining butternut, for she was 
 getting very hungry. There was none, but she drew 
 forth the little housewife, " huzzif," Betsey called it. 
 The sight of it gave her an inspiration and she 
 tore up the paper in her hand. Then she stealthily 
 approached the big feather-bed, lifted the covers, and 
 looked along the edge where the ticking was sewed 
 together. She managed to rip a little place, and 
 through this hole she thrust her bits of paper into 
 the yielding mass. Her grandmother was right ; she 
 had needed her housewife that very day, for a needle 
 and thread soon repaired the rent, and no one would 
 be the wiser. It would be many a day before the 
 feather-bed would be ripped apart, and then what 
 matter if the bits of paper were found ? It would 
 be then too late for any serious result. 
 
 Well satisfied with her work, Betsey returned her 
 little housewife to her pocket and sat clown to wait 
 events, and when at last she heard footsteps she 
 welcomed them as bringing her deliverance. 
 
 When the door was opened, her hostess appeared 
 with a plate of hot dinner which she set down,
 
 IQ2 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 saying, "You must be hungry. I am sorry to have 
 to obey my husband s orders to search you. He 
 believes you have some papers concealed." 
 
 " I am entirely ready," returned Betsey, cheerfully. 
 
 The woman looked a little surprised. " Well, eat 
 your dinner first," she said ; "you have had a long fast." 
 
 Betsey smiled as she thought of the peculiar nature 
 of the meal if so it could be called which she 
 had eaten while dinner was going on downstairs, 
 but she ate the food brought her, and then under 
 went the process of being searched. She endured it 
 quite calmly, and even helped the woman to turn 
 sleeves and pockets inside out. 
 
 "Nonsense," said Mrs. Bond. "It was absurd, and 
 I said so from the first. I am sorry you had to go 
 through such an ordeal." 
 
 Betsey only smiled again. She felt so delightfully 
 safe. 
 
 She was conducted below stairs where she found 
 Lydia anxiously waiting. She, too, had been a pris 
 oner, and had not been less suspiciously dealt with, 
 and she looked annoyed and indignant, but Betsey s 
 face wore a triumphant smile as she caught sight 
 of Mr. Bond. 
 
 "So you fooled us after all," he exclaimed, "you 
 little rebel ! I suppose we shall have to let you all
 
 OLD FRIEXDS AND FOES. 193 
 
 go. You are about as innocent a crowd as we are 
 likely to find. Even that one-armed old countryman 
 hasn t a scrap of treasonable stuff about him." 
 
 They were allowed to depart quietly, although 
 Timothy told the girls that the wagon had been 
 plundered while he was taken into the barn. How 
 ever, there was not much damage done, for the wagon 
 was standing out on the road, and the plunderers were 
 too easily seen by chance passers-by, who, if they had 
 suspected for a moment what was going on, would 
 have rescued the little company. 
 
 Timothy gave Betsey a questioning look when she 
 came up to him, and she answered with a laugh. 
 
 "Did you manage it?" he asked in a low tone. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " What did you do with it ? " he asked. 
 
 "I ate it," she whispered back. 
 
 Timothy stared at her a moment, then he burst 
 into a hearty laugh, slapping his knee and saying, "I 
 vum ! if you don t beat old Sancho." 
 
 " I m going to get that den of thieves cleared out," 
 he added, "just as soon as I can inform on em. I 
 vum ! if it ain t a pretty how-do-you-do when folks 
 are made prisoners in sight of their own friends. 
 We d ought to have taken every one of that crowd 
 to camp, tied to the tail of the wagon."
 
 194 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 They were jogging along comfortably when the 
 rapid beat of horses hoofs was heard behind them. 
 Three men were galloping furiously toward them. 
 In a moment they had stopped the wagon. James 
 Bond and the other men were evidently bent on 
 further detaining the travellers. 
 
 "We want one of these young women," said one 
 of the men in excited tones. 
 
 Timothy whipped up his horses, but it did no good, 
 for they were soon brought to a halt, and he was 
 obliged to enter into a parley. 
 
 " Tell us what s the trouble," he ventured. 
 
 "I have missed one of my papers," James Bond 
 told him. " I had it in my hand when I left the room, 
 and now it cannot be found." 
 
 " Have you got it, Betsey ? " asked Timothy. Bet 
 sey set her lips firmly ; she wanted to gain time. 
 
 "You must think I m a nice sort of a critter to 
 hand over a little gal to such men as you," said 
 Timothy. " Darn ye ! " 
 
 "Then we ll take you all," declared one of the 
 men. 
 
 "Oh, no! no!" cried Lydia. To be so near to 
 her beloved and have this bitter thing deter her, 
 was more than she could endure in silence. 
 
 Presently one of the men leaned down from his
 
 OLD FRIENDS AND FOES. 195 
 
 horse and looked in at Betsey. "Why," he ex 
 claimed, " it is little Elizabeth Hall." 
 
 " Oh, Captain Yorke !" responded Betsey. 
 
 "Hush, hush! not so loud," he said. "Why, my 
 little friend, this is serious. Our friend here swears 
 you have carried off his papers." 
 
 "But I haven t." 
 
 " I m afraid we shall have to prove it." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Lydia, again, "don t stop us." 
 
 "No," interposed Betsey; "don t stop the wagon. 
 I assure you, solemnly, Captain Yorke, that neither 
 of these, my companions, know anything about the 
 papers of which you are in quest. Pray let us go on." 
 
 " And how about you, Elizabeth ? " 
 
 Betsey was silent. 
 
 Captain Yorke withdrew to one side, with a troubled 
 look, and conferred with his friends in quiet tones. 
 Then he came forward, saying : " Elizabeth, would 
 you trust yourself in my care ? I swear to you," 
 turning to Timothy, " that not a hair of the child s 
 head shall be hurt, but that she shall receive safe 
 conduct to her home, but I must consider her my 
 prisoner. The other young lady and yourself shall 
 go free." 
 
 "Humph!" said Timothy; "I guess I can stand 
 my ground with the one arm I ve got left."
 
 196 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Betsey sat as stiff as a ramrod. She could say 
 neither yea nor nay. All sorts of plans were passing 
 swiftly through her mind. If she should consent to 
 go, Lydia could reach her sick lover sooner, and she 
 knew every delay was an anxious one to her cousin. 
 After a silence, she said, addressing herself to Timo 
 thy : " Captain Yorke is my mother s good friend, 
 and mine. I do not think my mother would feel 
 alarmed if I were to trust myself to him. He has 
 partaken of our hospitality, and has been received 
 under our roof. I do not believe he will do us 
 despite. I prefer to go with him ;" and she stood up, 
 then without further word climbed down from the 
 wagon, and stood by the road with a face of proud 
 resolve. 
 
 " Oh, Betsey, Betsey ; " Lydia was weeping. 
 
 "Never mind. I m not at all afraid," Betsey reas 
 sured her. " You must go on with Lydia, Timothy. 
 I shall get home without any trouble. That I well 
 know." 
 
 So she was lifted up on the saddle behind Cap 
 tain Yorke, and instead of going to Cambridge, was 
 borne away toward Boston town, and never saw 
 camp at all. 
 
 But she had very different thoughts from those 
 which filled her mind on the day when she had
 
 OLD FRIENDS AND FOES. 1 97 
 
 been similarly seated with Uncle Benjamin on her 
 way to Gloucester. In the hands of the British ! 
 What an experience ! Yet ever and anon the little 
 maid smiled quietly, for she felt herself perfectly 
 safe, and it tickled her sense of humor to think of 
 James Bond unconsciously sleeping upon the feather 
 bed which contained the letter under dispute. She 
 knew Captain Yorke would take proper care of her. 
 She trusted him, for her mother had declared that 
 he was a gentleman. 
 
 Once in a while the captain addressed a remark 
 to her. " Are you comfortable, little one ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," Bjtsey would reply. 
 
 " Have you any kinsfolk left in Boston town ? " 
 once he inquired. 
 
 " Yes, sir. I have a cousin there." 
 
 "And is she, too, a rebel ?" The captain smiled. 
 
 " I fear she is not loyal, sir. She has wealth and 
 position, and is not willing to yield them to the cause 
 of her country." 
 
 " Then she is loyal. You are a bold little prisoner. 
 Don t you know you are talking treason ? " 
 
 " I should feel myself a traitor, indeed, if I did not 
 obey my conscience, even were my father s cause not 
 mine." 
 
 The captain said no more. lie had not come to
 
 198 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 the Colonies to enter into a war, even of words, with 
 women, and he did not resent Betsey s answer, of that 
 she felt sure. 
 
 She wondered what Amos would say if he were to 
 chance upon her riding along, under the escort of one 
 of the king s soldiers, albeit he was in citizen s clothes. 
 Not once had she seen Amos, and but once had she 
 heard from him since that day when be marched away 
 from Salem. She gave a little sigh, which the captain 
 noted. 
 
 " Are you weary, my little maid ? " 
 
 "Not so very, sir. I am but thinking of an old play 
 mate of mine, a brave young fifer he was, but now he 
 is in the ranks. I was wondering when I should see 
 him again." 
 
 " Your little sweetheart, eh ? " 
 
 Betsey blushed. Such a thought had not entered 
 her mind. "Oh, no, sir! he is but a brother to me. I 
 am too young to give thought to marriage. My mother 
 would deem it out of place, if I did so." 
 
 "Ah, well!" said the captain, "youth does not last, 
 and your years will not long stand in the way of your 
 romances." 
 
 But Betsey turned the conversation by asking how 
 long before they would reach Boston. 
 
 They were taking a roundabout route that the riders
 
 OLD FRIENDS AND FOES. 199 
 
 might escape detection. They had long ago left 
 Timothy and his wagon far behind them, and had 
 galloped rapidly across country toward the sea-coast, 
 where a little vessel in waiting took them up and 
 landed them within a short distance of Charlestown. 
 The main body of the British army was intrenched 
 upon Bunker Hill ; three floating batteries lay in 
 Mystic River near the camp, and a twenty-gun ship 
 below the ferry between Boston and Charlestown. 
 Another division was stationed at Roxbury neck. The 
 light horse and a small body of infantry remained in 
 Boston. 
 
 The American army s lines extended over a space of 
 about twelve miles. The right division occupied the 
 ground from Roxbury to Dorchester, the left was 
 covered by the Mystic or Medford River. 
 
 It was, therefore, through Charlestown that Betsey 
 rode on her way to Boston town. As the familiar land 
 marks of the country rose before her, the girl s eyes 
 grew dim. But what changes since she had fled from 
 the burning town ! Now on Bunker Hill was estab 
 lished an army. Yonder blackened heap of ruins 
 was all that was left of the once pleasant little village. 
 Down the streets, through which her feet had many 
 a time run gayly, now the wind swept, tossing the dust 
 from the road over the desolate heaps of charred sticks.
 
 2OO A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 What ravages of war ! What grim reminders of sacri 
 fices for liberty ! 
 
 Captain Yorke and his friend did not tarry beyond 
 the time necessary to reply to the challenge of the 
 sentries. The captain felt keenly for the girl with 
 him, whose heart must be saddened by the scenes be 
 fore her, and he spared her all the pain he could, by 
 taking such a route as would not bring them very 
 near her former home ; and she was grateful for this 
 delicate consideration, which showed that Captain 
 Yorke would not subject her to anything more disa 
 greeable than could be helped. 
 
 The ferry crossed, Boston reached, the captain 
 looked a little worried as he turned to his companion 
 who had ridden all the way at a short distance be 
 hind them. 
 
 " We must be sure of avoiding smallpox neighbor 
 hoods," he said in a low tone. 
 
 " Yes, captain." 
 
 " What is the name of your cousin ? " he asked Betsey. 
 
 "Mistress Margaret Gould;" and Betsey added the 
 address. 
 
 " You are sure she has not left the city ? " 
 
 "I think not; we have not heard of it." 
 
 "Many have done so," returned the captain. "We 
 are not very abundantly provisioned as you know."
 
 OLD FRIENDS AND FOES. 2OI 
 
 Betsey smiled. Did she not know how disease and 
 starvation were dire foes which confronted the British 
 at this time ; and had she not seen many of those 
 who had been given safe transport from the town, 
 and to whose tales of destitution and misery she had 
 listened eagerly? Oh, yes, she was not unacquainted 
 with what Boston had to offer her guests during the 
 siege. "I know well, sir," she replied, "that plenty 
 does not abound in Boston. I wonder my cousin 
 remains." 
 
 " Your cousin, yes. By the way, Dukehart, do you 
 know Mistress Margaret Gould ? " 
 
 " I have that honor, captain ; a very gentle lady 
 she is, too. She has entertained many of us under 
 her roof, and is devoted to His Majesty s cause." 
 
 " Aha ! that is good ; and her home is free from 
 infection ? " 
 
 " Yes, captain, so I believe." 
 
 The captain s brow cleared. "Then we will go 
 straight there, Mistress Elizabeth. It will relieve me 
 of much anxiety on your score, and I shall feel that 
 your mother could not have clone better herself." 
 
 Consequently, Betsey was borne toward her cousin s 
 door. She saw the steeple of old Christ Church 
 loom up before her, from which had twinkled forth 
 the beacon that sent Paul Revere upon his never-to-
 
 2O2 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 be-forgotten ride. Then she beheld Old South 
 Church, from which, she remembered her father had 
 told her, marched the men in Indian disguise, who 
 overthrew the tea in Boston harbor, that tea which 
 brewed so dire a quarrel. Directly past the old 
 church they went, and as they approached, a party 
 of gay British cavalry rode forth from its very 
 doors. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Betsey, shocked into an expres 
 sion of surprise. 
 
 Captain Yorke laughed. "That is our riding school, 
 Elizabeth. You will not see Boston town wearing 
 quite its former look." 
 
 The Common was covered with barracks, and a fort 
 stood near the old elm tree, while red-coated soldiers 
 paraded the walks of the time-honored play-ground. 
 Boston town, under the martial law of the British, 
 was indeed changed. 
 
 Into her cousin s fine old house, Betsey entered with 
 Captain Yorke, and presently they were ushered into 
 the presence of Mrs. Margaret Gould. She was a 
 stately, dignified lady, yet there was a twinkle of fun 
 in her eye. She wore a hooped petticoat, and her 
 hair was dressed in a manner which seemed very 
 wonderful to Betsey, so befrizzed, cushioned, puffed, 
 and curled it was.
 
 OLD .FRIENDS AND FOES. 2O3 
 
 "Why, bless me, tis my little cousin Betsey," she 
 exclaimed. " Pray, what are you doing here, child ? 
 I should as soon have thought of seeing a tomahawk 
 ing Indian walk in." 
 
 Betsey looked up archly at Captain Yorke. "This 
 gentleman will explain our errand, cousin. He is 
 Captain Yorke of the besieged army," she said, dimpling 
 and looking down. She loved to cast these little slurs 
 at the redcoats. 
 
 Captain Yorke frowned slightly, but then he laughed. 
 " Your young relative is a most fierce little rebel, 
 madam," he remarked. "Nothing, I think, but a pair 
 of hot pincers would ever prevent that fearless tongue 
 of hers from casting vituperative remarks at one who 
 wears the king s uniform. In fact " and he hesi 
 tated. 
 
 But Betsey helped him out. " In fact, Cousin Mar 
 garet, this gentleman has brought you a prisoner. I 
 am supposed to be carrying important papers about me." 
 
 "Oh, Betsey!" exclaimed her cousin, "and are 
 you ? " 
 
 Betsey laughed. She knew full well that Timothy 
 and Lydia were safe by this time, but she was ready 
 for no confession. 
 
 Captain Yorke looked grave. " An important docu 
 ment has been lost, madam, and we suspect your little
 
 2O4 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 cousin of having appropriated it." And he gave an 
 account of the affair, Betsey meanwhile keeping silence. 
 "And, therefore, madam," the captain concluded, "to 
 make the matter as private as possible, I deemed it 
 best to place Miss Elizabeth in your loyal hands. If, 
 after searching, you find no trace of the missing pa 
 per, I have promised to give her safe conduct home, 
 unless 
 
 Betsey looked up quickly. " You promised, Cap 
 tain Yorke." 
 
 " I did, and I do not forget my word. May I have 
 a short conference with you, Mrs. Gould?" He 
 glanced uneasily at his quiet little prisoner. 
 
 Mrs. Gould understood his look. " I will send some 
 one to bear you company, Betsey," she said, "while 
 I talk to Captain Yorke ; " and she summoned a stout- 
 looking maid, who stood ground while the two retired 
 to the next room where Betsey could see them in 
 earnest consultation. 
 
 " Your good cousin promises to take charge of you 
 so long as needs be," Captain Yorke informed his 
 prisoner. " I am more than willing to leave you in 
 such kind hands. She has had a long and exciting 
 journey and needs a rest," he added, turning to Mrs. 
 Gould. And he made his adieux, leaving Betsey at 
 her cousin s side.
 
 OLD FRIEXDS AND FOES. 2O5 
 
 As the captain s form disappeared, Mrs. Margaret 
 turned and looked with an amused smile at her 
 cousin. "So, my young miss, you are my prisoner! 
 What a fine laugh I shall have on my cousin Stephen 
 when I tell him, after we have quelled those foolish, 
 misguided, country folk." 
 
 Betsey compressed her lips, but made no reply. 
 
 "Come, child, I must search you, I suppose; but 
 tell me the truth first. Have yon really done so bold 
 a thing as to seize a paper belonging to one of his 
 Majesty s generals ? Why, you might be sent to Eng 
 land in irons, or be shot, who knows?" There was 
 a smile on Cousin Margaret s face as she spoke, so 
 Betsey was not alarmed at her raillery ; yet still she 
 kept silent. 
 
 "What a mouse it is," continued her cousin; "not 
 so much as a squeak, and yet your gallant captain 
 says yon have a vicious tongue." 
 
 Betsey colored, and found her tongue at last. " I 
 should be ashamed not to speak when it was for the 
 defence of my country." 
 
 " My country ! forsooth ! How the child mimics 
 her father ; his very echo. My poor cousin Stephen ! 
 I suppose he is over there at Cambridge ; is he ? " 
 
 "No, cousin; he has been taken prisoner." 
 
 " Ah, how sad ! and you have been burned out at
 
 2O6 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Charlestown. I suppose you re with some of the rela 
 tions up Salem way." 
 
 "Yes, we are at Uncle Abiel s. He, too, was in 
 the army. He died on the way to Quebec. And all 
 all of us are patriots, cousin." 
 
 "All but me and my good husband. Well, well, 
 so dear, kind uncle Abiel has gone ! I am truly 
 grieved to hear all this. I wish he had gone in a 
 better cause. We shall soon see who is right, those 
 who take arms against their lawful sovereign, or those 
 who stand by him. Surely England will not be long- 
 in teaching her children obedience to her laws. Yet 
 I feel very sorry for my kinsfolk. Ah, Betsey, war is 
 a dreadful thing ! " 
 
 Did she not know it ? she thought. 
 
 "Yes," continued Cousin Margaret, "we are shut 
 up here with all sorts of dangers threatening us. 
 Food is so scarce, . I don t know when I have been 
 able to set a fairly good dinner before my guests. 
 But here, I must get through this business. Upstairs 
 with you, miss, and let s see about that paper." 
 
 Of course no amount of search disclosed anything 
 secreted, and Mrs. Gould looked puzzled. She was, 
 however, a clever and diplomatic questioner ; and by 
 degrees managed to gather enough from Betsey to 
 convince her that the child really had seen the paper.
 
 OLD FRIENDS AND FOES. 2O/ 
 
 "But what became of it?" she inquired. 
 
 Betsey was gaining an astuteness rather foreign to 
 her simple nature. " I ate one letter," she said 
 gravely, not mentioning which it was. 
 
 Her cousin threw back her head and laughed. 
 " What a determined little rebel it is. I don t blame 
 you, if you thought it was right." Cousin Margaret, 
 too, had a Puritan conscience. "But," she con 
 tinued, "it must have been very indigestible." She 
 caught sight of the fact, however, that Betsey had 
 still not made a full confession. " One letter you 
 said ; was there, then, more than one ? " 
 
 "Yes." Betsey hesitated before she spoke, but she 
 could not tell a lie, even though she had never had 
 the privilege of hearing of George Washington s 
 hatchet. 
 
 " Oh, I see ! It was something you were to de 
 liver at the rebel camp Mrs. Gould guessed 
 quickly. 
 
 Betsey nodded. It would be to no one s disadvan 
 tage to admit it. 
 
 "And the other? you will not tell? Then I shall 
 have to keep you here till it is found, I fear." 
 
