FRIEND OR FOE
FRIEND OR FOE
Betty Wolcott sat alone in her own room, thinking intently. The windows were all open, and the soft night air blew the dainty curls off her white forehead and disclosed the fact of her very recent tears. Never, in all her short, happy life, had Betty been so moved as now, for the twin passions of gratitude and loyalty were at war within her, and she realized, with a feeling akin to dismay, that she must meet the responsibility alone, that those of her household were all arrayed against her.
"If my father were but at home," said Betty to herself, "he would know and understand, but Oliver will not listen, no, not even when I implored him to keep Captain Yorke close prisoner here for two days by which time my father is sure to arrive. Aunt Euphemia is too timid and Pamela is much the same; as Josiah happens to agree perfectly with Oliver, Pamela could never be induced to see how cruel it is to repay our debt in this way. Oliver is but a boy,"—and Betty's lips curved in scorn over her brother's four years' seniority,—"and—and—oh! I am, indeed, astray. What, here I am, one of the loyal Wolcotts,—a family known all through the land as true to the cause of Freedom and the Declaration,—and here I sit planning how to let a British officer, foe to my country, escape from my father's house. I wonder the walls do not open and fall on me," and poor Betty gazed half fearfully overhead, as if she expected the rafters would descend upon the author of such treasonable sentiments. "But something must be done," she thought rapidly. "I care not whether he be friend or foe, I take the consequences; be mine the blame," and she lifted her pretty head with an air of determination, as a soft knock fell upon her chamber door; but before she could rise to open it, the latch was raised and a little figure, all in white, crept inside.
"I can't sleep, Betty," sobbed Moppet, as her sister gathered the child in her arms; "it's too, too dreadful. Will General Putnam hang my dear, kind gentleman as the British hanged Captain Nathan Hale, and shall we never, never see him more?"
"Dear heart," said Betty, smoothing the yellow hair, and tears springing again to her eyes as she thought of the brave, manly face of her country's foe. "No, Moppet, Captain Yorke is not a spy, as, alas! was poor Nathan Hale, but"—
"Betty," whispered Moppet, so low that she was evidently alarmed at her own daring, "why can't we let him go free and never tell Oliver a word about it?"
"How did you come to think of that?" said Betty, astonished.
"I am afraid it is the devil prompting me," said Moppet, with a sigh, partly over her own iniquity, and part in wonderment as to whether that overworked personage was somewhere soaring in the air near at hand; "but I always thought the British were big ogres, with fierce eyes and red whiskers, and I am sure my good, kind gentleman is very like ourselves."
Betty was betrayed into a low laugh. Moppet was always original, but this was delicious.
"No, child," she said softly, "the British are some bad, some good, and there are no doubt cruel men to be found in all wars. Moppet, as you came by the north door, whom did you see on guard in the hall?"
"Josiah Huntington," said Moppet promptly; "but you heard what Oliver said at supper?"
"Yes," answered Betty, "Oliver was so weary that Josiah was to watch until twelve o'clock; then, at midnight, Reuben was to guard the hall until four in the morning, when Oliver would take his place until breakfast. Did you note the time on the hall clock?"
"It was half past eleven," said Moppet; "the half hour sounded as I rapped."
Betty sat pondering for a moment, then she slid Moppet gently from her lap to the floor and rose.
"Moppet," she said gravely, "you are a little maid, but you have a true heart, and I believe you can keep a secret. I am going to try to release Captain Yorke, and I think you can help me. I bind you to keep silent, except to our dear and honored father, and even to him you shall not speak until I permit you. Promise me, dear heart?"
"I promise," said Moppet solemnly, and Betty knew that, no matter what happened, she could depend on her devoted little sister.
"Moppet," said Betty, "I have a plan, but 'tis a slender one. Do you recollect how close the great elm-tree boughs come to your window?"
"I can put out my hand and nearly reach them," said Moppet; "you remember Reuben cut the bough nearest, but oh, Betty, the tree has a limb which runs an arm's length only from the north chamber."
"So I thought," answered Betty, who was busily engaged in changing her light summer gown for one of homespun gray; "and now, Moppet, you and I must go into your room for the next part of my plot. I must speak to Captain Yorke, and can you guess how I shall manage to do it?"
Moppet's eyes grew large and round with excitement. "I know," she whispered breathlessly, "through my doll's dungeon. Oh, Betty, how lucky 'tis that Oliver never once dreamed of that!"
