sweet laughter rings — — ” He smiled, then shrugged. “The charm of Fortune’s bag is not what you pull from it, but what remains within.”

“Boyd,” I said abruptly. “Who is that handsome wench that followed us from Otsego?”

“Dolly Glenn?”

“That is her name.”

“Lord, how she pesters me!” he said fretfully. “I chanced upon her at the Middle Fort one evening — down by the river. And what are our wenches coming to,” he exclaimed impatiently, “that a kiss on a summer’s night should mean to them more than a kiss on a night in summer!”

“She is a laundress, is she not?”