 "Oh!" Betsey s eyes grew big. She was willing 
 enough to stay a day or two, but an indefinite 
 length of time, that was not to be endured at all.
 
 208 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Therefore she acknowledged. " I destroyed it. It 
 cannot be found." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 Betsey was silent. 
 
 "Well, my dear," continued her cousin, "I will 
 not press you further now. I shall like to keep you 
 for a while. You can tell me all the news, and we 
 can have a nice sociable time ; then, when you have 
 made up your mind to tell about the paper you can 
 go back." 
 
 So Betsey was left with this alternative, and she 
 accepted the situation without a word.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 IN BOSTON TOWN. 
 
 IT was a very pleasant sort of a captivity to which 
 Betsey was consigned. Cousin Margaret Gould 
 was quite a fine lady. She had been to the best 
 schools which the city could afford, had learned all 
 such accomplishments as were considered desirable 
 in that clay : waxwork and beadwork, fancy stitches, 
 and a little drawing. She also played upon the 
 guitar and the spinnet, so that Betsey considered her 
 own efforts upon the fife very poor when she watched 
 her cousin Margaret at the spinnet, her dainty, fur- 
 belowed gown standing in stiff folds around her, deli 
 cate lace ruffles falling over her white arms, jewels 
 flashing on her fingers. What a pity that Cousin 
 Margaret was a Tory ! Betsey would like to have 
 spent weeks with her. 
 
 The little girl was accustomed to going to bed 
 early, and was permitted to do so the first evening 
 of her arrival, but her cousin made quite a young lady 
 of her, and insisted upon dressing her up in some fine 
 array, and presenting her guests to this little rebel, 
 o 209
 
 2IO A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 The young British officers heartily enjoyed the task 
 of discomfiting this American maiden, and she was 
 driven to the wall more times than one. The story 
 of how and why she was there, placed her in rather 
 a romantic attitude, and she was treated rather as 
 a prized addition to the company than as a forlorn 
 captive. Even a dignified general whom she met 
 seemed to think her presence a huge joke. 
 
 Her grandmother would have been quite scandal 
 ized could she have seen Betsey s homespun garb 
 cast aside, and the girl in a flowered silk petticoat 
 with a short-sleeved, long-pointed waist, her skirts dis 
 tended by a hoop, and on her feet fine embroidered 
 slippers, while the arrangement of her hair, which 
 her cousin Margaret insisted upon curling in many 
 ringlets, so altered her, that when Captain Yorke ap 
 peared, he stood in astonishment before this fashion 
 able-looking girl, so different from the little Puritan 
 maid he had brought to the city, a short time before. 
 
 A young man came close behind the captain, and 
 eagerly pressed forward to catch sight of the girl 
 who sat with downcast eyes, feeling very ill at ease, 
 and quite ashamed of herself in all this finery. 
 
 "Does she not look sweetly pretty, Captain Yorke?" 
 said Mrs. Gould, gayly. 
 
 Captain Yorke bowed, but looked, Betsey thought,
 
 IN BOSTON TOWN. 211 
 
 as if he rather regretted the change of costume. " I 
 have brought an old friend to see you, Miss Eliza 
 beth," he said. "You have not forgotten him: Hugh 
 Jarvis." 
 
 A pleased smile flitted over Betsey s face as she 
 met the frank eyes of the young man who seemed 
 delighted to see her again. 
 
 " Prisoner or not, Miss Elizabeth, I am glad you 
 found your way here," he told her. "Ah, I have not 
 forgotten how good and kind you and your mother 
 were to me! " 
 
 Quite a company of gay gallants were gathered 
 in the parlors. There were, too, some of the officers 
 wives present, and all seemed disposed to make a pet 
 of Betsey, a fact which made her rather indignant. 
 She would rather have been treated a little more 
 scornfully. It seemed to her that she was not ac 
 cepted in her position as daughter of a patriot, and 
 she rather resented it. Yet, for all, she looked around 
 upon the gay scene, and contrasted it with the quiet 
 homeliness of her aunt Pamela s house. There plain 
 homespun prevailed, here silks and satins and laces 
 appeared upon every one. Even grandmother had 
 aid aside the rich silks she had always been wont to 
 wear, and for example s sake wore only domestic 
 stuffs.
 
 212 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Young Hugh Jarvis himself was dressed in a peach- 
 bloom coat lined with silk, a figured silk vest, black 
 silk small-clothes, with large gold knee-buckles, silk 
 stockings, and gold buckled shoes; his shirt was 
 ruffled and fine lace fell over his hands ; his hair was 
 powdered and worn in a queue, and the rest of the 
 men present were similarly attired. 
 
 All was gayety and laughter, despite the fact that 
 they were in a besieged city. Betsey thought of the 
 watchful army at Cambridge, and \vondered how much 
 longer it would be before they could drive out the 
 " horde." Her lip curled with scorn, as she listened 
 to Cousin Margaret sing, " God save the King," while 
 many joined in. Hugh Jarvis watching her, smiled, 
 as did others standing by. 
 
 "You do not join us," said Hugh, laughing. "Per 
 haps you will sing something alone. I remember, 
 Mrs. Gould, that I have heard your cousin sing very 
 prettily." 
 
 Betsey flushed. " Do not ask me to sing here, Mr. 
 Jarvis," she entreated. 
 
 " Because you are a caged bird ? " said one of the 
 ladies. "Ah, but, my dear, they can sometimes sing 
 the sweetest ! " 
 
 " It is not because I cannot, but because I will not," 
 spoke up Betsey. " You would not, perhaps, care to
 
 IX BOSTON TOWN. 213 
 
 listen to Yankee Doodle, nor to the old psalm tunes 
 which Mr. Jarvis once heard me sing." 
 
 "Yes, my little maid," said a voice behind her, 
 "we would hear you sing even an old psalm tune." 
 
 Betsey looked up shyly. After all she did feel some 
 what abashed in the presence of this courtly indi 
 vidual, who, dressed with the greatest elegance, stood 
 tapping a gold snuff-box, and smiling down at her. 
 
 " Tis his Excellency General Howe," said Hugh 
 Jarvis in a low tone. 
 
 " Come, Betsey, you must do as the general 
 wishes," her cousin told her. It seemed to Betsey 
 that there was a note of warning in her voice. 
 
 The girl looked right and left ; a little stranger 
 bird in the royal nest. What should she sing? She 
 looked down at her slippered feet, then up at the 
 proud face of her cousin. It was a hard ordeal, no 
 one seemed to understand how hard. But presently 
 Hugh Jarvis, with a grave bow, extended his hand, 
 and led her out upon the floor. 
 
 She folded her hands across the rich laces at her 
 breast, and began tremulously. 
 
 " Jehovah feedeth me. I shall not lack 
 In grassy fields He down dooth make me lye 
 He gently leads me, quiet waters by."
 
 214 A GIRL OF 7 6 - 
 
 She sang on, gaining confidence as she proceeded 
 with the quaint old tune. Her eyes were lifted, she 
 did not see the brightly apparelled company, nor the 
 face of the youth who bent near her, listening in 
 tently. She but saw in fancy the face of her 
 mother bending over her, and heard the old psalm 
 as it were a lullaby. 
 
 " He dooth return my soul ; for his name-sake in paths of 
 
 justice leads me quietly, 
 Yea, though I walk in vale of deadly shade, 
 I ll fear no yll, for with me thoti shall be 
 Thy rod, thy staff, eke they shall comfort me." 
 
 It sounded strangely in that handsome room, 
 where polished furniture, gleaming brasses, costly 
 hangings, evinced the wealth of its mistress. It 
 sounded strangely in the ears of the guests, accus 
 tomed to martial songs and tinkling madrigals, but 
 all faces were grave, and as Betsey finished there was 
 no outburst of applause, beyond a soft clapping of 
 hands. 
 
 " Well done, little maid," said the general. " Per 
 mit me to thank you. Pray, Mistress Gould, can you 
 not bring your cousin to the Province House ? I 
 think we shall have to keep the little linnet in her 
 cage longer yet"
 
 IN BOSTON TOWN. 215 
 
 Betsey looked alarmed. " I beg you, sir, do not 
 keep me." 
 
 "We shall see, we shall see," he replied. "We are 
 ready for that admission of yours whenever you 
 are pleased to make it ; " and Betsey in distress 
 turned away. 
 
 The room was now quite full of people. Several 
 officers had quarters under the Goulds roof, and the 
 drawing-room was usually a favorite gathering place 
 of an evening. 
 
 It was the third day since Betsey had left home. 
 She supposed her friends in Salem imagined her 
 to be at Cambridge with Lydia, and that those in 
 Cambridge thought by this time that she must be 
 at home. She had heard no word of her being 
 returned and was beginning to feel anxious. Confess 
 the hiding-place of the letter she would not, and it 
 seemed they meant to keep her till she did. Oh ! 
 that General Washington would enter Boston at once, 
 and she be spared the humiliation of a confession, 
 or the misery of a long captivity. She showed so sad 
 a face to Captain Yorke, that he was casting about 
 for words to comfort her, when a young officer 
 stepped up and said: 
 
 " Have you heard the last bit of news, captain ? 
 James Bond and his wife are come to town. They
 
 2l6 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 barely escaped being captured. They had just left 
 their house, for they feared the rebels would be 
 after them, when a party rode up, and battered down 
 the door. They, of course, discovered no one, and 
 after finding Bond had made good his escape they 
 set fire to the house." 
 
 Betsey leaned forward, eagerly listening. " Oh, 
 is that where we were?" she asked of Hugh Jarvis, 
 who was also listening. He nodded. " Yes." 
 
 " Captain Yorke, Captain Yorke ! " cried Betsey, 
 running forward, forgetting her silken garments, 
 and thinking only of mother and home. " Oh, 
 Captain Yorke, is the house burned all up, entirely ? " 
 
 Captain Yorke turned to the young officer, who 
 replied, " Yes, quite to the ground." 
 
 Betsey in her eagerness laid her hand on the 
 captain s arm. " The house where we stopped, it 
 is ? You are sure ? " 
 
 "Yes, where you found the paper," returned the 
 captain, eying her. 
 
 "Then," cried Betsey, joyously, "I can go back. 
 I ll tell. Cousin Margaret, I ll confess. I did find 
 the paper on the floor where Mr. Bond dropped it. 
 I did not read anything but the address and the head 
 ing, and I tore it up, and sewed it into the feather 
 bed. So it s all burnt up. Oh, I m so glad!"
 
 IN BOSTON TOWN. 
 
 Every one was listening. There was a complete 
 silence for a moment ; each one looked at his neighbor. 
 Then smiles grew broader, even on the face of the 
 genera], and presently a perfect peal of laughter 
 broke out from the assembled company. 
 
 Cousin Margaret was rather pleased than otherwise 
 at the attitude of her little prisoner. She liked the 
 girl s spirit, and enjoyed the sensation she made. 
 
 " When this war is over, I shall want to see more 
 of you than I have done heretofore," she said as she 
 kissed her good-night. 
 
 " That nice young gentleman, Hugh Jarvis, cast 
 quite tender glances at my little lady cousin. Fine 
 feathers well become you, Betsey, child." 
 
 The girl looked down. She did not feel easy at 
 having been one of the gay company. She told her 
 self that she had been far too frivolous at such a 
 time, and that the talk of dances and bouts, of plays 
 enacted at Faneuil Hall, were amusements in which 
 she should have shown no interest. So she replied 
 earnestly : " I shall not likely come to Boston again, 
 cousin, until Washington has made it ours, and has 
 routed out the British." 
 
 Cousin Margaret looked annoyed, and said rather 
 haughtily: "That is not a proper speech, Betsey. 
 You will regret it erelong. Such a thing can never
 
 2l8 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 take place. It does very well to make saucy speeches 
 for the amusement of a company of gallants, but in 
 sober earnest, to one of your own family, it is out 
 of place. You are only a little girl, however," she said, 
 smiling, "and do not know how absurd it is to talk 
 of defeat for the king s army." 
 
 " But if they should be defeated, cousin," per 
 sisted Betsey, " what would you do ? " 
 
 The lady shook her head positively. " There is no 
 use of even considering such an idea for a moment. 
 It is an utter impossibility. But, then, we will not 
 argue about it. Some day you will come to see me, 
 proud to talk of your young admirer, who perchance 
 will have then won his shoulder-straps. I shall yet, 
 no doubt, greet you as Mistress Jarvis ; " and she 
 laughed provokingly, but stopped Betsey s answer 
 with a kiss, and bidding her good-night left her. 
 
 The little rebel beheld Boston town under not un 
 pleasant conditions. For, although want and distress 
 threatened its inhabitants, and for all that the exile 
 longed for home, she was half fascinated by the 
 first glimpse she had ever known of such gay soci 
 ety. For, at home, she was not allowed to mingle 
 with her elders so freely. To see the governor driv 
 ing around in his great coach, with his liveried ser 
 vants in attendance, to behold the display of fine
 
 IN BOSTON TOWN. 2IQ 
 
 clothes, and to watch the smart young officers who 
 filled the streets, gave her a feeling of being in a 
 foreign city. 
 
 But when Sunday came she was sore perplexed. 
 She was treated by her cousin as a child one minute, 
 the next as a young lady. She resented being 
 decked out in fine clothes, when in every village and 
 hamlet the patriot women resolved to wear only 
 homespun. She felt herself a mockery and a sham, 
 in silks and satins. She, the daughter of one who 
 had endured everything for the cause of the Colonies 
 freedom. 
 
 But to all her protest Cousin Margaret lent an 
 indifferent ear, or laughed at her chagrin, assuring 
 her that she had no choice in the matter. 
 
 There was no going to Old South Church, given 
 over as it was to the use of the redcoats and their 
 horses. And Cousin Margaret always attended King s 
 Chapel, so, willy-nilly, Betsey must go, too, much 
 against her desire. It seemed as if, here, show and 
 extravagance were more visible than anywhere else ; 
 that it was the one place where display ran riot. 
 The superb brocades, magnificent plumes, elegant 
 laces, and marvellous coiffures astonished Betsey, 
 who could scarcely keep her mind on the service 
 for gazing at the splendor about her. She was,
 
 22O A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 moreover, in so rebellious a frame of mind that the 
 beautiful liturgy represented nothing to her but the 
 false creed of an oppressing foe, and she steadily re 
 fused to join in either response or prayer. She was 
 not to blame, however, for it was not possible in 
 those days for persons to separate the church from 
 the church-goer, and she had been taught that the 
 Church of England was full of errors, and that the 
 majority of its adherents were vengeful tyrants. 
 
 The austerity of the Puritan Sabbath was consider 
 ably modified, here in Boston, and Betsey was 
 shocked, more times than one, before the day was 
 over. A girl of about her own age was invited to 
 dine with them. She was the daughter of a British 
 officer. Hugh Jarvis and Captain Yorke, too, were 
 there, and Betsey reproached herself for being so 
 wicked as to listen to their merry talk. Levity on 
 the Sabbath, and hobnobbing with Tories ! What 
 was she coming to ? 
 
 " How very solemn you are," said Edith Lawrence. 
 " Do not these New Englanders pull long faces, 
 Master Jarvis ? " 
 
 " Betsey can laugh as merrily as you, Miss Edith," 
 he replied. "You forget she is in exile." 
 
 " And am I not in exile, too, away from my dear 
 England, merrie England ? Eaith, it seems so by
 
 IX BOSTON TOWN. 221 
 
 contrast to this dull place. I shall be glad when 
 this silly mob is quelled, and we go back again." 
 
 "Mob!" ejaculated Betsey, "and quelled! We are 
 neither a mob, nor are we to be quelled, Miss Law 
 rence. We are patriots good and true, who will 
 fight to the last man. King George s forces will 
 never beat us, solemn or not." Betsey s cheeks 
 were flaming. 
 
 "Well, you don t look very sanctimonious now," 
 laughed Edith. " You re like a keg of powder, it 
 takes but little to set you off ; I did not mean to 
 insult you, Miss Betsey. I ask your pardon." 
 
 " I cannot bear to have our men so slurred and 
 despised," murmured Betsey. " They are so devoted 
 and brave." 
 
 "They are in hot earnest," admitted Hugh Jarvis, 
 " and, indeed, I can vouch for their being no mean 
 foes." 
 
 Betsey looked grateful. " Thank you," she re 
 sponded. "I wish you, too, served our cause." 
 
 " I cannot quite wish that," returned Hugh, " but 
 I do wish for a speedy end to all this trouble." 
 
 "And I, if it brings us freedom." 
 
 "But it will not," broke in Edith. 
 
 " Fy ! Fy ! children," came the voice of Mrs. Gould. 
 " Are you quarrelling ? "
 
 222 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " Not quite," returned Edith. " It came near to it. 
 You know you ve set a firebrand and a keg of pow 
 der too close together. So what could you expect?" 
 
 Mrs. Gould laughed. " An explosion, of course, 
 but I hope no one is hurt." 
 
 No one, unless it be Master Jarvis," returned 
 Edith, with a little rippling laugh. " I can vouch for 
 myself, and I venture to say Miss Betsey has not 
 lost a hair of her head." 
 
 " Then come into the other room, where your father 
 and Captain Yorke await us," said Mrs. Gould. And 
 they followed her.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE BREAKING UP OF THE NEST. 
 
 CAPTAIN YORKE S appearance did not signify 
 release for Betsey, although he promised, if pos 
 sible, the next day to bring her some specific word re 
 garding her duration of captivity. But the day passed 
 and no Captain Yorke appeared. So that the next 
 morning the prisoner spent her time at the window, 
 straining her eyes for a sight of the captain s ap 
 proaching figure, and at last she saw him coming up 
 the street. 
 
 " I have not been able to get the order for your 
 return," he said curtly, as she met him at the door. 
 
 "The order for my return?" Betsey exclaimed 
 wonderingly. 
 
 " Yes, child ; did you think you could run in and 
 out of Boston like a kitten ? You did not know that 
 we slipped in the other day at great risks, and that, 
 had it been known that British officers were outside 
 the lines, your friend Washington would have nabbed 
 us, and strung us up." 
 
 "Oh! " cried Betsey. 
 
 223
 
 224 A ^IKL OF 76. 
 
 "Yes, we take great risks in venturing so far; every 
 place is guarded except along the sea-board. There 
 we have full swing." 
 
 "And you are to send me back that way?" said 
 Betsey, wistfully. "Soon, Captain Yorke ? " 
 
 The captain looked down, seemingly a little con 
 fused. 
 
 " You promised my safe return," she went on. 
 
 " Not a hair of your head shall be hurt. The gen 
 eral has taken quite a fancy to you, and you will have 
 no trouble about the safe return eventually, but his 
 Excellency thinks you are far too quick-witted a pris 
 oner to give up just yet. He says you have very 
 likely heard remarks, since you have been here, which 
 it would be well to keep secret, and he thinks for the 
 present you should be kept inside our lines." 
 
 "But what why? I am not a spy." 
 
 " No, you were too honorable even to read the let 
 ter which you found, and which, by the way, from 
 what James Bond tells us, was not so important as at 
 first seemed. The trouble is that you have been given 
 such entire freedom here, and have been allowed un 
 limited intercourse with all of us ; so you might 
 become a dangerous little person. Try and content 
 yourself a while longer with your cousin. Surely 
 she is most kind."
 
 THE BREAKING UP OF THE NEST. 22$ 
 
 "Oh! she is, she is, but my mother- Betsey s 
 lip quivered. 
 
 " We will see that she knows of your safety. If you 
 will write to her under cover of such a letter as Mrs. 
 Margaret Gould shall write, you can send the letter 
 safely, but I must ask that Mrs. Gould sees your letter." 
 
 Betsey felt herself a prisoner indeed, so lodged 
 about by limitations, a caged bird, gilded though 
 the cage might be. But to the captain s relief, she 
 made no scene, although after he had gone, her 
 cousin found her sobbing her heart out in her room. 
 
 "Why, Betsey, child!" she said solicitously, "you 
 are too much of a woman to cry for nothing. Some 
 thing must have gone sadly wrong. Is it that you 
 have had some unfavorable news from your ragged 
 rebels, and are grieved because at last they have 
 found out their weakness ? " Then, in a gentler tone : 
 " You have heard no ill word of your father, have 
 you, child ? I am working to secure a speedy exchange 
 for him. I am, indeed, Betsey. I did not want to 
 tell you till I could come and tell you he was free." 
 
 " No, cousin," replied Betsey, lifting her head. " It 
 is none of those things which grieve me. The worst 
 is that I am to be considered a prisoner till your 
 doughty General Howe chooses to let me go forth." 
 