"I doubt if he even knows its existence," said Betty. "There goes the clock," as the slow, solemn voice of the timepiece sounded out on the night, "It is twelve o'clock, and Reuben will be coming upstairs from the kitchen. Hark!"—extinguishing her candle and opening her door softly. "Josiah has gone to the turn on the stairs, and is speaking to Reuben; quick, Moppet, if you come still as a mouse they will not see us before we can gain your door," and with swift, soft steps the two small figures stole across the hall in the semi-darkness which the night lamp standing near the great clock but served to make visible, and in another second, panting and eager, they stood safely within Moppet's chamber, clinging to each other, as they quickly fastened the latch.
Moppet's chamber was a small one, and occupied the center of the house, Miss Euphemia's being upon one side, and the north chamber (as one of the great rooms was called) upon the other. The great chimney of the mansion ran up between the large and small room, and what Moppet called her "doll's dungeon" was a hollow place, just high enough for the child to reach, in the back of the chimney. For some purpose of ventilation there was an opening from this aperture into the north chamber. It was covered with a piece of movable iron; and in summer, when no fire was used in that part of the house, Moppet took great delight in consigning her contumacious doll (a rag baby of large size and much plainness of feature) to what she was pleased to call her "dungeon." To-night Betty's quick wit had divined what an important factor the aperture might prove to her, and directly she had secured the door, she walked softly toward the chimney, and felt in the darkness for the movable bit of iron which filled the back.
When Geoffrey Yorke had finished the ample and delicious supper with which Miss Euphemia's hospitable and pitying soul had furnished him, he lighted his candle and made thorough search of his temporary prison to ascertain whether he could escape therefrom. Betty's gesture of disapproval when he was about to give his parole had seemed to promise him assistance; could it be possible that the lovely little rebel's heart was so moved with pity?"
"Sweet Betty," thought Geoffrey, "was ever maid so grateful for a small service! I wish with all my soul I might have chance and opportunity to do her a great one, for never have I seen so bewitching and dainty a creature," and Geoffrey's heart gave a mad leap as he remembered the tearful, beseeching glance which Betty had bestowed upon him as Oliver had conducted him from her presence.
The windows, of which there were two, looking north, received his first attention, but he found them amply secured; and although a strong arm might wrench them open, it would be attended by such noise as could not fail to attract the attention of his guard posted outside the door. This reflection prompted him to inspect the door; and discovering an inside bolt as well as the outer one, he drew it, thus assuring his privacy from intrusion. The large chimney was his next point of investigation; and although the flue seemed somewhat narrow, Geoffrey decided that it afforded some slight chance, provided he had the means of descent when once he reached the roof. Back to the windows again; yes, the great elm of which Moppet had spoken stood like a tall sentinel guarding the mansion, and Geoffrey felt confident that he could crawl from roof to tree and thus reach the ground. To be sure, it was most hazardous; there was the chance of some one sleeping in the chambers near who might hear even so slight a noise; he might become wedged in the chimney, or—pshaw! one must risk life, if need be, for liberty; and here Geoffrey smiled, as it occurred to him that this was what these very colonists were engaged in doing, and for a moment the British officer felt a throb of sympathy hitherto unknown to him. He had landed at New York but a month before, filled with insular prejudices and contempt for these country lads and farmers, whom he imagined composed the Continental army; but the fight at Fairfield, which was carried on by the Hessians with a brutality that disgusted him, and the encounter with such a family as this under whose roof he was, began to open his eyes, and he acknowledged frankly to himself that young Oliver Wolcott was both a soldier and a gentleman.
"The boy looked every inch a soldier," thought Geoffrey, "when he refused his sister's pleading; faith, he is made of firm stuff to withstand her. Oh, Betty, Betty! I wonder if the fortunes of war will ever let me see your face again," and with a sigh compounded of many things, Geoffrey picked up a book that was lying on the table, and resolved to read until it should be far on into the night, when he would make a bold attempt to escape.
The clock on the stairs struck twelve and Geoffrey, roused from the light slumber into which he had fallen, heard the steps outside his door as Josiah Huntington was joined by Reuben, who was to relieve his guard, and straightened himself, with a long breath, as he rose from his chair. As he did so, he became conscious of a slight, very slight, noise in the direction of the chimney; and turning his eyes toward it, a soft whisper reached his ear.
"Captain Yorke," murmured the sweetest voice in the world; and as the slight grating noise ceased, to his amazement a little white hand beckoned him to approach a small aperture, which he now perceived in the bricks about four feet from the floor. Very softly Geoffrey obeyed the summons, and cautiously made his way to the chimney.
"Kneel down and put your ear near me," said Betty, and the tall soldier dropped on one knee obediently; "be very careful, for though Aunt Euphemia's chamber is on this side, and she is usually a sound sleeper, it might be our ill fortune that to-night she would wake. I have made up my mind, sir; I cannot keep you prisoner under a roof that but for you might be mourning my little sister dead."
