“And if it be the leather-caps?”

“Then we must find ourselves in a sorry pickle.”

As I spoke, the little bugle-horn of Sheldon’s Horse blew boots and saddles, and four score dragoons scrambled into their saddles down by the barns, and came riding up the sloppy road, their horses slipping badly and floundering through the puddles and across the stream, where, led by a captain, the whole troop took the Meeting House road at a stiff canter.

We watched them out of sight, then she said:

“I have awaited your pleasure, Mr. Loskiel. Pray, in what further manner can I be of service to — my country?”

“I have come back to tell you,” said I,