 " Is it so ? Well, what is your loss is our gain. I 
 p
 
 226 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 cannot be so sorry as you, Betsey. I like well to 
 have you with me, for even with your sharp little 
 tongue, I love you, child, and it is comforting to 
 have one s own kith and kin at hand." 
 
 Betsey raised her tear-stained face. " Oh, cousin ! " 
 she said, " why will you not go to your own people 
 and take me with you ? " 
 
 " All in good time, child. It may be very well for 
 you all some day, that one of the family is still a 
 royalist. I may yet save the neck of some of my 
 misguided relations, as I hope to do for your father. 
 General Howe has promised to look into his case. 
 So you see, dear little rebel, your Tory cousin isn t 
 such a black-hearted wretch as you think." 
 
 Betsey gave her a close hug for reply. She w r as 
 beginning to realize that her cousin Margaret was 
 sincere in her beliefs, and it was from no lack of love 
 for her family that she remained in Boston, but be 
 cause she, like many others, believed the patriot cause 
 a hopeless one, and she felt that ultimately her hus 
 band s interests could be better protected by an ad 
 herence to the stronger side. All England defied by 
 a poor little ragged army seemed out of reason. And 
 Cousin Margaret thought herself far-seeing when she 
 maintained that the doom of failure must inevitably 
 be that of the Americans.
 
 THE BREAKING UP OF THE NEST. 22/ 
 
 Even at this moment she considered that she dis 
 played the magnanimity of the stronger side as she 
 stooped to comfort her little cousin. " Never mind, 
 Betsey, child," she said, "we will try to make the time 
 pass rapidly for you. Come, bathe your eyes, and let us 
 go down to the riding school. You will like to see your 
 young gallant, Hugh Jarvis, do himself credit there. He 
 is a very pretty horseman. And come, yes, perhaps 
 there are some new goods to be had. A ship came 
 in last week, I hear. I will buy you some pretty 
 stuffs to deck yourself with. I like right well to see 
 you dressed up. Oh, Betsey, I wish I had a little 
 daughter of my own ! " 
 
 She was so sweet and gentle that Betsey thought it 
 would be most ungracious to refuse to go with her, 
 although she shrank from receiving gifts of foreign 
 make. She had very sturdily protested against wear 
 ing anything more costly than her gown of homespun, 
 but Cousin Margaret was very decided and self-willed. 
 She left her charge no escape, and the child felt that 
 her prison garments, rich as they were, did her less 
 credit than the rags in which Amos had appeared 
 at her aunt s gate. 
 
 The streets were gay enough with finely dressed 
 men and women. Some, to be sure, looked haggard 
 and anxious, but Mrs. Gould seemed as light-hearted
 
 228 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 as possible, as she turned over the sarcenets and 
 satins, damasks and paduasoys and such stuffs as 
 were presented for her inspection. 
 
 She chose a delicate blue satin for Betsey and a 
 flowered white brocade for the bodice and petticoat. 
 She also purchased silk stockings and shoes to match ; 
 then, having so pleased herself, she gave the order 
 to have her coachman drive to the Province House. 
 There were not many carriages in the city, but sedan 
 chairs were used, and many a one passed them as 
 they took their way to the governor s. 
 
 " My husband said he would meet us at the gov 
 ernor s," Mrs. Gould told her companion. " I want 
 you to see all our fine feathers, Miss Betsey, so 
 come along, and don t be saucy to my friends." 
 
 Betsey felt as though much of her spirit would be 
 quelled if she had to live long in this atmosphere of 
 fashion and show. It was beginning to pall on her. 
 It seemed all so hollow after the sterner life to which 
 she had been reared. She looked with distaste at 
 the Province House with its broad staircases, its fine 
 panelled wainscots, its stately furnishings, and, instead 
 of being awed by a sense of the importance of King 
 George s representatives, she appeared weary of the 
 show. 
 
 " And now to the riding school," said Mrs. Gould.
 
 THE BREAKING UP OF THE NEST. 229 
 
 " I must confess, Betsey, that I do not, myself, love 
 to see it put to its present use. We will not stay a 
 moment, but only long enough to pick up Mr. Jarvis. 
 I shall ask his escort to the masquerade, about which 
 there is now such a talk. Shall you not look a 
 pretty shepherdess, in your blue satin ? " 
 
 " Oh, but cousin 
 
 "What would you?" 
 
 "I cannot go to such a thing." 
 
 "Not to please me?" 
 
 Betsey looked down. " Perhaps I shall not be 
 here. It is some days off." 
 
 " Yes, but not too many for fashioning our cos 
 tumes. You must needs go, miss ; I command it, 
 and I m your jailer, remember " She smiled as she 
 spoke, but Betsey knew she was in earnest. She 
 was growing very miserable, and her sad little face 
 appealed to the sympathy of the young soldier who 
 escorted them home. 
 
 "\Vhat is the matter, Betsey?" he asked, when 
 they were alone. 
 
 "Oh, I am homesick! You know what it is to be 
 homesick, Mr. Jarvis." 
 
 " I do, indeed." 
 
 "Then will you not help me to get away?" 
 
 " How can I ? "
 
 230 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " There are distressed families continually gaining 
 leave to go to their friends outside the city. Could 
 you not smuggle me off with one of them ? " 
 
 " I m afraid I have very little influence." 
 
 " Oh ! I do not mean for you to get me an order 
 to go. Could you not help me in some other way?" 
 
 The young man looked grave. Then he said softly, 
 " Will you charge it to your favor of me if I do ? " 
 
 " Will I not ? " replied she, innocently. " I will re 
 member you forever, if you will." 
 
 " Then, will you promise to go to the masquer 
 ade ? 
 
 "I do not want to I do not want to go." 
 
 " The day after, I promise you I will risk everything 
 for you." 
 
 "I cannot have you risk anything. I but want the 
 chance of escape. I only want to find out the name 
 of some family leaving town, and to be directed to 
 them. I would not involve you in any danger. I 
 am but a little country girl, I know nothing of courts 
 and fashions. I am surely not one to be afraid of. 
 To be sure, I did destroy the letter which came in 
 my way, and I have tried to be a loyal daughter to 
 my father, but I am not a clever woman. Surely 
 there will be no hue and cry after me, if I should 
 slip away disguised as a servant."
 
 THE BREAKING UP OF THE NEST. 231 
 
 " But wait for the masquerade, Miss Elizabeth, and 
 I promise you the day after you shall go, if I have 
 to be hostage for you." 
 
 " How good you are ! " returned Betsey, gratefully. 
 " Still, it is a long time to wait." 
 
 They were interrupted by Mrs. Gould. " Pray, 
 Master Jarvis, how will you be costumed for our 
 ball ? You must be fittingly attired if you would be 
 escort to the two pretty damsels I shall take in 
 charge. I ll venture to say you will not be long in 
 distinguishing one from the other." 
 
 The young man blushed. He was yet so youthful 
 that any suggestion of this kind could not be met 
 with the gay indifference an older man would show. 
 
 " Indeed, madam," he returned, " I have not yet 
 thought of the matter, but if you will give me an 
 inkling of what will be in keeping, I will suit my 
 self to it." 
 
 " A shepherd lad for my Thisbe, maybe, or King 
 Obron for my Titania ; yet if the former I pray you, 
 sir, be careful of your crook, my lambs are yet 
 tender." 
 
 The young man blushed again, to the lady s 
 amusement. 
 
 " Oh, cousin, I cannot go!" protested Betsey. " Pray 
 do not require it of me."
 
 2J2 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! we ve had that all over before. You 
 will go, child, and in as pretty a dress as shall be 
 found." 
 
 " But my mother and grandmother would disap 
 prove. Surely if I am old enough to go, I am old 
 enough to decline." 
 
 " You are old enough to be a very wilful little 
 minx. Wait till you see the fashion of your pretty 
 costume, and I ll wager you ll be ready enough to 
 get into it. Will she not, Master Jarvis ? " 
 
 " She would be unlike most girls, if she did not 
 go," replied he. 
 
 " Unlike girls of your country, maybe, but not 
 unlike those of ours," Betsey retorted, "and it is 
 like the latter that I choose to be." 
 
 " She loves nothing English, you see," laughed 
 Mrs. Gould, "not even the sisters of her swains." 
 
 Again the red flush mounted to Hugh Jarvis s 
 cheek. 
 
 " However," continued Mrs. Gould, in an aside, 
 " she will be glad enough to give her allegiance to 
 England, and perhaps to England s son some of these 
 days. She s a spirited little lass, but a good one." 
 
 " Ah, madam, do I not know it ? Thanks for your 
 good word." 
 
 For all this, Betsey was determined not to go to
 
 THE BREAKING UP OF THE NEST. 233 
 
 the masquerade. To join in such a merry-making 
 against her conscience, to be one of the governor s 
 party at a time when danger menaced her country ; 
 when her father lay a prisoner in the hands of the 
 very foe from whom came the invitation ; when 
 Uncle Abiel and others she knew and loved had 
 given their lives for their country, no, a thousand 
 times, no. Not if I have to tear the gown from me. 
 Not if they carry me by force, she resolved. 
 
 She listened quietly to Edith Lawrence s ecstasies 
 over the affair ; she stood patiently to be fitted to 
 her shepherdess gown, all the time repeating to her 
 self : " No, no, I will not be seen there. I will not. 
 I will not." 
 
 Meanwhile Washington was silently but surely draw 
 ing his lines closer around Boston. Not even his friends 
 knew why the attack was delayed. Few were aware that 
 for the sad lack of powder, the reputation of the brave 
 man suffered; that because of this want he was stigma 
 tized as undecided, weak, pusillanimous ; for here, as 
 always, the good of his country came before self. As 
 soon as he had in reserve one hundred barrels of 
 powder, he proceeded toward accomplishing the clever 
 strategic plan which should set Boston free. 
 
 It was a night or two before the expected masquerade 
 ball that Betsey was awakened by the sombre booming of
 
 234 A GIRL OF 7 6 - 
 
 cannon which kept up all night. The windows rattled 
 so that she could not sleep. She arose and looked out. 
 "Boom! Boom! Roar! Roar!" came the continued 
 noise of the great guns from the American side. 
 Betsey clasped her hands. Would the house be struck ? 
 she wondered. 
 
 Little sleep visited her pillow that night, and she was 
 surprised in the morning at the calmness with which 
 Mr. Gould met her question, " Oh, what is going on ? " 
 
 " Merely bravado, my dear, nothing more. Don t be 
 alarmed, it will not be kept up very long. At daylight 
 it ceased, and is not likely to be repeated." But in 
 this John Gould was mistaken, for the second night 
 the cannonading was repeated. 
 
 Still the preparations for the masquerade went on, 
 and Betsey, dreading, fearing, hoping, sprang to her 
 feet when, just about candle-light on the evening of 
 March fourth, the noise began again and never for 
 a moment ceased. 
 
 "Oh!" cried the girl, "will it never stop? There 
 must be danger danger." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Mr. Gould, smiling. "With all 
 our ships and batteries, why, child, there is no danger 
 at all. We are as safe as need be. You ll soon be 
 listening to other sounds than cannon and mortars if 
 I mistake not. My wife tells me a pretty tale of gal-
 
 THE BREAKING UP OF THE NEST. 235 
 
 lants surrounding you ; of a certain little shepherdess 
 whose Corydon waits for her." 
 
 But Betsey did not answer. There was something 
 ominous in the persistent roar. She felt an instinctive 
 sense of some approaching event. She had decided on 
 certain action as to the masquerade in which she was 
 determined she would not participate. 
 
 Daintily garbed in her pretty dress, a big cloak 
 wrapped around her, she was taken to the coach and 
 established on the scat by her cousin. Edith Lawrence 
 sat opposite, chatting away volubly. Hugh Jarvis was 
 to meet them at the place of their destination. 
 
 "Oh, we re going to have such a good time!" cried 
 Edith. " Pray, Betsey, do laugh a little with me. One 
 would think we were going to a funeral. There is 
 Mr. Jarvis," she announced as they drew up in front 
 of the Province House. " He is looking for us." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Jarvis," said Mrs. Gould as they entered, 
 " I put Betsey into your keeping. We shall take yon 
 room as our rendezvous. If we miss one another in the 
 crowd tis there we ll agree to meet." For one moment 
 Betsey caught sight of the brilliant assemblage, as she 
 stood with her hand on the arm of her companion. 
 Then she turned to him. 
 
 "Quick! Quick! Mr. Jarvis, take me home." 
 
 " Why, Betsey ? Why ? "
 
 236 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "I must go. I cannot endure it a moment longer." 
 
 "Are you ill? Stay, let me fetch you a cordial." 
 
 " No, no, at once. Quickly. I shall go alone, 
 otherwise." 
 
 "Ah, that you cannot, must not do! If you are 
 ill, I will seek Mrs. Gould." 
 
 " No, no, do not spoil her pleasure. Take me back. 
 Lock me in anything, anything ; oh, do you not 
 understand how desperate I feel?" 
 
 Her wild eagerness had its effect, and silently 
 wrapping her cloak around her, the young man piloted 
 her through the crowd and down the street, from 
 thence back to her cousin s. 
 
 " Lock me in," Betsey said, as she turned toward 
 the door of a large room, after they had entered the 
 house. 
 
 " No. I trust you entirely. You will stay here ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Until you see me again?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He took a step forward, then turned back. " You 
 do not regret having come back ? Will you not re 
 turn with me ? " 
 
 " No, no." 
 
 " Not when you know you have spoiled my even 
 ing ?"
 
 THE BREAKING UP OF THE NEST. 237 
 
 Betsey cast down her eyes with a troubled look. 
 
 " I am sorry, but I cannot. It is a matter of con 
 science, Hugh." 
 
 " Then I will not insist. Thank you for calling me 
 as my sisters do." And he was gone. What excuse 
 he made for her, Betsey did not learn. 
 
 She went to bed in the silent house, silent, save 
 for the rattling of the windows at each reverberation 
 of the cannon, and the noise of the booming which 
 filled the air. 
 
 Cousin Margaret met her coldly at breakfast the 
 next morning, but was not unkind. Moreover, for 
 the first time she looked troubled, and Mr. Gould 
 was graver than usual. 
 
 A note from Hugh Jarvis begged Betsey to wait, 
 to trust him a little longer. " I am on duty to-day," 
 he wrote, "and cannot come." 
 
 When he did arrive, the deliverance of Boston was 
 assured. And it was a triumphant girl who heard 
 her cousin announce with pallid face : " Washington 
 is intrenched on Dorchester Heights. It is a com 
 plete surprise. It means, we fear, evacuation of Boston 
 by us." 
 
 Betsey was .generous enough to say nothing, but 
 her face shone with joy. 
 
 A great quiet prevailed in the town. The batteries
 
 238 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 on both sides had ceased, and the British general 
 decided that to dislodge the countrymen was the only 
 hope. But a gale sent part of Percy s fleet ashore, 
 and now instant evacuation was all that was left the 
 British to do. 
 
 "Refugees! Refugees!" cried Cousin Margaret, 
 wringing her white hands, as she walked the floor. 
 
 " Ah, cousin," said Betsey, coming up and putting 
 her hand on her cousin s, " shall you not stay in 
 your own house ? " 
 
 " As prisoners ? " 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " And what shall be clone with you ? " continued 
 Mrs. Gould, in distress. " I cannot leave you alone 
 here to the mercy of a rabble." 
 
 " Oh, but my friends will come soon ! I am not 
 afraid. I shall know that all who stay are friends. 
 Oh, yes ! I shall do very well, and I will find a way 
 to get home. I have more than one friend and rela 
 tive in our army. I shall not be long alone. Oh, 
 cousin, stay and go home with me ! " 
 
 "I cannot, we cannot in honor; we have cast our 
 fortune in with the king s side, and by that we must 
 abide." 
 
 And, therefore, to Cousin Margaret and her husband, 
 to Captain Yorke and Hugh Jarvis, to Edith Lawrence
 
 THE BREAKING Ur OF THE NEST. 239 
 
 and her family, Betsey bade a sorrowful adieu, and 
 watched a fleet of a hundred and twenty transfers 
 sail out of Boston harbor, the line reaching from the 
 castle to Nantasket road. 
 
 As far as Betsey could see, she watched the 
 vessels that bore her friends away. There was a 
 lump in her throat, joy was partly clouded by sorrow. 
 They had been generous, loving enemies, and now 
 she thought of them but as friends whose absent 
 faces she might nevermore see.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 FREE. 
 
 BUT Betsey was not left entirely alone, for her 
 cousin Margaret, in the midst of her own prep 
 arations for flight, took the precaution to find a 
 reliable couple to come and take charge of the house. 
 She left them such stores as she had, of which 
 these two sufferers from the siege were only too 
 glad to take possession, and Betsey, thus provided 
 for, waited patiently for the opportunity to return 
 home. It had been six long weeks since she left 
 Salem, for, although it was upon the 5th of March, 
 1776, the anniversary of the Boston massacre, that 
 Washington s troops were seen to occupy the in- 
 trenchments, thrown up as if by magic, on Dorchester 
 Heights, it was not till the I7th that the evacuation 
 finally took place, and on the 2Oth that the main 
 body of the army entered Boston. Betsey lived 
 through this period in a state of open excitement. 
 Old Mr. and Mrs. Hatch, in whose charge she was 
 left, did not attempt to suppress the girl s enthusiasm. 
 For once New England reticence was set aside, and 
 
 240
 
 FREE. 24 1 
 
 they joined in the shouts and huzzas, the unre 
 strained demonstration given on every side. 
 
 " Oh ! I do want to see General Washington, Mr. 
 Hatch," Betsey said. "I must see him before I die." 
 
 "And you shall," returned the old man. "If there 
 is one house-top, along the line of march, left empty, 
 we ll find it. I think I know a place we can go. 
 Get your bonnet, mother, and come along with 
 Miss Betsey and me." 
 
 How joyously swung the bells of Old South meeting 
 house, again to be restored to its venerated use ; with 
 what acclaim the chimes of Christ Church proclaimed 
 liberty to the hungry and patient besieged ! The glit 
 tering show of the British troops was wanting. The 
 splendor and pomp of the governor s court was missing. 
 The subdued hues of homespun attire matched the 
 color of the leafless trees, but it did not require gor 
 geous tints to bespeak the brightness of the occasion. 
 Every eye shone with a new lustre; every face 
 wore the light of hope and joy fulfilled. From hun 
 dreds of throats arose the shout of welcome as the 
 commander-in-chief made his entrance, grave, digni 
 fied, as always, but with his face reflecting the happi 
 ness which appeared upon every countenance. So 
 Betsey saw him, in his uniform of buff and blue, as 
 how many have since seen him pictured. It was a 
 
 Q
 
 242 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 supreme moment to the girl. She felt as if her 
 greatest desire for the moment were accomplished. 
 She drew a long sigh as he passed out of sight. The 
 old Continentals marched on. Betsey s eye eagerly 
 scanned the lines. At each approach of the shrill 
 sound of a fife, she sought the form of the fifer, and 
 at last, yes, there he was, Amos, straight and tall, 
 playing "Yankee Doodle" for dear life. After all, he 
 had gone back to his fife and had volunteered as 
 fifer rather than as private. How she longed to have 
 him recognize her, but she fluttered her handkerchief 
 vainly. In that sea of faces one could hardly be 
 singled out. 
 
 And yet Boston was comparatively depopulated. 
 Many had fled long ere this to their friends in the out 
 lying districts, and many more were now on their way 
 to Halifax with the British fleet. Eleven hundred 
 refugees had left their homes to link their fate with the 
 king s party. 
 
 And now Betsey s impatience to reach home could 
 hardly be restrained. She formed a dozen plans for 
 the journey, but Mr. Hatch said : " Wait a little, my 
 child. There ll be a way provided in a day or two. New 
 England is freed of her horde, and you can go and 
 come as you will." 
 
 She could run in and out of Boston " like a kitten,"
 
 FREE. 243 
 
 as Captain Yorke had said, so Betsey reflected. She 
 sighed a little at the thought. She did not realize till 
 she walked through the empty rooms, and saw the 
 many familiar objects which suggested the^ presence of 
 her dear and dainty cousin, that her going could make 
 such a difference. " I shall be so glad to get away," 
 she said to Mrs. Hatch. " It is so empty without Cousin 
 Margaret. I miss her sadly, and, Tory though she be, 
 I love her dearly." 
 
 "There is no wrong in that," said Mother Hatch, 
 smiling. " We are commanded to love our enemies." 
 
 Cousin Margaret had left a letter to be given Bet 
 sey s mother. " I have tried to provide for your 
 remembrance of me," she said as she kissed the girl 
 good-by. " If I never come back do not forget me, 
 Betsey." 
 