"I pray you say no more of that," interrupted Geoffrey softly. "I am more than repaid by your interest in my unhappy condition."
"It may be wrong, it doubtless is," said Betty, sighing, "but I have two plans for your escape. Tell me, are your windows securely fastened?"
"Too strongly to be tampered with except by making noise that is certain to be overheard," returned Geoffrey.
"Then we must try other means; if you can but manage to scale the chimney,—and I think there are still some pegs inside which Reuben put there in the spring when he went up after burning it out,—if you can reach the roof by the chimney you will find on the south side, close to the chimney itself, a trap-door which lets down by a ladder into our garret. The ladder is stationary, and I will meet you there at its foot, and from the garret there is a back stairway, down which you may creep to the buttery, and once there 'tis but a step outside when I open the door."
"God bless you," whispered Geoffrey, feeling a mad desire to kiss the pretty pink ear and soft cheek which he could just see by the dim light of Miss Moppet's candle; "shall I start at once?"
"No," returned Betty, "Josiah Huntington has just sought his chamber, and he will be watchful. Wait until you hear the old clock on the staircase strike three; that is the hour, I have been told, when all sleep most soundly. Then Moppet will tell you if all goes right, for I shall be waiting for you, as I said, above;" and with a soft "be very, very careful to make no noise," Betty moved away from the "doll's dungeon" and Yorke bounded to his feet.
"Now, Moppet," said Betty softly, "let me wrap you well in your woolen habit, lest you take cold."
"Oh, Betty darling," whispered the child, "how will you ever gain the garret stairs when Reuben is watching? He will be sure to think it strange; can I not go for you?"
"No, never," said Betty tenderly. "I will slip by Reuben, and you must not fret. Sit here on my knee and go fast asleep until I wake you."
Moppet nestled her little head down obediently on Betty's shoulder; but try hard though she did to keep her eyes wide open, sleep at last overcame her,—sleep so profound after all this excitement that Betty was able to lay her softly upon her bed without awaking, and for the remainder of those long hours Betty kept her vigil alone. It was nervous work: for determined though she was to release Yorke, Betty possessed a most sensitive and tender conscience, and love for her country and her people was as the air she breathed. It proved the tenacity of her purpose and the strength of her will that, notwithstanding her many misgivings, when she heard the clock sound the quarter she rose from her low seat by the window, where she had been gazing out into the night, and whispered softly to Moppet that it was time to wake. The child sprang up, alert and quick as Betty herself, and listened to her sister's last warning instructions to have no fear, but wait quietly for her return, and when the clock struck the hour to whisper through the hole in the chimney to Yorke that she had gone.
Very softly, her slippers held tightly in her hand, Betty pulled up the latch of the bedroom door and stepped into the almost dark hall. The night lamp had partly died out, but there was still enough of its flickering light to permit her, when her eyes grew accustomed to it, to see the dim outline of Reuben's figure sitting on a stool at the door of the north chamber. In order to reach the garret from this part of the house she must go directly down the hall to where it parted at the L, where the stairs reaching the garret were shut off by a door, on the other aide of which was a square landing, where you could turn down and descend directly from the garret to the buttery. Once past Reuben, she would feel comparatively safe, for although Oliver's room was opposite he was too weary to be wakeful. It took scarcely a minute to creep toward Reuben, and Betty drew a quick breath of relief when she perceived that the farmer-bred lad, unaccustomed to night watches, and feeling that his prisoner was secure behind the bolted door, had fallen fast asleep. Another minute and she had fairly flown through the hall and reached the door of the garret stairs; she recollected that the latch had a troublesome creak occasionally; indeed, she had noticed it only that very day, as she and Sally Tracy had mounted to their eyrie in the big dormer window of the garret, where safe from all ears they were wont to confide their girlish secrets to each other.
"Pray Heaven it creak not to-night," said Betty to herself as she gently and steadily pulled the handle of the latch and saw the dreaded door open to her hand. Inside stepped Betty, and made breathless pause while she closed it, and the amiable latch fell softly down again into its place. Swift as a flash the girlish figure flitted up the winding narrow stairs, and gasping but triumphant Betty seated herself on the lowest step of the trap-ladder to await the coming of Geoffrey Yorke.
In the bedroom below, Miss Moppet, whose soul was thrilling with mingled delight and terror at being an actor in a "real story," waited as she was told until she heard the deep voice of the clock, sounding rather more awful than usual, say "one, two, three!" and then tiptoeing over the bare floor she opened with small trembling fingers the tiny aperture and whispered, "Are you there?" starting back half frightened as the instant answer came, close beside her:
"Yes, is it time?"