 The troops were moving in from every direction, 
 some from Roxbury, others in boats from Cambridge, 
 and confusion possessed the town. The outgoing peo 
 ple had plundered where they could, carrying off not 
 only their own, but other s goods, and the incoming 
 soldiers were little better, so that ransacking and tur 
 moil were the order of the day, and it would have gone 
 hardly with Mrs. Gould s house had she not left care 
 takers in it. The British had departed in haste at the 
 last, and left many stores intended to be carried away.
 
 244 A GIRL OF 7 6 - 
 
 And what comfort these represented to the American 
 soldiers, all this time fed, clothed, sustained by their 
 devoted countrymen whose benevolence can hardly be 
 realized. Every farm-house had become a commissary 
 department ; everything that could be spared had been 
 sent out to the army. For a long time the troops of 
 Massachusetts and those of New Hampshire were fed 
 without so much as a barrel of flour from Congress. 
 Of these sacrifices, where is the record ? Not on 
 earthly pages. 
 
 And now plentiful supplies were theirs, twenty-five 
 hundred chaldrons of sea-coal, one hundred and fifty 
 bushels of barley and oats, with bedding, clothing, and 
 what not ; added to these, store ships, entering the 
 harbor, brought for the British, who never received 
 them, all sorts of arms and powder, a welcome supply 
 indeed to the American troops. 
 
 " I must get word to Amos," Betsey declared. " I 
 can at least see him." 
 
 But before he could make his appearance an added 
 joy was hers, for downstairs she heard voices one 
 morning. She stood still and listened. Surely, surely, 
 there was but one who spoke like that, and down the 
 steps Betsey flew, to be clasped in her mother s arms. 
 And then, oh, wonder upon wonder! some one 
 cried tremulously, " My little girl, my daughter ! "
 
 FREE. 245 
 
 "Father, oh, father!" and Betsey flung herself on the 
 beloved breast in such rapture as no words could 
 express. 
 
 All over the city just such meetings were taking 
 place. Those who had spent months in exile returned 
 in joy; families long separated were united; friend 
 clasped friend. 
 
 Seated by both beloved parents Betsey told her story, 
 and at the end she faltered out, as she looked with 
 moist eyes into her father s face : 
 
 " Oh, father, I did try to be true ! " 
 
 " And you were, my daughter. You have fulfilled 
 my highest trust in you. I thank God that such a 
 daughter of Liberty bears my name." And Betsey hid 
 her face in her father s sleeve, overcome by the un 
 wonted praise. 
 
 And then came the account of her father s captivity, 
 of his sufferings and his escape, managed, it was be 
 lieved, by a Tory friend who had been a schoolmate of 
 Stephen Hall s in his boyhood days. 
 
 " Oh, father, mine was a prison but in name ! I have 
 fared far better than you," Betsey said. 
 
 " Thank God, you have ! It would grieve me sorely 
 were it otherwise. But, Betsey, your mother looks sor 
 rowful over the letter you gave her. Go and comfort 
 her. I have business which calls me."
 
 246 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Mrs. Hall had withdrawn to a window where she was 
 reading Mrs. Gould s letter. She looked around at 
 Betsey and said, " Poor Cousin Margaret ! She loved 
 you well, Betsey. She bids me take in charge all such 
 personal possessions of hers that she has not been able 
 to carry with her, and in course of time to bestow them 
 upon you." 
 
 " Oh, mother ! all those beautiful things ? " 
 
 " Yes, her wearing apparel, her spinnet, such china, 
 laces, and plate as may be left here, and the portraits of 
 your great-grandparents. 
 
 " Oh, mother, it seems so dreadful ! As if she were 
 dead." 
 
 " It does, indeed. I fancy but for her husband that 
 she would gladly have found a refuge among her rela 
 tives, and that she yearns toward them, but, like a good 
 wife, she follows her husband over seas, and says she 
 will not likely return. She wishes that some day you 
 might go to see her, when there is peace between 
 England and America." 
 
 Betsey sighed, but this made her feel as if Cousin 
 Margaret were not actually lost to her. She stood 
 looking very thoughtful for so long a time that her 
 mother said, "What is my daughter thinking about ? " 
 
 " I was thinking of all those beautiful garments, and 
 that they are not fitting for me to wear."
 
 FREE. 247 
 
 " Not now, perhaps. We will pack them away, and 
 when the time comes we will see if one or two requests 
 which Cousin Margaret makes can be fulfilled. What 
 else, Betsey ? Your eyes still have a question in them." 
 
 " It is about father. Now that the country is rid of 
 the British, shall we have our home again ? " 
 
 " Not yet. Your father will rejoin the army at 
 once." 
 
 " Oh, mother ! " 
 
 " Would you have him do otherwise ? " 
 
 Betsey had a struggle with herself before she an 
 swered, " No, mother." 
 
 " Then bid him Godspeed, dear child. We women 
 must not be less brave than those who suffer for our 
 sakes. We shall remain at Aunt Pamela s. The dear 
 woman has begged that it shall be so. We should 
 leave her desolate, indeed, if we refused. She is mak 
 ing great preparations for your return, Betsey." 
 
 " And when shall we go ? " 
 
 " In a few days. Little Stephen is overjoyed at 
 the idea of seeing you, and our baby Polly, too, 
 seems to understand. She really knew her father." 
 
 " Mother, I saw Amos on the day the troops en 
 tered the town. He did not see me, and I have 
 written to him to come and seek me out. Was I 
 wrong ? "
 
 248 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " No, dear child, why should you think so ? You 
 have been like brother and sister since you were 
 toddlers." 
 
 "I know, but " 
 
 " But what ? " 
 
 " Cousin Margaret made a young lady of me, and 
 she she put notions in my head, mother." 
 
 "About Amos? Surely not." 
 
 "No, no, about proprieties. She said she was 
 scarce older than I when she married, and that I 
 must not be so childish. Yet at other times she 
 treated me quite as if I were a baby." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 " And she said she should like to choose a pretty 
 husband for me." 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense, Betsey ! I m ashamed ! " 
 
 " Oh, but, mother, I did not want the husband ! " 
 
 "I hope not." Mrs. Hall bit her lip to keep 
 from smiling at the ingenuous speech. " And whom 
 did she choose for you?" 
 
 "Oh, mother! you know him: Hugh Jarvis, the 
 young British soldier who was wounded, and whom 
 we nursed." 
 
 "Is it so ? Truly, Betsey, you have been trying 
 your wings too soon." 
 
 " But, mother, I did not want such talk. I was
 
 FREE. 249 
 
 sorry she tried to make me seem so grown up, and 
 now I want to be a little girl as long as you think 
 best." 
 
 " So you shall. Forget all these foolish fripperies. 
 Life is too solemn a thing for it to be wasted in 
 vanity and meaningless compliments. Duty is straight 
 before us ; and when duty bids you leave your mother 
 for your own home, you will find her your most sym 
 pathetic counsellor." 
 
 Betsey felt much better for this talk. She could 
 not be content till she had told just how she had 
 been spending her days, and it was a relief to feel 
 that her mother did not reprove her nor misunder 
 stand. Grandmother would not have been so gentle, 
 thought Betsey. And so all the pretty finery which 
 Cousin Margaret had left was packed away in chests, 
 and Betsey s linsey-woolsey took the place of the 
 daintier gown she had been wearing. 
 
 " Now I feel like Betsey Hall again," she said. 
 " Braid my plaits very tight, mother, so they ll look 
 neat and smooth. I don t want that frowsy head any 
 longer ; " and the sweet, bright little face looked out 
 once more from between shining braids of hair. 
 
 A disappointment came in the news that Amos s 
 regiment had been ordered to New York, and it was 
 probable that he never received Betsey s note ; so
 
 250 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 her anxiety as to proprieties was needless, her mother 
 told her. 
 
 Once more Stephen Hall bade his family adieu, 
 and Betsey, with her mother, set out for Salem. 
 Free and open was the way ; no fear now of lurking 
 foe. It seemed to Betsey as if the war ended then, 
 but she was yet to learn how far this was from 
 being true. 
 
 Up Salem s aristocratic old streets again she trod. 
 It seemed months since she left the place, and she 
 almost wondered that nothing had changed. Oh, 
 yes, it was good to get back again ! 
 
 "Oh, grandma, they re coming! they re coming!" 
 she heard Stephen s voice proclaiming ; and then 
 the rapid beat of his little feet on the stairs was fol 
 lowed by the swish of skirts, and in another instant 
 Aunt Pamela, grandmother, Stephen, and Polly were 
 surrounding her, each exclaiming and welcoming. 
 
 "The child must be starved to death. I don t sup 
 pose she s had a single decent meal in Boston. Why, 
 they were fairly starved out," declared Aunt Pamela. 
 
 " Not quite," returned Betsey. " Fresh meat and 
 vegetables were scarce, to be sure, and the poor 
 people, many of them, were greatly pinched ; but I 
 certainly had an abundance of such provisions as 
 could be brought by the ships."
 
 FREE. 251 
 
 "Well, I ll venture to say you ll be glad enough of 
 a slice of beef and some of our prime vegetables," 
 replied Aunt Pamela; "and I ve made a famous pan 
 dowdy for you, Betsey." 
 
 "Won t it taste good!" cried she. 
 
 "And did you see General Washington?" asked 
 Stephen, pressing close to her. 
 
 " Oh, Stephen, I did indeed, and a fine general he 
 is ! But for him your sister might still be languish 
 ing in Boston. Oh, Stephen, I ve many things to 
 tell you ! " So exciting and inspiring, to tell the truth, 
 were Betsey s stories that Stephen was constantly 
 pressing little Polly into his service, and, for some 
 time thereafter, daily bore her away before him as 
 prisoner, a chair his steed, and a pair of tongs his 
 sword. 
 
 Betsey s return to school was greeted with enthu 
 siasm by the scholars. Even Master Eaton relaxed 
 so far from discipline as to keep this returned 
 scholar talking of her adventures a whole half hour 
 after it was time for school to open, and excused 
 himself to his pupils by saying it was a lesson in 
 history. 
 
 " You re so grown up, Betsey." Parnel Beman 
 made the remark after she had silently regarded her 
 friend for some time at recess.
 
 252 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "Am I?" 
 
 " Why, yes, you arc. You don t hop and skip and 
 jump as you used, and I don t know there s a 
 great change in you." 
 
 Betsey reflected. Parnel s criticism was no doubt 
 true. She did feel older, more like a woman ; and it 
 was as her mother had said, " Life was too serious 
 to spend it in trifling," and she took it sedately, not 
 without a sense of humor, but thoughtfully and 
 quietly. 
 
 " Betsey has grown very womanly," her mother 
 said. 
 
 "It s high time," returned Grandmother Hall. "We 
 all need discipline." 
 
 "The opportunity has not been denied any of us 
 of late," replied Mrs. Hall, with a sigh, seeing dimly 
 the trouble which still lay ahead, and with a thought 
 for dear old great-grandsire, the news of whose death 
 had just reached them. 
 
 With the opening of spring the question of inde 
 pendence was more and more discussed. Every knot 
 of farmers gathering in the village stores argued pro 
 and con ; every fireside heard rights maintained ; 
 every town hall heard speeches declaring the indis 
 putable right of the Colonies to be independent of 
 Britain s rule ; and all the while near and nearer came
 
 FREE. 253 
 
 the crisis, till the old Liberty Bell at Philadelphia 
 proclaimed freedom for all the land, and its echoes 
 taken up reached north and south. 
 
 It was on a warm midsummer Sunday that Betsey 
 sat in church and listened to the Declaration of 
 Independence read by the minister. So it was first 
 heard in New England. There was a strange and 
 solemn joy apparent on the faces of many of the 
 congregation. 
 
 The end so greatly desired had come, the yoke of 
 England was actually thrown off, and yet there was 
 a sort of timidity visible, for it was a step requiring 
 intrepid courage and decision. 
 
 "And now will the war be over?" asked the 
 younger people, but half understanding. 
 
 " Indeed, no," they were told. Britain s offspring 
 is child no longer ; it is nation against nation. 
 
 But the withdrawal of the troops from the soil of 
 New England, as well as this strange new state of 
 affairs, gave every one a feeling of more certain 
 safety, even though the war was carried on with 
 added vigor in New York and further south. 
 
 Betsey was moved to the very soul by the account 
 of Washington crossing the Delaware on the night 
 of December 25th, and the year 1776 ended with 
 high hopes stirring the hearts of the Americans,
 
 254 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 for France in the person of Lafayette had given 
 aid to them, and more than one victory had been 
 won. Every bit of news was eagerly received by the 
 family at Salem, and their spirits rose and fell with 
 the fluctuating fortunes of the patriot army. 
 
 Lieutenant Hall in his winter quarters at Morris- 
 town sent many a cheery letter home. Amos wrote 
 once or twice, from Ticonderoga, of the possible 
 advance of Burgoyne from Canada ; of the doubt 
 in the minds of many of his comrades that St. Clair 
 would be able to hold his position, and the last news 
 of the retreat through the wilderness justified the 
 opinion.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A WEDDING. 
 
 THE summer of 77, was passing with such inter 
 ruptions to quiet as defeat or victory could bring, 
 when one day who should appear but Lydia and her 
 mother. They came in an old chaise, alone, to spend 
 the day. 
 
 Lydia and Betsey had not met since that memora 
 ble day when Betsey had ridden away with Captain 
 Yorke, and the two girls were overjoyed to see each 
 other. So much had happened since then, and 
 each was bubbling over with news. However, they 
 sat sedately listening to family affairs, of how Mary 
 Dodge s baby had been sick with the measles, and 
 how Uncle Benjamin s old white horse was dead, and 
 how Uncle John had been to Boston, and a dozen 
 other things of like interest. 
 
 " And, oh, Betsey ! " said Lydia, when they had 
 escaped from their elders and were walking, with 
 their arms around each other, clown the old box walk 
 in the garden, "to think that, after all, you were a 
 prisoner so long. Tell me about it." 
 
 255
 
 256 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "No, you tell first." 
 
 "No, mine will keep." 
 
 So Betsey, thus pressed, told the oft-repeated tale 
 of how she was shut up in Boston for six weeks, and 
 might still be there but for the wisdom and valor of 
 General Washington. 
 
 " And, oh, Betsey, were you not surprised when 
 you saw your father?" 
 
 " Was I not ? And more than surprised, I was 
 rejoiced." 
 
 "Tell me how he escaped. I have never heard." 
 
 " He had an old friend in Canada, who had been a 
 college mate at Harvard, and, Tory though he was, 
 he found him out and helped him to a disguise ; so 
 he reached Newburyport by way of New Hampshire, 
 and thence easily made his way home from there. 
 Now tell me of your visit to camp, Lydia." 
 
 "That is an old story. I would rather tell you of 
 more recent news." 
 
 " About what ? Yourself ? " 
 
 "Myself and another." 
 
 "Aha! tis Joseph Pearce." 
 
 " No other. We are to be married soon, and I do 
 so want you to be one of my bridemaids. Do you 
 think your mother will allow it ? You are a great 
 girl now, Betsey, near a young lady."
 
 A WKDDING. 257 
 
 " So I am, but I promised my mother I would stay 
 a little girl as long as she should bid me." 
 
 Lydia laughed. " That is easier said than done. 
 The years will not wait. You are nearly sixteen, 
 aren t you ? " 
 
 " Almost." 
 
 " And your grandmother was married at your age." 
 
 " Yes, and so was Cousin Margaret Gould. But I 
 think they were very foolish." 
 
 "And so do I, for I am eighteen, and scarce am 
 ready, nor should I be for any one but Joseph." 
 
 It was Betsey s turn to laugh. "That is to be 
 expected. But tell me of your wedding." 
 
 "It will be at home, of course, and I shall have 
 six bridemaids, of whom I shall count Miss Betsey 
 Hall as one. I have a pretty gown of muslin my 
 uncle brought from India on one of his ships." 
 
 " And in what will you walk bride, Lydia ? " 
 
 "A dove-colored crape, which came on the same 
 ship. I have a drawn bonnet of white with lute 
 string ribbons to wear with it. Shall I not do well, 
 Betsey ? " 
 
 "Indeed, you will." 
 
 " I should have fared badly but for what my uncle 
 brought me, for I could not for anything wear a 
 gown brought from England."
 
 258 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "Nor I. I fear I shall have nothing fit for a bride- 
 maid s gown, unless I encroach upon the chests of my 
 cousin Margaret, for you know all my mother s goods 
 were burned." 
 
 " Surely. Well, I think you will not need to give 
 yourself any anxiety, for most of the girls will be 
 dressed very plainly. You spoke of your cousin 
 Margaret s chests ; where are they ? " 
 
 " Oh, I have not told you ! She bequeathed me 
 her wardrobe when she went away, all save what she 
 took with her." 
 
 "And are the clothes very fine?" 
 
 "Oh, very! silks and velvets,* and laces. Such fine 
 things, quite unsuited for my quiet life, and besides, 
 many were brought from England, and I would not 
 wear them." 
 
 " Oh, but they were not brought lately, were they ? " 
 
 " Not all, and some did not come from England at 
 all. They came from Erance, and from the Indies." 
 
 "What a fine lady you would look in them. I think 
 I should be sorely tempted to use them." 
 
 " No, you wouldn t," returned Betsey, emphatically, 
 "not when you thought of Joseph fighting for his 
 country. Has he listed again, Lyddy ? " 
 
 " No, he has not, and I hope the war will be over 
 before he decides to."
 
 A WEDDING. 259 
 
 "Then you will live in Marblehead." 
 
 "Yes; it is a fine town, is it not?" 
 
 " It is so. I shall like to know you are that much 
 nearer, Lyddy." 
 
 " You will come and see me often, Betsey, and, who 
 knows ? you may some day settle there yourself. But 
 there, we haven t asked your mother a word about 
 your being bridemaid, and we have come on purpose. 
 No doubt, however, my mother has mentioned the 
 subject." 
 
 So up through the borders brave with bergamot 
 and marigolds, with hollyhocks and dahlias, they saun 
 tered, to find their elders volubly discussing Lydia s 
 plans. 
 
 " You will let Betsey come to us for the wedding, 
 won t you, Cousin Polly ? " asked Lydia. 
 
 " Betsey has done too much gadding already," ob 
 jected Grandmother Hall. " She ought to stay at 
 home contentedly for one while." 
 
 " But she hasn t meant to stay away," returned 
 Lydia, not so awed by grandmother as Betsey was ; 
 " and she had so forlorn a time for my sake, that I 
 should be allowed to offer her a little pleasure." 
 
 "For your sake?" quoth grandmother. 
 
 "Yes; for I know full well she allowed herself to 
 be carried away rather than detain us on our way to
 
 260 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 camp. That is true, Betsey. You need not frown 
 me down." 
 
 Grandmother said nothing, only clicked her needles 
 with added rapidity. 
 
 " Should you like to go ? " inquired Mrs. Hall, 
 softly, of her daughter. 
 
 "If you do," returned she. 
 
 Her mother smiled. " I will not promise that, 
 although it is quite likely I shall go. Have you 
 heard that Abby and her mother will be there, as well 
 as Aunt Desire, and a great many of your relatives ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " Betsey s eyes grew big with anticipation. 
 
 "Then she is to go," said Lydia, in a satisfied tone. 
 
 "I think we may say yes." 
 
 "And what am I to wear?" whispered Betsey. 
 
 "We will see to that," returned her mother. So it 
 was settled and Lydia went away satisfied, while Bet 
 sey was much excited over the prospect of taking part 
 in such a very interesting affair, and whenever the 
 opportunity occurred discussed the subject. 
 
 " I wish I could see you think less of your poor 
 perishing body," said Grandmother Hall, gloomily, as 
 the question of Betsey s bridemaid frock was brought 
 up the next day. " It is not a time for frivolity and 
 dress to be paramount." 
 
 "I don t mean it to be, grandmother," replied Bet-
 
 A WEDDING. 26l 
 
 sey ; " but don t you think I ought to try to keep up 
 the credit of the family ? " she added slyly. Grand 
 mother was a great stickler on that point, Betsey 
 well knew, and before the war had been wont to 
 wear rich stuffs even though her gowns were fash 
 ioned plainly. 
 
 " The credit of our family depends upon their prin 
 ciples, Betsey, and not upon the show they make," 
 returned grandmother. 
 
 Betsey was silent. She was but a girl and pleas 
 ures were few. Lydia s wedding was a great event in 
 her young life. 
 
 " I hope you re not thinking of wearing any of 
 your cousin Margaret s ill-gotten finery," continued 
 grandmother. 
 
 " Ill-gotten, oh, grandmother ! " Betsey resented the 
 charge. 
 
 " Yes, the stuff represents extravagance and an 
 encouragement of foreign goods. You know that, 
 Betsey." 
 
 " But they were not all brought from England." 
 
 " No, but it is domestic manufacture that we must 
 protect. However 
 
 Betsey looked up, but grandmother did not continue. 
 The girl was disappointed. Loyal though she was, 
 she had indulged in a secret wish that hef mother
 
 262 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 would select some one of the dainty gowns in her 
 cousin Margaret s chests, and would allow her to wear 
 it ; but now, even should she consent A struggle 
 went on in the girl s breast, but she conquered, and 
 looking up she said sweetly, " I will wear none of 
 Cousin Margaret s finery, I promise you, grand 
 mother." 
 
 " That s my good child," returned grandmother, ap 
 provingly ; "we will find you a proper frock to wear." 
 And the next morning Betsey was called into her 
 grandmother s room. 
 
 It was warm weather and the windows were all 
 open, but that did not prevent the sweet odor of 
 lavender from pervading the apartment. Grandmother 
 was bending over an old oak chest from which she 
 was taking rolls of fragrant linen. One package, care 
 fully pinned up, was taken out last. 
 
 " Here, Betsey," said the old lady, " I think we 
 have a proper gown for you." 
 
 Betsey watched eagerly as her grandmother undid 
 the parcel, and shook out a roll of cream-colored silk. 
 
 "There!" said grandmother. "This was made in 
 Pennsylvania by Susannah Wright, who raised the 
 silkworms herself. It was brought me by my sister, 
 who made a journey there, and who was a friend of 
 Susannah s ; you have heard me tell of her. I had in-
 
 A WEDDING. 263 
 
 tended this for a wedding gown for you, but you can 
 take your choice in wearing it now or saving it for 
 some future occasion of like nature." 
 
 " But suppose I die an old maid," returned Betsey, 
 "then I could never wear it. I think, grandmother, 
 I will make sure of it," she said, laughing; "and, oh, 
 grandmother, tis a beautiful piece ! Thank you for 
 it. I will set to work this very day. With my 
 mother s help I shall surely get it done." 
 
 "We will all take a hand if need be. I have 
 here," and grandmother dove down into the chest 
 and brought up a box, "a bit of lace, also made this 
 side the water. I think we can stretch a point in 
 using it, for although it is of imported thread, and 
 was made by a French woman, it was made here 
 in Massachusetts." 
 
 " Oh, grandmother, tell me about it ! Have I ever 
 heard the story ? " 
 
 " In part. You remember that when I was a girl 
 I lived for a time at Marblehcad, and during a 
 dreadful storm a vessel was wrecked on the coast 
 near by. You have heard me tell of Clothilde 
 Lamar, who was saved from the wreck, and became 
 an inmate of my father s house till she married." 
 
 " Yes ; the pretty French girl whose picture I have 
 seen."
 
 264 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " The same. She was a girl of excellent parts, al 
 though too volatile and childish. She was, however, 
 industrious and thrifty, grateful exceedingly, and gen 
 erous. She made an excellent wife for an honest 
 goodman. At parting she gave me this piece of 
 lace made by her own hands ; " and grandmother 
 shook it out and held it up that Betsey might see 
 the pattern. 
 
 " Oh, it is most beautiful, grandmother ! I shall 
 like much to wear it, the more that I know its his 
 tory ;" and Betsey was about to gather up her pos 
 sessions and carry them away to show her mother 
 when her grandmother detained her. 
 
 " One thing more, Betsey. I have always intended 
 when you were sixteen to give you this string of 
 gold beads. You have so nearly reached the age, 
 that I will anticipate a little and give them to you 
 to wear to the wedding;" and from a curious old box 
 grandmother lifted the string of gold beads, about 
 the size of a pea, and thirty-nine in number. 
 
 Betsey took them delightedly. Grandmother, usu 
 ally so strict and uncompromising, was distinguish 
 ing herself this morning, and her granddaughter s 
 responsive little heart outran its usual stricture of 
 repression, for the pleased girl threw her arms 
 around her grandmother and kissed her rapturously.
 
 A WEDDIXCi. 265 
 
 "There, there, Betsey! that will do," said grand 
 mother; "such delight over bawbles is not becoming 
 nor praiseworthy ; " and back into their leash went 
 Betsey s emotions. 
 
 However, all this acquisition of goods seemed to 
 subdue the covetousness with which she had thought 
 of Cousin Margaret s chests, and she set to work at 
 once to make the new frock. 
 
 The sleeves, which were to the elbow, were trimmed 
 with a ruffle of the lace, and a bit of it adorned the 
 neck which was cut square. The frock was fitted 
 over stiff stays, and although it was plain, was very 
 neat and pretty, Betsey thought, as she surveyed 
 her figure in the little mirror in her room. 
 
 Mourning was not worn at that time, for it had 
 become a more grievous fault to wear imported mate 
 rials than to show respect to established customs. 
 So grandmother wore a dress of " pressed woollen " 
 of sober hue, a fine handkerchief folded across her 
 breast, a close cap of linen, edged with lace, and 
 black mittens. Betsey s mother was similarly attired, 
 except that her gown was dark blue, and her cap of 
 a less severe fashion. 
 
 It was tacitly decided that the children Stephen 
 and Polly should remain in Aunt Pamela s care, for 
 festivities were far removed from her, every one knew.
 
 266 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 It was to be a home wedding, but the fact of there 
 being many relatives promised a large company. 
 
 Carrying their best caps in bandboxes, and one of 
 the same receptacles being used to hold Betsey s 
 frock, they started by stage for Beverly, where Tim 
 othy Powell would meet them, and take them the 
 rest of the way. 
 
 Timothy s honest face beamed at the sight of Bet 
 sey. He was much interested in this wedding, for 
 had he not had a hand in it through carrying Lydia 
 to see her sweetheart ? 
 
 " Wai, I vum ! " he exclaimed, as he helped Betsey 
 down from the stage. " Ain t ye growed ! What a 
 great gal you re gittin to be. Next thing I ll be to 
 your weddin , I guess." 
 
 "No, indeed; I m in no haste, Timothy," she 
 replied. " I ll wait till the war is over. I d not con 
 tent myself with a stay-at-home husband, nor yet 
 would I wish to mope at home without him." 
 
 " Wai, now, dew tell ! You ve thought it all 
 aout." 
 
 Betsey s laugh covered her blushes. Cousin Mar 
 garet s "notions" had caused her to give way to 
 some day-dreaming, if the truth were but known. 
 She turned the subject by asking, " Have Aunt De 
 sire and Aunt Nancy and Abby come yet?"
 
 A WEDDING. 267 
 
 " I swan, I dunno. I ain t thought to ask. Like 
 as not they have. Hovv d they come ? " 
 
 "I don t know just which route. If they were in 
 their own wagon, they d take one route, and if they 
 came by stage, they d go round by Lynn." 
 
 " I guess then they ve come with their own team. 
 I ve met the stage every time." 
 
 And sure enough, as they drew up before the house, 
 there stood Abby and Aunt Nancy waiting to greet 
 them. 
 
 It was a great reunion, for, even in war-time, a 
 wedding is not a matter of secondary interest, and 
 Uncle John Porter s house was filled to its utmost 
 capacity with wedding guests. So, too, was Uncle 
 Benjamin Porter s home at Beverly, that big house 
 close by the tan-yard, from which leathery and barky 
 odors uprose to greet the nostrils of those comfort 
 ably established in rooms overlooking vats and heaps 
 of tan. 
 
 Neither of these uncles had yet joined the army 
 proper. They belonged, however, to the militia, and 
 later, at an appeal for more troops, would be ready to 
 march away. They were, therefore, both at home for 
 this festivity, and appeared in their old cocked hats 
 resting upon their full-bottomed wigs, coats with full, 
 broad skirts, large pockets and flaps, silver buttons
 
 268 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 ornamenting not only the front of the coat, but the 
 long waistcoat, which was buttoned closely below a 
 simple neck-cloth ; ruffled shirt-fronts and swinging 
 ties of lace were a little too giddy for these sober 
 men. Their breeches fitted closely, with buckles at 
 the knee, and their long gray stockings showed above 
 their silver-buckled shoes. 
 
 The young people stood a little in awe of these 
 two, for they, like their sister, Betsey s grandmother, 
 showed a certain austerity and dignified reserve which 
 was not easily broken through. Withal, they were 
 good, kind-hearted men, with a keen sense of humor, 
 which displayed itself in many a dry, shrewd remark 
 that added to the entertainment of their friends on 
 such occasions. 
 
 These two were quite the opposite in appearance, 
 Uncle Benjamin being tall and angular like his 
 brother Abiel, while Uncle John was short and stout. 
 The family connection being large, the rooms of the 
 old house were filled with guests, taking advantage 
 of an opportunity for chatting and gossiping not often 
 afforded them. Yet the main topic was the war. 
 
 Betsey, in the centre of a little group, listened to 
 the talk of Aunt Desire, Aunt Nancy, and Grand 
 mother Hall. 
 
 " There is no news to our advantage," said grand-
 
 A WEDDING. 269 
 
 mother. " There is, to be sure, much baffling ac 
 count of the proceedings about the Delaware. I 
 mistrust there is little to be hoped for in the matter 
 of success." 
 
 "Tut! tut!" cried Aunt Desire. " Lizbeth, you 
 must not croak. That was a fine bout they had at 
 Bennington, and suz ! how I should like to have been 
 with that little party in whaleboats that pounced on 
 the British Prescott, and bore him out of his bed 
 through his own troops. It was a pretty adventure;" 
 and Aunt Desire laughed silently. 
 
 "Yes, that you would like to have been one of 
 them I don t doubt," replied Aunt Nancy. "You d 
 have shouldered your gun as handily as any. Men s 
 wear does never daunt you, Desire." 
 
 " It is nothing but war, war, battle, battle, all 
 the time," pouted a pretty girl, sitting by. 
 
 " Fy ! Fy ! You shouldn t talk so, Jerusha," said 
 her mother. 
 
 "What would you have us talk about?" asked 
 Grandmother Hall, looking severely at the girl. 
 
 "Oh, of the bride-maids and the brideman ! Who 
 is he to be, I wonder ? I cannot find out." 
 
 "You ll find out when you see him, I suppose," 
 Aunt Desire remarked ; " and that will be soon 
 enough."
 
 2/O A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " She is a pretty bride, is not Cousin Lyddy ? " 
 said Jerusha. "I think her Joseph a lucky man." 
 
 " Handsome is as handsome does," returned Aunt 
 Nancy, oracularly. " She is a pretty and a sweet 
 maid. Whether she will make a good wife is to be 
 seen." 
 
 " I hear she deterred Joseph from reenlisting," 
 said Aunt Desire; "and that I consider a weakness." 
 
 " Rather excusable, Desire, just at this time," put 
 in Aunt Nancy. "The girl is of a soft nature. You 
 cannot be surprised that she was loath to let him go." 
 
 " I hear he has but deferred it," interposed Betsey ; 
 "and doubtless, when the honeymoon wanes, he will 
 shoulder his gun again." 
 
 "I trust so," remarked her grandmother. "I should 
 think ill of him if he, young and lusty, should stay 
 at home while older men are sacrificing themselves. 
 But you are called, Betsey ; " and the girl ran off at 
 the summons. 
 
 "We are ready to dress the bride, Betsey," called 
 Abby. " Come along and do your part." And an 
 hour later Lydia was adorned in all the glory of her 
 wedding raiment, while her admiring bridemaicls vied 
 with each other in their praises of her looks. 
 
 The white India muslin did indeed make a charm 
 ing wedding gown, and fell in soft folds around the
 
 A WEDDING. 271 
 
 girlish form. Lydia s violet eyes dropped modestly 
 at so much praise, a glint of sunshine changed her 
 fair hair into a golden aureole, and she appeared like 
 some sweet saint, with the look of mingled awe and 
 happiness upon her face. 
 
 "And who is the brideman," asked Jerusha, curi 
 ously ; " and which of us is to be so lucky as to win 
 his favor ? " 
 
 " That is to be seen ; but he is a right pretty 
 fellow, and I ll warrant if patriotism is to be one 
 of the terms under which he surrenders, that Miss 
 Betsey will have the best show," said Ruth Dodge. 
 "We all heard of how she fooled the British." 
 
 "And you think she will be prepared to fool a 
 lad easily. Fy, Ruth ! " said Abby. 
 
 "Ah, not that!" Ruth made haste to protest; "but 
 she has been so valiant that I don t doubt she ll win 
 the prize this time." 
 
 "If prize it be," put in another. 
 
 " Master David has a good inheritance and is an 
 orphan just come of age," Ruth informed the speaker. 
 
 "Ah! then he is a prize if his morals match his 
 possessions." 
 
 "Which they do. I have never heard ill of him, 
 save that he seems a little light and volatile, but he 
 only appears so, I imagine," Ruth replied.
 
 2/2 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "You see Ruth knows all about it," laughed 
 Jerusha. 
 
 " And well she may," put in Lydia ; " she has 
 known David all her life, in fact, they are first 
 cousins." 
 
 " Well, girls, the hour has come, we must go 
 down," declared Abby. And the bevy of maidens 
 escorted the bride downstairs, where she was met 
 by the groom who wore a blue coat which fitted 
 tight to his body, and was cut away on the thighs. 
 Silver buttoned it was, and opened over a ruffled 
 shirt ; his neck-cloth was of lace and the ends were 
 long and swinging ; there were silver buckles at his 
 knees and upon his shoes ; his stockings were of 
 white silk. The brideman, or groomsman as he was 
 called later, was similarly attired. 
 
 " They are a goodly pair," whispered Abby to Betsey. 
 
 "They are so," she whispered back. 
 
 But now the old parson stepped forward and the 
 long ceremony began. Prayer, hymn, exhortation, 
 nothing was omitted, and it was, therefore, a tedious 
 ordeal for the bride and groom ; but since it was the 
 custom they stood gravely and solemnly till the pro 
 longed harangue was over, and must have felt them 
 selves to be very completely joined since the process 
 required so much welding.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FOR MY COUNTRY. 
 
 THE words of the minister had hardly died away, 
 and the hum of voices began to take the place 
 of the long monologue, when there was a stir in the 
 hall outside. Uncle Benjamin hurried to see the cause 
 of it, but he came back quickly, followed by a young 
 man. Uncle Benjamin looked excited ; he waved a 
 paper over his head. " Good news ! Good news ! " 
 he cried, " Burgoyne has surrendered ! " 
 
 Such a shout of triumph as went up. It drowned 
 the congratulations which had begun to be offered 
 to the bride and groom, and every one crowded around 
 the young soldier to hear the details. Betsey, on the 
 outskirts of the crowd, did not, at first, see the new 
 comer, but as she pressed nearer and nearer, she at 
 last caught a glimpse of whom, but Amos ! 
 
 " Oh, Abby ! " she exclaimed, in a suppressed tone, 
 which she fain would have made a joyous cry. "It 
 is Amos, oh, think of it ! Amos ! " 
 
 "What, your friend, the fifer of whom you have 
 told me ? Why, Betsey, he has grown to man s 
 s 2 73
 
 274 A GIRL OF 7 6 - 
 
 stature, and, ah me ! I think he is a fair specimen. 
 My heart is quite lost to him already. For all he 
 is travel-worn, he is likely to win more admiration 
 than the pretty brideman in all his fine toggery." 
 
 Betsey bit her lip, for she saw that Abby spoke 
 truly, and that the girls were crowding around Amos, 
 leaving the wedding party quite in the lurch. 
 
 " Methinks I ll list to-morrow," spoke up the bride 
 man, young David Conant, "for neither maids nor 
 any one else ever withstood the fascinations of the 
 military. See, Joseph, even your new spouse has only 
 eyes for him." David spoke laughingly, but Joseph 
 looked grave. 
 
 "He gives me a new sense of my duty," he said in 
 a low voice. " I must not tarry long, I think." 
 
 " Oh, Joseph ! " Lydia turned her sweet eyes upon 
 him. "On our wedding-day you speak of leaving me." 
 
 "No, sweetheart, not upon our wedding-day would 
 I leave you. I but thought the time must come." 
 
 Meanwhile, Amos was relating the details of the 
 surrender ; old and young hung on his words. 
 
 " Twas most gallant and courteous of our side to 
 allow such conditions," Uncle John was saying, as 
 Betsey came near enough to hear particulars. " You 
 say none of the American soldiers witnessed the hu 
 miliation of the British."
 
 FOR MY COUNTRY. 2/5 
 
 " None. To the tune of Yankee Doodle a body of 
 us marched into the lines of the British, who marched 
 out and laid down their arms. Bread was then served 
 them, for they had none, nor even flour to make 
 any." 
 
 At the mention of " Yankee Doodle," Betsey raised 
 herself on tiptoe and smiled, over the heads of the 
 others, at Amos, who caught sight of her bright face, 
 and smiled back. Both remembered the scene in the 
 schoolhouse, a year and a half before. 
 
 "And were there many prisoners?" asked Aunt 
 Desire. 
 
 " A great many, and deserters in large numbers. 
 Oh, it was a brave victory! A large train of brass 
 artillery, muskets, and many other things were sur 
 rendered, so that we had stores as well as prisoners." 
 
 " And now the north will be ours," cried Uncle 
 John. " But come, lad, this news has led us from 
 our duty to this company. Abby, can you not see 
 that our young friend has refreshment?" 
 
 "Oh!" replied Amos, "I have been amply re 
 freshed at Salem where I stopped to see Mrs. Pam 
 ela Porter." 
 
 " Nevertheless, lad, a bit and a sup will hearten 
 you. Take him along, Abby, and we ll all follow." 
 
 So Betsey saw Amos borne off triumphantly by
 
 2/6 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Abby, while she, under the escort of David Conant, 
 followed with the rest of the company, to where a 
 feast of good things awaited them. Betsey was long 
 ing to have a few confidential words with her soldier 
 friend. He looked proud and happy as if he had 
 good news to tell, and she was sure that something 
 had occurred to bring such a look to his face, while 
 she wondered impatiently what it could be. 
 
 " Our young soldier seems to have won the favor of 
 all the girls," said David. "Yet, if I am not mis 
 taken, he smiles more kindly upon Miss Abby Breed 
 than on any other." 
 
 Betsey looked over to the other side of the room. 
 To be sure Amos did appear to be mightily occupied 
 with Abby, and she had not seen him for eighteen 
 months. She compressed her lips, and hurt pride 
 made her turn to her companion with a little smile, 
 saying saucily : " True, but smiles do not exist only 
 for Amos Dwight. I am sure you could win as many 
 if you were to don a soldier s cap. Why, Master 
 Conant, are you not fighting for your country?" 
 
 " Perhaps because no fair maid has thought it worth 
 while to urge it." 
 
 "A pretty reason, forsooth. Does it need pretty 
 maids, or indeed, maids at all, to teach a man his 
 duty?"
 
 FOR MY COUNTRY. 2// 
 
 " Not at all times, but it is much to feel that one 
 leaves at home a brave little heart to take an interest 
 in him." 
 
 "And ache for him, eh?" 
 
 " Yes, that is not a sad thought. One does not 
 like to suffer alone. Misery loves company." 
 
 " But tis a selfish thought. Men are not unselfish, 
 however, except those like my father, or perhaps I 
 should say young men are not." 
 
 " You would bid us go and suffer privation and 
 fatigue, and yet deny us the comfort of knowing you 
 were sorry for us. Truly, Miss Betsey, that, too, is 
 selfish." 
 
 " Maybe so, and it may be that maids are not a 
 whit less selfish than lads. But we have wandered 
 from our point. You have not said truly why you 
 do not list." 
 
 "Truly, I do say, none have cared to urge it." 
 
 " Oh, I fear you are not quite truthful ! Some one 
 must have." 
 
 " No ; the boys have rallied me for a stay-at-home, 
 and the old folks have scolded, but none have said 
 so bravely and sweetly as you, Miss Betsey, go, for 
 duty s sake." 
 
 "Then, I repeat it, go, for duty s sake." 
 
 "If you will add, and for my sake. 1
 
 2/8 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 Betsey shook her head. "No; who would win such 
 a concession must prove himself worthy of it." 
 
 "Then, forsooth, I ll win it. At least bid me God 
 speed." 
 
 " I do, with all my heart, and may you win honor 
 and glory in routing the enemy." 
 
 " Then it s a bargain. I go no later than to-mor 
 row, if so I can manage it." 
 