"Betty is in the garret by now," she faltered. "Oh, sir, be careful and fare you well!"
For answer Geoffrey Yorke bent down, and taking the small cold fingers extended to him, pressed a kiss on them, and with a soft "farewell" began his passage up the chimney.
It was no such very difficult task he found, to his satisfaction, for Betty was right, and by feeling carefully with his hands he perceived the friendly pegs which Reuben had inserted, and of which Oliver had no knowledge, else he would not have trusted so agile and strong a prisoner within their reach. Geoffrey's broad shoulders were the only sufferers, but the rough homespun which covered them was a better protection than his uniform would have been, and he again blessed the good fortune which had thrown the disguise in his way as he left Fairfield four days before.
Betty, sitting on the ladder step, straining her ears to catch the first sound, became conscious of a light sound as Geoffrey swung himself from the chimney top to the roof, and she sped up the ladder to unhook the door of the trap just as he reached it.
"Speak not a word," she said in his ear, as he set his foot on the ladder, "but fasten the hook lest they discover that the door has been opened. Now, give me your hand," and in the darkness the strong, manly hand closed firmly over her dainty fingers with a clasp which, strangely enough, inspired her with fresh courage.
"Stop," said Betty suddenly, as they were at the top stair, "you must remove your boots: the slightest creak might wake the sleepers at the end of the hall."
It took but a second of time to follow her directions; and then very softly, with many pauses, the pair crept down the winding stairs, and Betty involuntarily held her breath until the last step was safely passed and she raised the latch of the buttery door.
"If Miss Bidwell has locked it," came the swift thought,—but, no! like everything else that dreadful night, fortune seemed to favor Betty, and with a long-drawn sigh she drew her companion across the threshold and instantly shot the bolt behind her.
A faint glow of dawn crept through the pantry windows, and Betty paused a moment and regarded the rows of milk pans which adorned the shelves of the small room with grave intentness.
"Had you not better take a glass of milk?" she said. "You may have to travel far without food, although I am sure that should you ask for it at any of our Connecticut farmhouses you would be cheerfully supplied," and raising the neat dipper she filled it and handed it to Geoffrey, who took it gratefully from her hand.
"And now put on your boots, for freedom lies beyond that door," she said, still in softest tones, as she unbolted the other door which led directly outside. "I must go with you as far as the barn, for you will need my mare to take you out of danger of pursuit."
"No, no," answered Geoffrey, speaking for the first time as they sped rapidly over the grass, "I will not take her; you have dared much for me, and I fear censure and harm may come to you for releasing me should you be discovered."
"Censure," said Betty, throwing back her small head haughtily, "wherefore? Do you think I shall conceal my share in this night's work? Oliver is but a hot-headed boy; had my father been at home it would have been different, and to him I shall make my confession, that I have given liberty to—oh, I cannot say a foe, after what you have done for me—to a British officer who comes to slay my countrymen!"
"Never your foe, Betty," cried Yorke, confronting her with face as pale as her own, and in his admiration of her spirit and nobility forgetting all else. "Say, rather, your adoring friend, who one day, God willing, hopes to prove to you that there are British hearts which are true and honest as yours, and that none will be more loyal to you than mine own."
A hot wave of color flashed up over Betty's charming face; her lips trembled, but no words came from them. What was this impetuous young man daring to say to her?
"The dawn is breaking over yonder hills," Geoffrey rushed on, "and before the sun rises I must be as many miles away as my feet can carry me. Farewell, farewell!—may God bless and keep you always. Go back straightway into the mansion; I shall not stir step until I see you safe." And through her brimming tears Betty realized that his kisses were falling on her hands, as without a word she turned and fled toward the open door. But when she reached it some new-born impulse tearing madly at her heart made her pause, and looking back she saw Geoffrey lift something from the grass at his feet which he waved toward her as he sped down the path, and raising her hand to her gown she knew that he had carried with him her breast-knot of rose-colored ribbon.
A LOYAL TRAITOR
A LOYAL TRAITOR
Betty stumbled blindly over the threshold, and with shaking fingers secured the outer bolt of the buttery door. Her head was whirling, and she dared not stop there even to think over this extraordinary adventure, for Moppet was doubtless waiting breathlessly for her return; and at the recollection Betty's nerves grew steadier, and she bethought herself that a glass of milk would be needed by the child and that she must take it to her. So she filled the smallest dipper, not wishing to go back into the china pantry for fear of noise, and, with the milk in hand, concluded it was wiser to seek the main staircase in the hall, rather than wake Reuben by drawing his attention to the exit on the garret stairway. And fortunate it was for Betty that she had so determined; for as she set her foot upon the first step of the stairs, she beheld Oliver leaning over the upper balustrade, gazing gravely down upon her.