 Amos, looking over at the two, saw so earnest a 
 look on their faces that first he wondered why they 
 appeared so absorbed, and then was uncomfortable 
 at the thought it suggested. He returned that same 
 night to Salem, and Betsey had only a few words 
 with him in the presence of several others. And 
 when she next saw him, the glad look had left his 
 face, and there were no opportunities for confidences 
 given her. 
 
 They had all returned from Uncle John Porter s 
 the day after the wedding. Abby and her mother 
 had come with them for a visit. Amos was to stop 
 for a few days, and then return to his regiment. 
 
 For some reason he did not seem so calm and 
 philosophic as usual, and gave his old schoolmate 
 only pleasant and polite words, but no opportunity 
 for friendly talk. 
 
 The young brideman gallantly escorted Betsey
 
 FOR MY COUNTRY. 2/Q 
 
 home, and promised that when she next saw him, he 
 would be in the uniform of an American soldier. 
 
 "Be sure you do not come till then," said Betsey, 
 laughingly, as she bade him good-by. 
 
 "You will not speak to me, otherwise?" 
 
 " Perhaps not, or if I do twill be to chide you 
 for a laggard." 
 
 She had greatly enjoyed her cousin Lydia s wed 
 ding, and looked forward with delight to spending a 
 few days with her so soon as she should have fairly 
 become domiciled. 
 
 "Come over next Saturday," Lydia urged, "you and 
 Abby. I shall be fairly at home by then, and you 
 can see me walk bride, Betsey ;" and Betsey consented, 
 although doubtful as to the righteousness of going 
 from her own church even for one Sunday ; but Lydia 
 had begged very hard and the temptation was great, 
 even though she felt sure grandmother would not 
 approve. And, therefore, on Saturday she made ready 
 to start for Marblehead, scarce expecting that David 
 Conant would be on hand. 
 
 "Come, Abby," she said, "it is time we were on 
 our way. We do not want to be overtaken by the 
 shades of evening, and we do not want to trespass 
 on the Sabbath s demands."
 
 28O A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 But Abby held back and presently said, " Isn t 
 Master Dwight going with us ? " 
 
 Betsey tossed her head a little proudly. "Amos? 
 I m sure I don t know. I never asked him." 
 
 "Oh, Betsey! and he is going back so soon." 
 
 "Well, what of that? Me has not made himself 
 very merry company. I would be better pleased if 
 we had a less silent escort." 
 
 "You mean that rattlepate David Conant." 
 
 " Rattlepate ! Much you know of him. He is to 
 be one of our country s defenders, too. Pray speak 
 with more respect, Miss Abby. He will yet win his 
 shoulder-straps. You will see." 
 
 " Oh, Betsey ! he has made you think him a brave 
 man, when he is but a braggart." 
 
 " He never pretended to be aught but what he is. 
 I have no promise from him save that he will join 
 the army. Why do you talk so, Abby ? " 
 
 " Because I don t like to see you cast aside old 
 friends for new." 
 
 "And who is casting aside old friends? Not I." 
 
 " You well know that Lydia and Joseph expected 
 Amos to go with us to-day." 
 
 "Even so. I am not Master Dvvight s superior 
 officer to order him hither and thither. If he wants 
 to go, I am not standing in his way." And Betsey,
 
 FOR MY COUNTRY. 28 1 
 
 with a very young ladyish air, left the room with her 
 head high. 
 
 " What has come over Betsey ? " Abby said to Amos 
 who just then entered. " I cannot make her out. 
 She has not been the same since the wedding. She 
 is too sweet and wise a girl to have her head turned 
 by excitement. She is so eager to go to Marblehead, 
 and talks of nothing else but the fun that will be 
 going on next week, the quilting party and what not 
 with which Lyddy promises to entertain us." 
 
 Amos stood looking thoughtfully at the little work- 
 bag Betsey had left behind her. Somehow this new 
 Betsey was altogether a different being from the 
 little girl he had left eighteen months before. Her 
 pervasive presence seemed to fill the room even when 
 she was not in it. She was no longer the demure 
 little maiden of his boyhood days, but a spirited 
 young lady, who chose her own way, and followed it. 
 
 " You will go with us, Master Dwight," said Abby, 
 timidly. 
 
 "I have promised Aunt Pamela to attend the nutt 
 ing here." 
 
 " Oh ! " Abby s face fell, but without a word she 
 arose and prepared to leave the room. At the door 
 she looked back. Amos was standing by the chair 
 0:1 which hung Betsey s bag. His grave face wore
 
 282 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 a still more serious look. Abby turned with her hand 
 on the latch. " Master Dwight," she said, " I have 
 a brother, my only one, in the army he is, and he 
 tells me all that troubles him. Won t you tell me 
 how I can bring about a better feeling between you 
 and Betsey ? You used to be such good friends, and 
 now you seem no more than mere acquaintances." 
 
 Amos looked at her wistfully. "Thank you," he 
 replied. "I am afraid it is only the change that comes 
 with time. We are boy and girl no longer, and time 
 does not go back. I confess I did expect to give 
 many confidences to my friend, but somehow every 
 thing has changed, and I feel like going away with 
 out telling any one what I had expected to." 
 
 "Oh, that s too bad! You d better think better of 
 it, and come to Marblehead, Master Dwight." But she 
 felt that there was no use in pressing Amos further. 
 One of those intangible walls, so hard to penetrate, had 
 risen up between Betsey and the young soldier, and it 
 was useless for an outsider to try to break it down. 
 
 Betsey was bustling about in her room getting her 
 finery together, when Abby came up. " See, Abby," 
 she said, " I shall have my new red cloak to wear, 
 and my beads, and I have this pretty tucker. So I 
 shall appear tolerably well before the fine people of 
 Marblehead."
 
 FOR MY COUNTRY. 283 
 
 " What does possess you, Betsey ? " asked Abby. 
 " You are not wont to be so tasty about dress." 
 
 " No ? Well, it is high time I thought more of it. 
 Are you ready, Abby?" 
 
 Marblehead was at this time a more prosperous 
 town than Salem, second only to Boston in the num 
 ber of its inhabitants, and showed many handsome 
 houses. -It was, therefore, into quite fine society that 
 Betsey and Abby were going. 
 
 The two set off in the fine weather of a crisp 
 November day to pay their first visit to the new Mrs. 
 Pearce, and had hardly proceeded very far before they 
 were met by David Conant. 
 
 " And why are you in civilian s clothes ? " was 
 Betsey s greeting. 
 
 " Fair mistress Betsey, it is because I have not yet 
 had time to set my affairs in order, and I am loath to 
 leave Marblehead when the prospect is promised of 
 certain festivities at which two neighboring damsels 
 are to be present." 
 
 Betsey looked scornful. "That is but trivial talk," 
 she replied, glancing at his gay attire. " Lace ruffles 
 become you well perhaps, Master Conant, but I would 
 rather see you in plain homespun, and carrying a 
 gun on your shoulder." 
 
 " Do you not grant me a little grace, Miss Betsey ? "
 
 284 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "Not a day, not an hour." 
 
 " But to-morrow will be the Sabbath. Surely I may 
 wait till Monday." 
 
 "Till Monday, then," she returned. But she 
 marched on like a grenadier, and was very curt and 
 crisp with the young man the rest of the way. 
 
 Lydia greeted them with all the effusion that could 
 be desired, and showed them her fine house with great 
 pride. 
 
 Betsey greatly admired Lydia s pretty outfit, even 
 though homespun linen and woollen alone was em 
 ployed in the making of it. Still some family jewels 
 had come to her, and Joseph had presented her with 
 a little casket of trinkets which had belonged to his 
 mother. 
 
 Of all Betsey s possessions, there was probably noth 
 ing in which she took a more innocent pride than 
 in her string of gold beads. Her mother, to be sure, 
 had carried away from Charlestown her own little case 
 of jewels, which some day would be Betsey s ; but that 
 "some day" is always a very indefinite period, and did 
 not represent a very definite possession to Betsey. 
 Cousin Margaret had taken away all such adornments 
 with her, and therefore Betsey s only real bit of frip 
 pery was her string of beads. She frequently took 
 them from their quaint, little wooden box, and turned
 
 FOR MY COUNTRY. 285 
 
 them over, letting the yellow balls drop one by one 
 through her fingers. She loved pretty things, for all 
 she was such a little Puritan. She was often filled 
 .with a secret regret that the state of affairs did not 
 permit her to wear, with a serene conscience, the 
 dainty things which her cousin Margaret had given 
 her, and she wondered if ever the time would come 
 when it would not be wrong. She had lost her own 
 little childish belongings in the fire, and these beads 
 represented a new treasure, absolutely her own, of 
 which no one could deprive her. 
 
 "Are they mine? All mine, grandmother?" she 
 asked, as she first clasped them around her white 
 throat. 
 
 " Yes, Betsey," was the answer. 
 
 " To do with as I please ? I don t have to give 
 them back if I don t behave myself, or anything like 
 that." 
 
 " How you talk. No. You re too big a girl to be 
 treated as if you were a baby. Your own conscience 
 ought to be sufficient to keep you from doing wrong, 
 and not the fear of being deprived of a trinket. I 
 am surprised at you, Betsey." 
 
 "Oh, grandmother, I didn t mean any wrong! I was 
 only asking because I do so like to have something of 
 my very own; I haven t had a real treasure for so long."
 
 286 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " Weil, child, well, they are your very own ; you can 
 fling them in the sea if you like." 
 
 But Betsey had no wish to do any such thing, and 
 she took them to Marblehead, very proud of an op 
 portunity of wearing them. 
 
 The quiet Sabbath began with Saturday at sunset, 
 and very sedately was the first evening passed in Mrs. 
 Pearce s new house. There was, however, quite an 
 excitement in the prospect of the morrow, and when 
 they started to meeting, in all the congregation who 
 eagerly watched to see Lyclia " walk bride," no one 
 was more honestly proud than Betsey of her pretty 
 cousin. 
 
 Very pretty, truly, did Lydia look in her dove-col 
 ored crape, her white bonnet with ostrich plumes, her 
 lace tucker, and her silk mantle. Joseph, too, was 
 very smart in his wedding attire, and when, before 
 seating themselves, they slowly turned around that 
 all the congregation might have a view of their 
 bridal array, Betsey was sure that never was admira 
 tion more worthily won than by this handsome pair. 
 
 Her thoughts, however, took a new turn when the 
 long sermon began, and she tried to give her best 
 attention to it. There was on that day, as was made 
 very often during the Revolution, a special collection 
 for the Continental army. It seemed as if on this
 
 "ALL THE CONGREGATION WATCHED TO SEE LYDIA WALK BRIDE.
 
 FOR MY COUNTRY, 287 
 
 occasion an unwonted enthusiasm was stirring the 
 hearts of the people, for winter was approaching and 
 the devoted army faced want and suffering. 
 
 Betsey herself was more than usually moved, and 
 as she saw bits of jewellery, articles of clothing, and 
 even bullets, made from leaden weights, brought for 
 ward, she considered herself a very niggardly person 
 to have nothing to give. She saw Lydia look up 
 pleadingly at her husband, and he smiled down at 
 her, so she knew that no small sum came from that 
 quarter. She looked around her ; here a girl slipped 
 off her one little ring and bestowed that, another gave 
 a heavy old watch, a third unfastened her earrings. 
 
 Betsey felt a sudden presentiment of sacrifice re 
 quired which she did not want to meet. She tried to 
 turn away her eyes, to pretend that she was a visitor, 
 that she had already given up and suffered enough, 
 that everything except that she had an offering to 
 spare. 
 
 But it was no use. She grew very red, then quite 
 pale, and fingered the beads around her neck. Then 
 she glanced helplessly at Abby, but she was look 
 ing straight ahead, in conscious virtue of having 
 nothing to give. 
 
 Betsey bit her lips and told herself that it would 
 never do to give away her grandmother s gift, an
 
 288 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 heirloom, really ; but then came the recollection that 
 grandmother had said they were hers to throw away 
 if she wanted. "And I m such a wicked, purse- 
 proud creature that I am not willing to give them to 
 my country," she thought. "I will, -I will." She 
 stealthily lifted the beads from her neck, and they 
 slid down warmly into her hand. She looked neither 
 to the right nor the left, but pushed her way out 
 of the pew, and carried her one treasure to the altar 
 and laid it on the heap of trinkets already there. 
 Then she came quietly back and sat down. 
 
 Abby looked at her sympathetically. She knew 
 how fond Betsey was of her beads, but her look 
 was not returned. The giver of the beads was long 
 ing to cry ; her heart was beating ; she missed not 
 only the clasp of the circling necklace, but she 
 missed the delight of possession. As yet she was 
 not glad that she had given it. She might be to 
 morrow, but now she was only conscious of a rebel 
 lious feeling at having a conscience which would not 
 permit her to keep what she so much wanted. 
 
 Abby was not the only one who noted her sacri 
 fice. The gay and debonair David Conant had wit 
 nessed her act with mixed feelings, and his was the 
 hand that ransomed the beads. Betsey little knew 
 in whose keeping they rested the next night.
 
 FOR MY COUNTRY. 289 
 
 "Oh, Betsey," Abby whispered as they came home 
 from meeting, "how generous you are! I am afraid 
 I could not have done that." 
 
 "I m not generous," Betsey snapped out; and she 
 ran up to her room before her cousin could be aware 
 that she was indulging in a wanton grief, that of 
 mourning over the sacrifice of a mere gewgaw. 
 
 "I may be glad to-morrow, but to-day I m not," 
 she told herself as she went down to dinner. 
 
 Praises for her patriotic spirit met her on every 
 side. To all of them she gave an indifferent silence ; 
 and when Abby came to her and said, " Amos will 
 be proud of you, Betsey," she turned on her an 
 indignant look. 
 
 "Amos!" she said scornfully. "Why do you 
 harp on that one string, Abby ? Tis nothing but 
 Amos, Amos, all day ; one would think there were 
 but one soldier left ! Talk about the quilting-bee or 
 something more novel. If your thoughts do so run 
 on Amos, pray keep them to yourself or give voice 
 to them before some other." And Abby was effectu 
 ally silenced.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE QUILTING-BEE. 
 
 IT was a busy little company which gathered in 
 Lydia s new home to help make up the pieced 
 quilts which had been given her as bridal presents. 
 Slim girls in their homespun gowns an occasional 
 gay chintz to be seen among them plied their 
 needles swiftly as they worked away around the big 
 frames on which the quilts were stretched. Pretty 
 girls they were, many of them, who, even in this chill 
 November weather, wore short elbow sleeves and 
 gowns cut low at the neck, their thin kerchiefs or 
 tuckers softly folded around their white throats. 
 
 It was the merriest company in which Betsey had 
 been for many a day, not excepting even the wedding 
 party, for here all were young, and a certain solem 
 nity always pervades a wedding party. There was a 
 great rivalry, for to see which quilt would be first 
 finished was the main object ; so the tongues and 
 needles flew fast, while laughter and quick, humorous 
 talk filled the room. 
 
 " Hurry up, Betsey Hall ; you are lagging ! " cried 
 
 290
 
 THE QUILTING-BEE. 29 1 
 
 one of the lasses. " Lydia s party will get through 
 first. You re not doing us credit." And Betsey, who 
 had allowed her thoughts to wander, briskly fell to 
 work, her needle dipping in and out with the swiftest 
 of them. 
 
 But the short November afternoon was ending. 
 Candles, in huge silver or pewter candlesticks, were 
 brought in. Still the needles flew faster and faster, 
 and at last a shout arose from Lydia s side of the 
 room. " Done ! we beat you. Ha ! you are the red 
 coats, we the victorious Americans. You are routed ! 
 You are routed ! " And to Betsey s chagrin, she 
 found herself this time on the losing side. 
 
 Already the lads had gathered in the next room ; 
 and great trays of apples, cider, cakes, nuts, and 
 it must be confessed punch were brought in. 
 
 To this festivity Betsey had secretly wished that 
 Amos might come, but he did not make his appear 
 ance. Instead, David Conant sought her out. 
 
 "Truly, you are a patriot maid," he said, "to have 
 laid your pretty ornament upon the altar of your 
 country." 
 
 " I should be a poor patriot did I do less," she 
 made reply. " And were I a man, I should be a 
 poorer patriot did I allow the maids to make sacri 
 fices while I made none."
 
 2Q2 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "A caustic reproof, surely, Miss Betsey. You do 
 not believe in my good intentions, it seems." 
 
 "Good intentions serve poorly where a stout arm 
 and a brave heart are required. How do you know, 
 my fine sir, but what your help is not this moment 
 needed ? " 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Betsey, you do not know that a fair 
 damsel s eyes can hold a man prisoner as well as 
 can British jailers." 
 
 "He is no prisoner who has the means of escape." 
 
 "But I have none." 
 
 " And why, pray ? Not one maid who loved her 
 country would detain you a moment." 
 
 "Not willingly, perhaps. You are a cruel jailer, 
 Miss Betsey, you hide your fetters in silken strands." 
 
 " Nonsense ! that is but foolish talk. It is no time 
 for a man to waste words on a young and silly girl. 
 Go, do your duty, and leave maids and pretty 
 speeches till peace visits the land. I will listen to 
 no more." And Betsey got up and left her cava 
 lier. 
 
 But he followed her. "See," he said, setting aside 
 her sharp speeches, "have I not pared an apple prettily? 
 Throw it over your shoulder, Miss Betsey, and let us 
 see what letter the name of your true love bears." 
 
 Betsey whirled the apple paring three times around
 
 THE QUILTING-BEE. 293 
 
 her head, and then let it spin through the air and 
 fall in a curling heap on the sanded floor. 
 
 David looked eagerly. " Tis a D, I declare." 
 
 " So tis," cried one and another, " as plain as can 
 be." 
 
 " And that stands for David," asserted Master 
 Conant, triumphantly. 
 
 "Or for Dvvight," said Abby, in a low tone to 
 Betsey. 
 
 Betsey cast her a withering glance, and gave the 
 little querly-queue a contemptuous kick with the end 
 of her slipper. " Such folly ! " she cried. " It is no 
 more a D than an H." 
 
 " An H, an II," mused David. " Who is it bears 
 that for a leading letter ? Is he a Henry or a 
 Hiram or a Hosea?" 
 
 " My cousin Margaret would say it was a Hugh." 
 
 "And is he a soldier?" 
 
 " He is in truth," answered Betsey, a little mali 
 ciously, as she walked away. 
 
 There was no coquetry meant, but it would seem 
 so, for the young man took the words to heart, and 
 really thought a serious rival existed somewhere in 
 the American lines. 
 
 At the close of the merry-making, he came to 
 Betsey, and said : " This is my last frolic, truly, Miss
 
 294 A GIRL OF 7 6 - 
 
 Betsey. I am in actual earnest ; I go to-morrow. 
 Will you welcome me back with a smile if I win 
 you laurels ?" 
 
 " I will welcome you, as I would any brave man." 
 
 "Who has gone for your sake?" 
 
 "Who has gone for a far nobler reason; because 
 his country called him." 
 
 " And when the war is over, I shall find you here, 
 still Betsey Hall?" 
 
 " Yes, I think I can promise you that. I shall 
 probably be on Massachusetts soil, and I shall be 
 Betsey Hall." 
 
 "Then I ask no more. Farewell!" And with 
 more dignity and real feeling than Betsey gave him 
 credit for, he bade her adieu. 
 
 But this little episode passed almost out of Bet 
 sey s mind later on. Just now, however, she turned 
 to aid in the bundling up of guests. It had turned 
 much colder, and was beginning to snow. The girls 
 wore their close quilted " punkin hoods," their 
 woollen mittens, and some of them even carried the 
 huge bearskin muffs which had belonged to their 
 grandmothers. 
 
 "We are going to have sleighing," they said, as 
 they stepped out on the porch and saw the feathery 
 crystals floating down.
 
 THE QUILTIXG-BEE. 295 
 
 Betsey watched the girls depart, each with her 
 special swain, and she turned back into the big room 
 where " the wa nut logs shot sparkles out." All 
 were gone, but she saw a forlorn figure sitting on 
 the settle by the fire. It was pretty Lyclia, who was 
 crying pitifully, while Abby tried vainly to comfort 
 her. 
 
 "What is it? What is it?" inquired Betsey. She 
 had not noted the forced smile Lydia s face had worn 
 this last half hour. She did not know that David 
 Conant had inadvertently mentioned something which 
 spoiled her Paradise. 
 
 " What is it ? " she repeated. 
 
 "Oh, Betsey!" cried Lydia, catching her hand, 
 "Joseph has listed again." 
 
 Betsey stood still. Here was a trouble compared 
 to which the loss of her gold beads was a mere 
 bagatelle. She knelt down by her cousin, possessing 
 herself of one of the nervous little hands. " Don t, 
 dear Lyddy," she said. "Would you have him less 
 brave ? 
 
 " No, no, but it is so hard, so hard. We have 
 only been married a week, and he will leave me for 
 some far-off place. Oh, Betsey, I may never see him 
 again ! " 
 
 " And where is he now ? "
 
 296 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " He has gone to see that the boys with their 
 horses are off all right," Abby explained. 
 
 " And does he know, Lyddy dear, that you have 
 heard this ? " 
 
 " No. I know he did not want to spoil my even 
 ing s pleasure." 
 
 "Then spare him the pain of telling you. Come, 
 Lyddy, he will be here in a moment ; dry your eyes. 
 It is not a true patriot s wife who gives way to her 
 grief. Meet him bravely, and let him see that you 
 are no weakling who would hold him back from his 
 duty. Bid him Godspeed, and let him go away 
 feeling he has left a true wife behind him whose 
 brave heart will strengthen his when he thinks of 
 her. Here he comes ; go meet him, and tell him 
 you are proud of a husband who is neither a stive- 
 ling coward nor a luxurious knave, who eats the 
 bread of idleness." 
 
 Betsey had been so much with older persons, had 
 seen and heard so many such speeches, that although 
 it would ordinarily have seemed a very mature way 
 for a girl of sixteen to talk, the power to do so was 
 born of her training and experience. 
 
 Lydia, thus encouraged and admonished, went for 
 ward to meet Joseph ; and, if her lips trembled and 
 her sweet eyes overflowed, she managed to convey
 
 THE QUILTING-BEE. 297 
 
 her wifely words of encouragement to the young 
 man, who called her a brave little woman and one 
 that a man might be proud of. 
 
 For all that, Lydia s sorrow haunted Betsey s 
 thoughts. She pored a long time over her little 
 Bible that night by the flickering light of her one 
 candle, and from that hour she never regretted her 
 beads. She was, moreover, very gentle and sweet 
 to Abby, the next day when they started for home, 
 so that Abby felt that the old Betsey had come 
 back again. " And she ll perhaps be the same to 
 Amos," thought Abby. 
 
 But this hope was doomed to be unfulfilled, for 
 Aunt Pamela s face had a new look of sadness on 
 it when they saw her, and to Abby s question, "And 
 where is Amos ? " her mother replied by saying, " He 
 left this morning. He has rejoined his regiment. 
 They are ordered to join Washington." 
 
 " He has received his promotion," grandmother 
 said triumphantly. 
 
 Betsey started, and made a little exclamation ; then 
 she bent over her plate, for they were at the supper 
 table. 
 
 "He might have waited till we came back," Abby 
 said. 
 
 " He could not. Time and tide wait for no man,
 
 298 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 and war does not wait for frivolous damsels," replied 
 grandmother. 
 
 " He left his farewells," Betsey s mother informed 
 them. 
 
 "Joseph Pearce is going, too," Abby announced. 
 
 Aunt Pamela sighed. "Poor Lyddy ! " 
 
 " I trust she is not snivelling and weeping over 
 him, making him feel that he has a silly, selfish wife," 
 remarked grandmother, severely. 
 
 " No, indeed, she is trying to be brave ; and although 
 it is pitiful to see her poor, white little face, she smiles 
 when she meets Joseph s eye." 
 
 " Now, that is gratifying to hear," grandmother certi 
 fied. " I hardly hoped for that from Lyddy." 
 
 "And, oh! there was such a big contribution taken 
 at meeting on the Sabbath. I did so wish for some 
 thing to give." Abby glanced hesitatingly at Betsey, 
 who turned crimson when her cousin said, " Betsey 
 gave her beads, her pretty gold beads." Betsey looked 
 up deprecatingly at her grandmother, but she met 
 an approving nod. " Good child ; I am pleased with 
 you, Betsey. I feared they would foster vanity in 
 you, for you seemed too much gratified with them. 
 Nothing is too much to give for one s country, and 
 I am proud that my granddaughter has shown so 
 lofty a spirit of patriotism."
 
 THE QUILTING-BEE. 299 
 
 " I did hate to give them up," faltered Betsey, 
 humbly, " but I couldn t help it. I had to." 
 
 "Yes, I don t doubt the old Adam was at work," 
 returned grandmother, smiling. " I hope you have 
 conquered all regrets by this time." 
 
 "Yes, grandmother, I have truly." 
 
 " That is well, and another time your sacrifice will 
 be easier if you are called upon to make it." And 
 with this the subject of the beads was dropped and 
 was not brought up again for many a long day. 
 
 News of the arm} , from time to time, reached 
 the family at Salem, but now it was sad and piti 
 ful news of destitution and distress, of barefooted, 
 hungry men braving the bitter winter at Valley 
 Forge. 
 
 "It seems so dreadful," Betsey would say, as 
 she spread out her hands to the cheering warmth of 
 Aunt Pamela s blazing fire, "it seems so dreadful 
 to think of father and all our poor men in the army 
 shivering and hungry ; sometimes I think I cannot 
 stand it." 
 
 " I cannot understand it," replied grandmother. 
 "There have been stores of clothing sent out from 
 every direction. The country at large gives, and 
 gives generously. There is gross mismanagement 
 somewhere."
 
 3OO A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 And true enough this was, for it is a matter of 
 history that " hogsheads of shoes, stockings, and 
 clothing were lying at different places on the roads, 
 and in the woods, perishing for want of teams or of 
 money to pay the teamsters." Many gallant men gave 
 their services as beasts of burden, yoking themselves 
 to wagons and dragging to camp such stores as they 
 could. 
 
 Still the women in their New England homes kept 
 on with their knitting and spinning, the echoes of 
 war, carried on further south, reaching them. 
 
 There were, it is true, one or two affairs nearer 
 home which aroused much local excitement. The ex 
 pedition of General Grey to Buzzard s Bay in Septem 
 ber of 78 roused the people to much of their former 
 aggressive bitterness, and seemed for a time to bring 
 back the old horrors of the war to their doors. 
 
 Abby and her mother had long since gone back to 
 their country home. Lydia watched and waited at 
 Marblehead. Aunt Desire, fiercer and grimmer than 
 ever, harangued and labored for the cause. 
 
 The evacuation of Philadelphia brought them joy, 
 the battle of Monmouth sorrow, for after the latter 
 event came news of the mortal wound which bereft 
 Abby of her father. 
 
 And so, with hopes and fears agitating them, they
 
 THE QUILTING-BEE. 30 1 
 
 passed the year 78. Betsey now was truly grown 
 "a big girl." 
 
 "Forsooth," said Parnel Beman, jocosely, "Betsey, 
 if you do not haste and find a husband, you will be 
 an old maid. Eighteen, and not a sign of wedding 
 clothes ! I am quite anxious about you." 
 
 Betsey smiled. " Perchance I may be an old maid, 
 Parnel ; but I will marry none but a soldier." 
 
 "You re waiting for shoulder-straps, maybe." 
 
 " No ; for peace." 
 
 Parnel, herself, was setting stitches in her own 
 linen, for the return of her betrothed, at the end of 
 his term of enlistment, decided the question of a 
 wedding ; and she was sitting with Betsey, gossiping 
 over the latest news from the seat of war. 
 
 The terrible Wyoming massacre they discussed with 
 awed voices. It seemed such a horror to be added 
 to the other distresses which war brought about. 
 The incidents of the raid into Connecticut brought 
 forth all their exclamations of indignation, and such 
 revengeful speeches as Parnel declared made her real 
 ize more truly than anything that her ancestors were 
 hard on the witches of Salem. 
 
 " And what think you, Betsey, of those monsieurs 
 who were at Boston with their ships ? " 
 
 " I ave them little thought. Boston was soldier-
 
 3O2 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 ridden quite enough, and the frog-eating Frenchmen 
 had no business there. I heard there were some 
 lively riots on the wharves." 
 
 "Yet you must admire the young and brave Lafay 
 ette, who has so nobly come to our aid. Indeed, 
 I think the French have shown themselves a friendly 
 nation, and we ought well to love them." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; yet it was but a short time ago they 
 were our enemies, while the English bitter foes as 
 we now regard them are of our own blood. It is 
 like brother fighting brother; only to think of it! 
 Twas but great-grandsir Hopkins grandsir who came 
 from England." 
 
 " True enough ; and that reminds me, Betsey. 
 Have you never heard from your cousin Margaret, 
 who sailed away from Boston with the British?" 
 
 " Indeed, yes. I but lately had a letter from her. 
 She is a widow, and among strangers. It is very 
 sad." 
 
 "I should think she d return to her native land." 
 
 "She does not think of doing so, it seems." 
 
 " And, Betsey, did she say nothing of the young 
 British gallant you met ? What was his name ? " 
 
 " Hugh Jarvis, you mean ? Yes, he has gone 
 home. He went with Burgoyne s men, and my 
 cousin wrote that he had called upon her. Captain
 
 THE QUILTIXG-BEE. 303 
 
 Yorke, poor man, lost a leg in battle and he, too, is 
 in England, and I shall likely never see them 
 again." 
 
 " I feel so sorry for Abby Breed," said Parnel, 
 whose warmhearted, impulsive nature, which had 
 led her into many a childish scrape, now promised 
 but to make her an affectionate, spirited, enthusiastic 
 woman. 
 
 "Yes," Betsey sighed. "There are many gaps, 
 Parnel. I tremble for our own dear one. My father 
 has escaped so marvellously, that I often wonder if 
 we are not more than usually blessed." 
 
 "And what of Amos?" 
 
 " Aunt Pamela hears from him ; at last accounts 
 he was safe." 
 
 "The same earnest, good fellow as ever?" 
 
 " I think so, I know nothing to the contrary." 
 Betsey spoke with reserve. 
 
 " Your aunt Pamela is very fond of him ; she speaks 
 quite as if he were her son, or at least her nephew." 
 Parnel glanced mischievously at Betsey. " He must 
 be rarely good to so have won her." 
 
 " He is good." 
 
 "And brave as a lion." 
 
 " Yes, and brave as a lion." 
 
 "And a true, patriotic soldier."
 
 304 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 "Yes, all that." 
 
 " Then, Miss Betsey, I ll warrant if he comes back 
 with so much as a leg left to stand on, you ll be 
 no old maid." And Parnel jumped up, shook out 
 her work, and without giving Betsey time for reply 
 rattled on about something else. 
 
 " You ll be my bridemaid, Betsey," she said, roll 
 ing up her sewing, "but you ll have to stop there. 
 Three times a bridemaid never a bride, so the say 
 ing goes. Heigho ! I never know how time flies. I 
 must scud home."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MISSING ! 
 
 OTRANGE to say, very soon after this conversa- 
 ^ tion, there did come a packet from Amos for 
 Aunt Pamela, and by the same hand one for Betsey. 
 They were written from the camp at Middlebrook, 
 and had been long on the way. For some reason 
 Betsey did not open hers, which felt heavy, but sat 
 with it in her hand, while Aunt Pamela gave them 
 the news of the boy s welfare. An interruption left 
 Betsey free to flee to her own room, where she 
 opened her letter and read : 
 
 " DKAR BETSEY, At the request of a comrade who in his 
 dying hour gave me messages for you, I write this. David 
 Conant is no more. He was fatally wounded in the battle of 
 Bute s Hill, and desired me to say to you that he had not a 
 regret save that he had not a fair promise of your love. He 
 gave into my hands a little string of beads which he said you 
 once wore, and which he carried for your sake these many 
 days, hoping the time might come when he could place them 
 as a love gauge in your hands. They saved his life on one 
 occasion, for the bullet which flattened one of them would 
 u 305
 
 306 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 otherwise have been his death. I was asked to give you this 
 memento, at some time, and say that the sight of your sacri 
 fice of them was that which gave birth to his best feelings, and 
 that had you not, in words, urged him to go, he should never 
 have been happy unless fighting for his country. He bade me 
 comfort you, should you feel his loss grievously, and to carry 
 you these words which I have written. I do not feel that 
 comfort can come to you at my hands ; I once hoped other 
 wise. But if I am spared, for old friendship s sake you will, I 
 trust, receive me as one who has always wished you well, and 
 who can never forget you. 
 
 " We may never meet again. There is more and more an 
 urgent need for men to fight or die for their country. Should 
 I fall there will come to you, by a trusty hand, a last message 
 from your old schoolfellow, 
 
 "AMOS." 
 
 The tears rained down Betsey s face as she read 
 this. She could scarcely realize it. The gay, debo 
 nair David Conant would make no more pretty 
 speeches to her. She had sent him forth to win 
 fame and glory, and this was what had come of it. 
 She turned over the little sealed package which came 
 with the letter. These were her beads. She had 
 never thought to see them again, and least of all 
 had she expected that they would come to her in 
 such a manner. What a real knightly deed it had 
 been, that of the young man who had ransomed 
 them and had worn them, through the thick of
 
 MISSING! 307 
 
 battle, next his heart. No word of the living David 
 had so deeply touched Betsey as this silent witness 
 of his real affection for her. She unfastened the 
 little parcel and looked upon the flattened bead : a 
 strange and vivid token of the lad s devotion to her 
 and to his country. 
 
 She was still weeping when she heard her grand 
 mother s voice. " Betsey, why in the world don t you 
 come to your dinner ? " Then, as she entered the 
 room, " What are you crying for ? I hope there is 
 no bad news." 
 
 " Oh, grandmother, see ! see ! my beads ! " 
 "Your beads? Mercy sakes ! child, are you crazy?" 
 " No, listen to this, grandmother," Betsey in the 
 fulness of her heart replied, and she read out a part 
 of the letter from Amos. Grandmother adjusted her 
 spectacles and looked at the beads, then handed them 
 back silently. It was her first realization of the fact 
 that Betsey was no longer a little girl. 
 
 "Humph!" she said; but she paused, for she re 
 membered that girls married young in those days, 
 and younger still in hers, and had she not been two 
 years a wife at Betsey s age ? 
 
 "Poor young man," at last she continued. "So 
 there is another life sacrificed to tyranny. Poor 
 young man! I trust he was prepared." The old
 
 308 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 lady felt a little ill at ease before Betsey in this new 
 position, and she started slowly downstairs. Then 
 she paused. " Aunt Pamela has not finished her 
 letter yet; you d better come and hear it." 
 
 But for some reason Aunt Pamela did not finish 
 the letter in the presence of the family. Nor did 
 Betsey show hers to any one but her mother. They 
 learned from Aunt Pamela that Amos was at camp, 
 that none knew where next they might be called, 
 that he would write again, and so on. 
 
 A second letter did come some time after, telling 
 of the victory of Stony Point, and then followed a 
 long silence. 
 
 One Sabbath morning would Betsey ever forget 
 it ? there was read out from the pulpit by the min 
 ister, news of the losses in a battle. " Lieutenant 
 Stephen Hall, mortally wounded ; Amos D wight, en 
 sign, missing." The names seemed branded on Bet 
 sey s brain. She never knew how she reached home, 
 whether her mother or her grandmother was there 
 or not. She only knew that from henceforth so far 
 as she was concerned the war was a thing of the 
 past, and that the future held but a blank stretch of 
 years. Her father her dear, devoted father mor 
 tally wounded, perhaps now dying, it might be alone. 
 
 Even grandmother s courage gave way at this
 
 MISSING ! 309 
 
 blow, and Betsey s mother grew so white and wasted 
 that she looked like a spirit. 
 
 As for Aunt Pamela, she who had been so quiet 
 in her grief over Uncle Abiel, now mourned openly 
 for Amos. 
 
 It was all so terrible so terrible. Betsey awoke 
 each morning with a sense of dread in facing the 
 day, and dragged spiritless hours which no amount 
 of employment seemed to make less dreary. Even 
 when a week had passed it appeared no less dread 
 ful. " I cannot bear it. I cannot bear it," she sobbed 
 with her head in Aunt Pamela s lap. 
 
 " It is a heavy cross, my child," returned the dear 
 woman. "We do not know what we can bear till 
 the time comes, and our shoulders are fitted to the 
 burden." 
 
 "But all all! it does not seem as if it could be. 
 How can one be patient, and good, and endure, with 
 such sorrow ? " 
 
 "Yes, I know all all, for me, too, Betsey." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Pamela! I never realized before what 
 it has meant to you. None of us have. Oh! you are 
 brave, so brave, but I cannot be." 
 
 "Yes, child, you can, and you will;" and then, brave 
 though she was, Aunt Pamela suddenly broke down 
 and the two wept together.
 
 3IO A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 But, all at once, so near do joy and sorrow some 
 times stand, there came a lifting of the cloud. Bet 
 sey, shut in her little room, one evening heard a great 
 cry ring through the house, a cry of gladness which 
 went to her very heart, and she went springing down 
 the stairs to see, not a pale, ghostly wreck of a man, but 
 a sturdy bronzed soldier her father! 
 
 Grandmother was crying for very joy. Stephen 
 danced up and down with delight, and little Polly was 
 running around hugging everybody. Betsey s mother, 
 frail and trembling, murmured words of endearment 
 as she clung to her husband. 
 
 "Oh, father! father!" cried Betsey. "Alive and 
 well ! Oh, what does it mean ? " 
 
 " It means, simply, that there are too many Stephen 
 Halls, and that the poor fellow who did lose his life 
 was a distant cousin, and not this Stephen Hall whom 
 you see before you, and who is now not lieutenant, 
 but captain." 
 
 " Oh, father, a promotion ! " 
 
 "Yes, and a leave of thirty days if I wish to take it." 
 
 "And shall you go away again?" asked little 
 Stephen. 
 
 "Not unless I am needed. But why, what big 
 children ! Three years can make a great change. I 
 cannot realize that this is my little Betsey before me,
 
 MISSING! 311 
 
 a woman grown, and pretty well grown, too." Her 
 father held her off at arm s length and looked her over 
 smilingly. " I think, Polly, that she will do," he said. 
 " No more chances for adventure, daughter, I sup 
 pose." 
 
 Betsey shook her head. "No, father." 
 
 " But she gave her beads," piped up Stephen, before 
 Betsey could stop him. And then the strange fate of 
 the beads was told him, and he listened gravely, giv 
 ing a great sigh at the close of the tale. 
 
 " Stephen," Aunt Pamela s voice came tremblingly, 
 " you haven t heard anything of Amos Dwight, have 
 you ? " 
 
 His face took on a grave look. "No; poor, brave 
 boy, I fear we shall never hear- of him. He is re 
 ported missing, and one who was present thought he 
 
 was wounded in a skirmish, so I fear if he fell into the 
 
 # 
 
 hands of the British, there is small hope of hjs being 
 alive after a siege in their prison ships." 
 
 Aunt Pamela wrung her hands nervously, and Betsey 
 felt that for at least two, the sudden flood of joy, which 
 her father s return had brought, was ebbing away. 
 
 She was thankful, oh, so thankful that the blackness 
 of her despair was less ; but from this time it was so 
 grave, subdued, and thoughtful a girl who moved about 
 the house, that even the quiet gladness which her
 
 312 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 father s daily presence brought could not stir her to 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Aunt Pamela watched her more closely than did 
 any one. Her grandmother and mother were so taken 
 up with this great, new happiness that anything else 
 was, for the time being, of a secondary consideration, 
 and the girl s manner was by them unobserved. 
 
 Aunt Pamela, however, sought her out one day in 
 the little room which was still hers, the room with 
 the sloping roof and deep windows. It had a chaste, 
 neat look, far different from the girls rooms at this 
 period, and a modern girl would think it a bare place 
 with its simple furnishings, but Betsey loved it, and 
 desired nothing better. 
 
 She was sitting by the window, on the broad sill 
 of which lay two or three worn letters and her little 
 Bible, when Aunt Pamela found her. Her eye caught 
 sight of the letters. 
 
 " Betsey," she said, " I don t know how you felt 
 toward that dear boy. It seems to me you didn t 
 treat him very friendly when he was last here." 
 
 And then Betsey broke down. She slid from her 
 chair to the floor, where she sat at Aunt Pamela s 
 feet, with her face buried in her hands. 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Pamela," she sobbed, "what a wicked, 
 wicked girl I am ! I sent poor David to his death,
 
 MISSING ! 313 
 
 and I let Amos go away without one kind word. And 
 I am punished." 
 
 Aunt Pamela looked very thoughtful, and fingered 
 a paper she held in her hand. " My poor, dear boy, 
 my Amos ! " she said with fond inflection. 
 