"Good-morning," said Betty readily, in a cheerful undertone, as she reached his side; "you are up betimes, Oliver."
"Where have you been?" asked her brother.
"To the buttery," said Betty; "this is milk for Moppet. The child is wakeful, and needs it."
"Why did you not send Reuben?" asked Oliver, who was always kind and attentive to his sisters.
"Reuben?" echoed Betty. "Did you not set him as guard to your prisoner?" and then, her heart smiting her for the gibe, "Miss Bidwell lets no one meddle with her milk pans, and I knew best which were last night's milk," and she went up the hall with a naughty little throb of mingled mischief and triumph, as she thought how she had outwitted him, while the unsuspecting Oliver seated himself near the north chamber door.
Moppet, sitting up in bed, welcomed her sister with open arms, and drank the milk thirstily, as Betty told her that all was safe, and that Captain Yorke was now well on his way.
"I'm as glad as can be," said Moppet, who was troubled with no conscientious scruples whatsoever, and was now beginning to enjoy herself intensely at sharing a mystery with Betty; "I told him you were gone, after the big clock struck three, and oh, Betty, he kissed my hand through the hole in the chimney."
"Did he?" said Betty, flushing brightly under Moppet's keen glance.
"And I sat there and shivered," went on Moppet, discreetly dropping that branch of the subject, "for I could hear his feet as he climbed, and once he slipped and I was so frightened lest he should come tumbling down and our fine plot be discovered. Betty, Betty, what a fine flutter Oliver and Josiah will be in at breakfast!"
"Don't talk of it," said Betty, shivering in her turn; "go to sleep, Moppet, and I will fly to my chamber, for it is not well that I should be discovered here, dressed. Oliver is not one to notice; now lie still until you are called for rising;" and Betty tripped back to her own room, where, tearing off her dress, she threw her tired little self on the bed to rest, if not to sleep, for the short hours that remained before breakfast.
The Wolcott household was one that was early astir, however, and Chloe, the old colored cook, was out in the barn searching for eggs, and Miss Bidwell had laid the breakfast cloth and polished the silver by half past six, when Miss Euphemia knocked briskly at the door where Pamela and Dolly Trumbull were slumbering sweetly, and resolved that she would request Oliver to permit Captain Yorke to come down and breakfast with the family. "For," mused Miss Euphemia, "our obligations to that young man should make some difference, I think, in his treatment; I must try to persuade Oliver to detain him here until my brother's return, for although I did not think it prudent to say so, I confess I am no more anxious to keep him prisoner than Betty was."
But Miss Euphemia had not more than descended at half past seven precisely (her usual hour) when Oliver came hastily into the room, demanding a hammer and chisel, and with such evident dismay upon his countenance that Miss Euphemia asked if anything was the matter.
"I do not know," said Oliver, searching the drawer for the desired implements; "I called and knocked smartly at Captain Yorke's door to ask him if he desired hot water, and to offer him a change of clean linen (as we are much the same size and build); but although I made sufficient noise to wake the hardest sleeper, no response did I receive. Then I unbolted the door, intending to enter, but he has fastened it on the inside, and"—
"He is ill," cried Miss Euphemia, in alarm. "I noted he looked pale last night."
"Much more likely 'tis some device to alarm us," said Oliver, seizing the chisel, and Miss Euphemia followed him as he went hurriedly up the front staircase. At its top stood Huntington.
"Captain Yorke is a sound sleeper," he said, addressing Oliver. "I have knocked at his door several times and get no response."
"My mind misgives me," said Oliver, fitting his chisel in the door and striking vigorously with the hammer; "and yet I made sure there was no chance for escape,—ha!" as the door swung open and discovered the closed shutters and the last flickering gleams of the dying candle upon the table. "Good heavens, Huntington, he has flown!"
"Flown!" cried Josiah, rushing after Oliver, as Miss Euphemia joined the party, and Pamela, with Dolly, opened her door across the hall, hearing the commotion. "And how? Surely not by the chimney?"
"I wish you had suggested that earlier," said Oliver bitterly. "I am a dolt and a fool's head not to have thoroughly examined it last night," and he rushed across into Betty's chamber to find a candle with which to investigate the treacherous exit.
"Have a care, Oliver," cried Betty, as her brother entered without knocking, to find her with her hair over her shoulders, brush in hand. "What do you please to want?"