 Betsey lifted her head. " My Amos ! " she said 
 fiercely. "Mine. Oh, Aunt Pamela !" and down went 
 the sleek brown head again upon Aunt Pamela s lap. 
 
 " There, there, child, don t cry so. It s hard, I know 
 it s hard. I didn t know you felt so about it." 
 
 " Oh, I do ! I did always." 
 
 "And he thought you liked that young Conant." 
 
 " I don t know." 
 
 "What made you behave so?" 
 
 " Because, because I thought that day at the 
 wedding that he didn t care, and so I let him see I 
 didn t care I wanted not to. And then it got worse 
 and worse." 
 
 " I see. Betsey, dear child, Amos told me if it came 
 to where we thought he d never come back, I was to 
 give you this." And she slipped the little note into 
 Betsey s hand, then essayed to go, but the girl held 
 her. 
 
 " Stay, please stay," she entreated. And Aunt 
 Pamela complied. 
 
 Betsey read the little note, and then put her head
 
 3T4 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 down again in her aunt s lap, holding it there for a 
 long time, while a kind hand stroked her hair. After 
 a while she looked up. 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Pamela!" she said. "As long as I live, 
 I shall never forgive myself for treating him so, but 
 I didn t know I didn t know. Do you care if I 
 don t let you see this? I couldn t, it is too too 
 and she fell to sobbing again. 
 
 " Never mind, never mind, Betsey," Aunt Pamela 
 tried to soothe her by saying. " It is bitter, I know it 
 is bitter, but you have your father and mother. I 
 have lost all," the brave voice faltered, and then went 
 on, "but they are all waiting for me on the other 
 shore." 
 
 "Oh, dear, dear auntie! I know, I know I am self 
 ish, and I do feel comforted now I know how he felt. 
 You understand what that means to me, don t you ? 
 But I wish Oh, if I could only see him for just one 
 moment! That is what makes it so hard." 
 
 "Don t grieve for that, dear. He is happier than 
 earth could make him, if so he has left it already." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Pamela, do you think there is the 
 slightest hope that he is still alive ? " 
 
 "Sometimes I think so." 
 
 " I don t dare to." 
 
 " I have been trying quietly to get more informa-
 
 MISSING! 315 
 
 tion than the reports your father was able to bring, 
 ind I do think there is still hope." 
 
 "Yet you gave me this his last message." 
 
 " Yes, I thought you needed it. He sent it to me 
 vhen he wrote you and enclosed the beads. He 
 jaid I was to give it to you at such time as I 
 thought best." 
 
 " I am so grateful, so glad you did, Aunt Pamela," 
 and Betsey, moved out of her usual reticence, laid 
 her flushed cheek against her aunt s hand. " It 
 does make me much happier. I think now I can 
 stand the waiting, even if it be through a long life." 
 
 She was much more cheerful after this, and took 
 a keener interest in outside matters, helping Parnel 
 to arrange her new home, and acting as one of the 
 bridemaids at the wedding. 
 
 She went often to see Lydia, and together they 
 talked of David Conant, but to no one but Aunt 
 Pamela did Betsey speak of Amos, and even to her 
 his name was rarely mentioned. 
 
 Before Stephen Hall s leave of absence was up, 
 stirring news from the army made him ill-content to 
 tarry at home ; therefore once more he buckled on 
 his sword, and after Washington s conference with 
 Rochambeau in Connecticut, where an appeal was 
 made to the governors of all the New England States
 
 316 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 for more troops, he started for West Point, with an 
 assured feeling that some great move was to be 
 made. And in this he was not mistaken, for the 
 grand strategy, the long-cherished scheme of Wash 
 ington was about to be put into execution ; and 
 toward the south did the northern army turn face, 
 while those at home hoped and feared for the next 
 news, not knowing from whence it might come.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 IT was toward the latter part of October, 1781, that 
 a tall young woman was standing at one of the 
 windows of an old hip-roofed house in Salem. The 
 girls in town were beginning to whisper about that 
 Betsey Hall was getting to be an old maid, for a girl 
 of twenty in those days, absurd as it now seems, was 
 considered to be "getting on." Parnel Manter in her 
 new home further down the street, Lydia in Marble- 
 head with her cunning baby and her happy young 
 husband, Abby, even Abby, blushing at the mention 
 of Abner Tolman s name, all felt quite sorry for 
 Betsey. 
 
 Even grandmother made little half-joking remarks 
 about old maids in the family being something almost 
 unheard of, but Aunt Pamela, dear Aunt Pamela, 
 understood. 
 
 It had been so long, Betsey was thinking, since that 
 word "missing" had struck them with such terrible 
 force. No clue to the fate of Amos had been found, 
 yet still Betsey and Aunt Pamela hoped. No one else 
 
 317
 
 318 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 did, and the lad was spoken of with tender retrospec 
 tive words as one who would never again share human 
 experiences with them. All this Betsey was thinking 
 as she stood at the window. She was a pleasant figure 
 to look upon. Her brown hair was parted simply 
 above her pure, broad forehead ; her brown eyes had 
 a steadfast, honest look in them ; her firm, sweet mouth 
 showed a little sorrowful droop at the corners. She 
 wore a blue homespun gown and a white apron. Across 
 her breast was folded a little kerchief. She was watch 
 ing for Mary and Stephen to come home from school. 
 Mary was getting to be quite a big girl, and Stephen 
 a bigger boy, already measuring himself against Betsey, 
 and threatening to go to war when his inches permitted. 
 
 A shout and a flurry in the street cheer after cheer 
 a rabble of boys a tumult of noise! Betsey flung 
 open the window and leaned out to catch an echo of 
 huzzas. For what ? for what ? And then Stephen 
 came rushing up the street, furiously waving his cap. 
 "Hurrah! Hurrah! Cornwallis has surrendered! 
 Cornwallis has surrendered ! " The news flew from lip 
 to lip ; the town was agog ; bells rang ; thanksgivings 
 went up from every hearthstone. 
 
 It was but a few short days before this that the 
 wanton assault had been made upon Connecticut, that 
 New London had been laid waste by fire, and the
 
 PEACE. 319 
 
 indignation against the traitorous Arnold, so brave, so 
 unprincipled, was bitter. 
 
 " It is true ! it is true ! " cried Betsey, as one after an 
 other coming by corroborated Stephen s news, and she 
 ran to tell those who were busy at the back of the house ; 
 her mother from the spinning-wheel, grandmother from 
 the kitchen, Aunt Pamela from the garden, all came 
 running. 
 
 "There will be peace, peace at last, oh, my country!" 
 said Aunt Pamela. 
 
 " And now father will come home and never go away 
 again," cried Mary, capering about. 
 
 "Ah, then I can t go fight the British!" Stephen 
 spoke his regret honestly. 
 
 The eyes of Aunt Pamela and Betsey met. There 
 was a wistful look in their faces. 
 
 " How Abiel would rejoice to see this day," said 
 grandmother. And then Aunt Pamela went out into 
 the garden ; Betsey, understanding, did not follow. She 
 knew that down by the currant bushes, under the old 
 apple tree, there was a rude seat which Uncle Abiel had 
 placed there, and upon which he loved to sit. To it 
 she knew Aunt Pamela had gone. 
 
 That night bonfires blazed in town after town, bells 
 pealed, and joyful greetings were repeated all over the 
 land.
 
 32O A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 The first of the year saw Washington s eastern army 
 back in their old places around New York ; but the 
 little family at Salem had no further fear for Captain 
 Hall. Echoes of peace were already heard, and there 
 was a slackening of the tensed feeling in New Eng 
 land. 
 
 Eben Breed was home again, and Aunt Desire s 
 Abner. Strange to say, Abby had found a way to win 
 the heart of Aunt Desire, as she had that of Abner, and 
 no one was more energetic in preparing a home for the 
 young couple, who would soon be married, than Aunt 
 Desire herself. And she joined Abby in begging 
 Betsey to again be bridemaid. 
 
 News of another wedding came to Betsey from an 
 unexpected quarter. Cousin Margaret wrote from 
 England that she had chosen a second husband, a gen 
 tleman of title. And so, thought Betsey, she will never 
 want to come to America, to a democratic country to 
 live. 
 
 " Well, now we can settle down comfortably pretty 
 soon, I hope," said grandmother, one afternoon, as she 
 folded a letter she had been reading. " Your father has 
 plans of East India trade, when the war is over, which 
 from present prospects will be soon." 
 
 " And where will that take us ? " asked Betsey, look 
 ing up from her work.
 
 PEACE. 321 
 
 " Why, no further than Salem itself. Here we will 
 stay." Grandmother looked around to see if Aunt 
 Pamela were within hearing. " However, your father 
 says he must have his own home. He thinks he cannot 
 be under obligations to Pamela for a shelter after he is 
 free again." 
 
 "And we ll have to leave Aunt Pamela. She will be 
 very lonely." 
 
 " Well, it need not be far away. He can get a house, 
 or build one close by." 
 
 Betsey gave a little sigh. She hated to leave the old 
 house so full of memories, holding so many remem 
 brances of hours of joy and sorrow. 
 
 "Are you going to singing-school, Betsey?" asked 
 grandmother, after a little silence. 
 
 " I hardly think I shall." 
 
 "You d better. You mope too much at home." It 
 had actually come to this : grandmother encouraged her 
 to take amusement. 
 
 " I don t care to go alone," the girl replied. 
 
 "Well, Stephen can take you down to Parnel s and 
 you can go with her and Nat. They ll be glad to have 
 you." 
 
 " I might go down and take tea with them," Betsey 
 remarked. " I ve promised to go for ever so long; " and 
 she folded up her work.
 
 322 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " Well, now I would," returned her grandmother. 
 " Twill do you good, Betsey. I ve thought of late you 
 stay home too much with your elders." 
 
 Betsey smiled and passed out of the room. A little 
 later she was walking down street toward Parnel s cosey 
 little home. Her straight, tall young figure was sil 
 houetted against the pale gold of a winter s sky. " It 
 will be a clear, frosty night," said Betsey to herself, as 
 she looked toward the sunset. 
 
 There was a tendency toward the most sprightly, 
 the most praise-giving airs that night at singing- 
 school. "Strike the cymbals" was given with such 
 vigor as nearly threatened to raise the roof, and the 
 psalms of triumph superseded those which spoke of 
 patient endurance. Master Eaton was forced to ex 
 ercise all his agility on the old bass-viol, and there 
 was a heartiness in the singing that had been missed 
 of late. Many of the young soldiers had returned, 
 and there was, in consequence, a greater depth of 
 voice apparent. 
 
 More and more was Betsey overcome by the recol 
 lection of that exciting evening, when Amos led six 
 boys to the sound of his fife. She looked around the 
 room ; they had all come back again, one two 
 three. Yes, there was John Calef four Thomas 
 Hubbard five Daniel Putnam where was he?
 
 PEACE. 323 
 
 ah, yes she saw him, with one empty sleeve, over 
 by the window. 
 
 A puff of cold air came into the room. A late 
 comer had entered, late, indeed, for it was nearly 
 time for closing. Betsey, whose thoughts had been 
 so wandering, turned her eyes again to the book she 
 held. Presently she was conscious of a little stir in 
 the assemblage, a rustle of excitement; necks were 
 craned toward her side of the room. 
 
 She, too, turned her head slightly, and lo ! at her 
 side, a little older, pale and haggard, but with the 
 face of one to whom the fullest joy had come, stood 
 - Amos ! 
 
 Betsey gave a little suppressed cry and dropped 
 her book. Both stooped to pick it up, but when they 
 again stood erect, it was not the book which either 
 had found, but into Amos s hand had crept Betsey s, 
 and the two stood there silent, yet, oh, so happy ! 
 
 Parnel wisely and considerately kept her eyes 
 turned away. She gave one swift, comprehensive, 
 glad look at her husband, and then she let her gaze 
 rest on her book. 
 
 A sharp rap of Master Eaton s bow ; a dropping 
 of the lively strains ; the viol drew forth the slow, 
 solemn notes of " Old Hundred." 
 
 "Praise God from whom all blessings flow." From
 
 324 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 every corner of the room, the voices swelled out in 
 such heartiness as was never heard in that place 
 before. Those who remembered the scene of six 
 years before realized what it was to praise God. He 
 that was lost was found, and his comrades, Nat and 
 John, Jabez and Thomas, who had mourned him, lent 
 the power of all their lungs to the old hymn. 
 
 And then how they all crowded around him, and 
 welcomed him, with the warmth of full hearts, who 
 had been a prisoner all this time. 
 
 But sly little Parnel had no idea of keeping Betsey 
 from her rights, and persisted that it was too cold 
 for people to stand there ; that Amos needed to get 
 home ; that, a dozen things, to start them off, and 
 at last under the starlight Betsey and Amos once 
 more walked. 
 
 He had been exchanged only a little time before, 
 and had concluded his own bringing of the news 
 would be the best way to insure its swiftness. 
 
 " And you have seen them at home," said Betsey. 
 
 " Yes, I saw them," Amos answered. 
 
 "And Aunt Pamela? " 
 
 "Aunt Pamela told me I had better go to singing- 
 school for you, Betsey. She said 
 
 "She said " Betsey repeated in a low tone. 
 
 " She said I was a silly lad ever to doubt so true
 
 PEACE. 325 
 
 a girl, and that she had long ago given you my 
 letter, and so, Betsey 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "We are friends." 
 
 " No-o, not exactly." 
 
 " No ? What then ? Something less ? enemies ? " 
 he laughed softly. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Ah ! well, dear, true heart, I will not press the 
 matter. I know, I know, Betsey, and so do you. 
 Why did we ever misunderstand ? " 
 
 " And now, oh, Amos ! tell me all that has hap 
 pened since I saw you." 
 
 " That will take more than one evening, Betsey ; 
 I was sorely wounded in a skirmish, and was picked 
 up by a Tory, who, good man that he was, nursed 
 me to life, but I was a prisoner, and given up as 
 such. I tried two or three times to get word to you, 
 but it seems my letters and messages were never 
 delivered. I fared no worse and no better than 
 many of our brave men who endured the life on a 
 prison ship. It is not a memory to dwell upon with 
 equanimity, Betsey. I was exchanged at last, and 
 here I am ; let that suffice us for now." 
 
 " So it shall, Amos ; we must make you forget, 
 instead of urging you to remember."
 
 326 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 What a cheering sight to the young man was that 
 cosey sitting-room of Aunt Pamela s, into which they 
 now entered. The fire crackled merrily in the big 
 chimney-place ; on the table were set forth cider, 
 nuts, apples, and cakes, and every face wore a smile 
 of welcome. 
 
 " We must have a feast for our boy s return," 
 said Aunt Pamela, as the two came in. 
 
 Betsey went over to the dear woman, and stoop 
 ing over, took her face between her hands and 
 kissed her. 
 
 " What s that for ? " quoth grandmother. 
 
 But when Amos followed suit and the two stood 
 looking into each other s faces, grandmother under 
 stood. 
 
 "Well, I declare!" she exclaimed. "Strange, I 
 never thought of that." 
 
 Betsey s mother smiled. She knew all about it. 
 
 " I ve nothing to offer in exchange for your dear 
 daughter, Mrs. Hall," said Amos, going over to her. 
 
 " You have a loyal, brave heart, Amos, and willing 
 hands. Is more needed ? " 
 
 " Never mind, never mind," interposed Aunt 
 Pamela. "We ll fix all that." 
 
 " And what will Stephen say ? " asked grand 
 mother, returning to her knitting.
 
 PEACE. 327 
 
 " He will be quite content. I can vouch for that," 
 returned Betsey s mother, smiling reassurance at Amos. 
 
 So, after all, Betsey was not three times a bride- 
 maid, for her own wedding came off before Abby s. 
 
 " And you have that beautiful lot of pretty things 
 from your cousin Margaret, for your wedding outfit," 
 said Parnel. 
 
 Betsey shook her head. " No, I cannot use them. 
 A daughter of Liberty am I, and homespun alone 
 shall fill my chests." Therefore, the rich silks and 
 brocades lay untouched, and it was not till a curious 
 little great-granddaughter of Betsey s, many years 
 after, rummaging in the old garret, came across them, 
 that they saw the light of day from the time they 
 were first stored away. 
 
 And so, very simply clad was Betsey on her wed 
 ding-day, her only ornament being the string of gold 
 beads which Amos wanted her to wear in generous 
 memory of his rival ; but she needed nothing finer 
 than her white frock, and gave not a thought to 
 Cousin Margaret s chests. She was far too happy 
 to care what she wore. 
 
 When Captain Hall came home to attend his 
 daughter s wedding, it was time for Aunt Pamela to 
 offer a plan which had for some time been in her 
 mind.
 
 328 A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 " You re going to build yourself a home, I hear, 
 Stephen," she said. 
 
 " Yes, aunt." 
 
 " And leave me alone." 
 
 " I am sorry, but it will be better so. You have 
 my warmest gratitude for all you have done for my 
 dear ones." 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! None of that, Mr. Stephen ! I want 
 Amos and Betsey to come here and live. Amos is 
 like a son to me, and I love Betsey very fondly. 
 And Abiel would wish it. The house shall be 
 theirs after I have ceased to need an earthly taber 
 nacle. And Stephen - 
 
 "Yes, aunt." 
 
 " I ve given all I thought I ought to the country. 
 I ve not spent all, for there was some I could not 
 touch. You re going into the East India trade, I 
 believe." 
 
 "Yes; I have about decided to do so." 
 
 " Then, suppose I fit out a vessel for Amos s wed 
 ding present. You will want a young hand to rely 
 upon. Suppose you take him into the business with 
 you." 
 
 " Aunt Pamela ! you are too kind." 
 
 " No, no ; I want to do it, and there s no gener 
 osity in pleasing oneself."
 
 PEACE. 329 
 
 Captain Hall smiled. " Some persons think dif 
 ferently. Dear aunt, nothing would please me better. 
 I have known Amos since he was a baby, and I 
 could wish no better right-hand man." And thus it 
 was settled. 
 
 So, after all, Betsey did not give up her home, but 
 to the end of her days, tended her flowers in the 
 same old garden, spun her linen before the same 
 old fireplace, and watched for Amos through the 
 self-same windows from which she had once seen 
 him depart for the war. 
 
 It was one of the clearest, coldest days of a clear 
 and cold November, that there was a great bustle and 
 stir in the old house. From the new house of Stephen 
 Hall across the street, pretty little Mary Hall ran often 
 forth bearing sundry articles of silver or china. Grand 
 mother, not quite so erect, but clad in her finest black 
 silk, finally took her way across the street, and Betsey s 
 mother followed. 
 
 The big rooms were full of young wives and old 
 matrons. Betsey was giving a quilting party. Lydia 
 and Parnel, Abby and Aunt Nancy, Aunt Desire and 
 Ruth Dodge, all were there and so were many more. 
 It was a big affair. For days, cakes and pastries and 
 all sorts of good things had been under preparation, 
 and now the quilting frames stood ready. The energy
 
 33O A GIRL OF 76. 
 
 of the older women was scarcely less than the energy 
 of the younger ones. Tongues flew fast, but needles 
 faster, and at last victory crowned Aunt Pamela s 
 side. 
 
 Then the husbands and sons and fathers trooped in. 
 Betsey cast anxious glances toward the door. Amos 
 seeing it, nodded sympathetically. " Time enough, 
 Betsey," he cried. 
 
 And at last, to Betsey s satisfaction, in tramped 
 six veteran soldiers : Uncle Simon Hall, Uncle Ben 
 jamin and Uncle John Porter, Goodman Breed and 
 Goodman Tolman ; following these came Captain Ste 
 phen Hall, and behind him appeared the good-humored 
 face of Timothy Powell. 
 
 Uncle Benjamin stepped forward, a benign smile 
 on his face, as he spoke. " At last, my friends, at 
 last we all meet together under conditions of absolute 
 peace. We have just returned from taking leave of 
 our beloved Washington. Soldiers no longer are we, 
 but friends and brothers." And then Amos whispered 
 something to Betsey, and Betsey, with a flashing smile, 
 which reminded her father of the little girl who was 
 so fierce a rebel, Betsey nodded in reply, and Amos 
 handed her. something. Then suddenly came shrill 
 ing out the sound of fifes, little old fifes, "The 
 White Cockade" first, to the tune of which all joined
 
 PEACE. 331 
 
 hands and formed in line. And then, to the familiar 
 inspiring strains of "Yankee Doodle," Betsey and 
 Amos led the way to where a feast was spread, a 
 feast which was but the prophecy of how harmony 
 and plenty should long dwell in the land.
 
 W. A. Wilde & Co., Publishers. 
 
 r 
 
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