"Your candle," said Oliver, catching up the one upon her table, and then pausing, as he was about to rush out again. "Did you hear any noises last night, Betty?"
"Noises?" answered Betty, facing him calmly, "of what nature?"
"In the great chimney," said Oliver, eying her sternly.
"I did not," said Betty, with truth, returning inward thanks that to that question she could reply without falsehood. "Why did you ask?"
"You will find out soon enough," said Oliver, dashing down the hall, without closing the door, and hurrying to the kitchen for a light. By the time he returned, he found Josiah half way up the chimney.
"Here are pegs," he called out, as Oliver sent the ray of the lighted candle upward. "'Tis easy enough to see how our prisoner escaped. Fool that I was not to have searched this place," and he let himself down again, where the bewildered group stood around the chimney-piece.
"The fault is mine alone," cried Oliver furiously; "let us get out on the roof and see if we can discover how he made his descent to the ground."
"By the great elm," exclaimed Pamela, who had unfastened the shutters with Josiah's help; "see, the branches overhang the roof just here, and I think there are some pieces of the bark on the ground below." All of which was true, and quick-witted of Pamela; but Moppet could have explained the presence of the bits of bark, for, as it happened, the child had emptied her apron under the elm the day before, and the bark was some she had gathered in the orchard for the bits of fungus which, at night, were phosphorescent, and which Moppet called "fairy lamps."
"True," said Josiah, leaning out of the window, "and there are footsteps in the tall grass yonder," pointing westward, where his keen eye perceived a fresh path broken in the meadow. "I must follow Oliver to the roof; this will be a dire blow to him, as he thought his prisoner so carefully guarded."
"How clever of him to escape under our very ears," said Dolly to Pamela; "how could Captain Yorke contrive to climb down so softly that no one heard him? Is not Miss Euphemia's chamber on this side?"
"Yes," said Pamela, turning away from the window, "and so is Moppet's; where is Aunt Euphemia?" and running out into the hall, she encountered both Betty and her aunt on the way to Moppet's apartment.
"Hush!" whispered Betty, with hand on the latch, "I hope she is still sleeping. Moppet came into my room in the night, Aunt Euphemia, and was so cold and shivering that I went back with her and put her to bed. I got a drink of milk for her, and it seemed to quiet her."
"That was quite right," said Miss Euphemia. "I have been afraid that the plunge in the pond did her some injury," and she opened the door softly, only to see Miss Moppet's curly head rise up from her pillow, and to hear her say with a sleepy yawn:—
"What is it all about? Where's Betty?"
"Here I am," said Betty, giving her a kiss. "Did you sleep soundly after the milk?"
"Yes, and I want some more," said Moppet, seizing the situation with such alacrity that Betty suspected on the instant that the keen little ears had been on the alert for more minutes than Moppet cared to acknowledge. "What are you all coming in for? Is it dinner-time?"
"No," interrupted Pamela, "we have not even had breakfast. Captain Yorke has escaped in the night"—
"Escaped!" cried Moppet, the liveliest curiosity in her tone. "Oh, I'm so glad! Aren't you, Betty?"
"Better not let Oliver hear you say that," said Pamela in an undertone as Miss Euphemia drew Betty aside.
"How did he get out?" said Moppet, giving way to laughter. "Oh, what a ruffle Oliver must be in."
"Naughty child," said Pamela, but unable to help smiling at Moppet's view of the situation. "Did you happen to hear any noises on the roof or in the big elm last night?"
"Not a sound," said Moppet, like Betty rejoicing inwardly that she could reply truthfully, for the little maid had never told a lie in her short life, and had indeed spent a wakeful half hour that very morning wondering how she would be able to evade any questions that might be put to her. "Did Captain Yorke climb out of his window and go down the big elm, Pamela? Do you know I thought of that at supper."
"He could not open the window, Moppet," answered Pamela, "but he did go down the tree from the roof, whence he climbed from the chimney here."
"Moppet, you must instantly dress or you will lake cold," said Miss Euphemia, interrupting, to Betty's relief, "and I will be glad if Betty will assist you, for I must go down and see if breakfast be still hot, as no one is ready yet to eat it," and out went Miss Euphemia, calling the others to follow her.
"What do you think of all this?" asked Pamela of Betty.
"What do you suppose?" flashed out Betty, whose quick tongue had been so long restrained that it was absolute relief to her to speak her mind. "I am as glad as I can possibly be that Captain Yorke has escaped, and if that be disloyal"—finished the spirited little maid, mindful of Patrick Henry—"make the most of it!"
"Oh, Betty!" cried Pamela, shocked beyond expression.
"It is I that should be shocked, not you," went on Betty. "Do you hold Moppet's dear life as nothing? Do you not wish to acknowledge an obligation when it is doubly due? I am ashamed of you, Pamela,—you and Oliver. I would my father were here to make you see both sides of a question clearly."
"Betty, Betty," implored Pamela, bursting into tears, "do I not love our little sister as well as you? You do mistake me; I did not dare go counterwise to Oliver and Josiah, but indeed I love you for your courage."
"There, say no more," said Betty, dropping the brush with which she was reducing Moppet's rebellious locks to order, and rushing into Pamela's arms with quick repentance. "I am cross and upset this morning, and not fit to talk to you, my gentle Pamela, so go down and make the coffee and forgive my petulance."
Dolly, who had witnessed this little sisterly passage of arms in shy fright, put her hand in Pamela's and whispered, as they gained the staircase:—
"Dry your eyes, Pamela dear; Betty is most forward to speak thus to her elder sister."
"There you mistake," said Pamela, changing front with true feminine inconsistency. "Betty is quite right, and I am displeased,—yes downright displeased with myself that I did not side with her last night," and with unwonted color flushing her usually pale cheeks Pamela walked into the breakfast-room, Dolly following meekly behind her.
Meanwhile, Oliver and Josiah were upon the roof of the mansion conducting most careful investigation. They had decided that it was useless to pursue Yorke, for he might have many hours in advance of them, and they must take the chances that he would be recaptured by some of Putnam's men, especially if he again mistook the country and went west instead of north. They climbed through the trap-door, but as the heavy dews had not yet begun there was no trace of footsteps upon the roof beyond a faint mark, which might be the spot where the prisoner had dropped from the chimney. It was quite possible for an agile fellow, accustomed to use his muscle, to clamber down the sloping roof to the elm and escape to the ground by its branches, and that he was not heard was partly due to his own care and the unusually heavy slumbers of the inmates of the mansion. Having reached this conclusion, Oliver was fain to make the best of it, and in much chagrin descended to the breakfast-table.
Try as she did to look demure and avoid speaking upon the subject which all were discussing, Betty could not keep her dancing eyes in order, and before the meal was over she flashed so roguish a glance at Oliver that, irritated at her mute opposition, he could not refrain from saying:—
"There sits Betty looking fairly pleased because she has her own way, and apparently cares nothing for the escape of an enemy to her country."
"Fie, Oliver," spoke up Pamela with unusual fire, "Betty is as loyal as you or I, and you are unfair to tax her because she heartily disapproves of your course in regard to Captain Yorke's detention after the signal service he has rendered to all us Wolcotts."
"Pamela!" cried Oliver, good temper returning, and gazing in comic dismay at his favorite sister, much as he would at a dove who had ruffled its plumes. "This from you, Pamela? If Betty be allowed to demoralize the family in this wise, I think it were well my father takes you all in hand."
"Heyday?" said a kindly voice from the door of the sitting-room, as a fine-looking man dressed in the Continental uniform entered the room. "Who is it that requires my parental hand, Oliver, and why do you so lament my absence?"
"Father, father!" shrieked Miss Moppet, tumbling out of her chair and flinging her arms around General Wolcott's neck as he stooped down to embrace her. "Oh, we're so glad you are come. Why didn't you get here last night?"
"Because I lay over at General Putnam's headquarters," said her father. "Oliver, you will find Captain Seymour and Lieutenant Hillhouse on the porch. See that their horses be taken and fed, and bid them come to breakfast."
Oliver disappeared in haste, and Josiah, with an apology to Miss Euphemia, followed him; while General Wolcott, casting off his hat and gloves, seated himself with Moppet on his knee, and Miss Bidwell appeared from the kitchen with fresh reinforcements of breakfast for the newcomers. Betty, busying herself by fetching cups and saucers from the china pantry, caught fragments of the conversation, and became aware that Miss Moppet was telling the story of her adventure at Great Pond, in the child's most dramatic fashion, and that Miss Euphemia was also adding her testimony to the tale as it went on. They were presently interrupted by the entrance of Oliver with his father's two aids, and the large mahogany table was surrounded by guests, whose appetites bid fair to do justice to Miss Bidwell's breakfast.
No sooner was the meal fairly under way than Oliver, eager to hear his father's opinion, began the story of his capture of the day before, and related how and where he had found Captain Yorke, and how safely he supposed he had imprisoned him in the north chamber, from which his clever and ready escape had been made. Oliver's narrative was interrupted by exclamations from the officers and questions from his father, who displayed keen interest in the matter.
"Father," said Moppet, seeing that the most important point had been omitted in Oliver's story, and venturing to join in the conversation, as few children of that period would have done, "Oliver's prisoner was my good kind gentleman who pulled me out of the pond, and I am very, very glad he has got away—aren't you?"
"I was indeed hard bestead, sir," burst in Oliver. "Here were Betty and Moppet insisting that I must let Captain Yorke go free because of his gallant act (which I fully appreciate), and the gentleman refusing his parole because he preferred to take the chances of war, while I felt it my sworn duty to detain him and to forward him to General Putnam without delay, as I know we are in need of exchange for several of our officers now held by Sir Henry Clinton, and this man is of Clinton's staff, and therefore a most valuable capture. Was I to blame for retaining him?"
General Wolcott hesitated, but as he was about to make reply his eye fell upon Betty, who confronted him across the table with parted lips and large, beseeching eyes so full of entreaty that he changed the words almost upon his lips.
"It is a delicate question, my son," he said gravely, "and one I would rather not discuss at the present moment. More especially"—and a half-quizzical smile lit up his grave but kindly face as he turned toward Miss Moppet and gently pinched her little ear,—"more especially as the gentleman has taken the law in his own hands and escaped from Wolcott Manor despite the fact that as it is the residence of a Continental officer and the sheriff of Litchfield County it might be supposed to have exceptional reasons for detaining him. Captain Seymour, I will be glad to sign the papers of which General Putnam has need, and we will go at once to my library, for you must be off by noon."
Some two hours later, as Betty sat watching in her chamber window, she saw the horses led around to the front door, and shortly after knew from the sounds below that Pamela and Dolly wore bidding the young officers good-by; so, waiting until the sound of their horses' feet had died away in the distance, Betty, with outward composure but much inward dismay, tripped softly downstairs and knocked at the door of the library.
"Pray Heaven he be alone," she sighed as she heard her father's voice bid her enter, and then she crossed the threshold and confronted him.
"Father," she said, steadying herself by one small hand pressed downward on the table behind which he sat, "I—that is—I have something to tell you."
General Wolcott raised his head from the paper which he had been carefully reading and looked kindly at her.
"What is it, my child?" he asked reassuringly, motioning her to a chair. "I thought at breakfast that you had the air of being in distress."
"Nay, I am hardly that," replied Betty, clinging to the table, "except so far as I may have incurred your censure, though I hope not your displeasure. Father, Oliver has told you of the escape of Captain Yorke, which causes him much chagrin and anger. Blame no one but me, for I myself released him."
"You!" exclaimed General Wolcott.
"Yes, I," said Betty, growing paler. "If you had but been here or I known that you were so near us, there had been no such need for haste, and I would have been spared this confession."
"How did you arrange the escape?" said her father quietly.
"It was this way," faltered Betty, but gaining courage as she proceeded. "Oliver would not listen, though I begged and plead with him to delay until your arrival. He was so eager to deliver his captive to General Putnam that I made no impression. Father, the Englishman had saved our Moppet's life at the risk of his own;hedid not pause to ask whether she was friend or foe when he rushed to her rescue—could we he less humane? I do not know what they do to prisoners,"—and Betty strangled a swift sob,—"but I could not bear to think of a gallant gentleman, be he British or American, confined in a prison, and so I resolved I would assist his escape. I waited until midnight, and then I spoke to him through the aperture in the great chimney and instructed him how to climb up through it by the pegs Reuben had left there, and I stole to the garret and waited until he came. Ruben did not see me pass the door of the north chamber, for he was asleep (do not tell this to Oliver, as it might bring reproof upon poor Reuben, who was too weary to be of much service as a sentinel), and I brought Captain Yorke safely down the stairs which lead from the garret to the buttery. Once there, all was easy; I opened the door, and—and—I even offered him the mare, father, I was in such fear of his recapture; but he stoutly refused to take her. This is all. If I am a traitor, dear father, punish me as I deserve, but never think me disloyal to you or to my country."
There was a pause, as Betty's sweet, passionate tones ceased; she stood with head thrown back, but downcast eyes, as fair a picture us ever greeted father's eye.
"A loyal traitor, Betty," said General Wolcott slowly; "and I think that it were well I should look after the condition of my chimneys."
Scarcely daring to believe her ears, Betty looked up, and in another second she had thrown her arms around her father's neck, sobbing softly as he caressed her.
"'Twas a daring, mad scheme, my child," said General Wolcott, his own eyes not quite guiltless of moisture; "but bravely carried out; and looking at the matter much as you do, I cannot find it in my heart to censure you. Captain Yorke is doubtless a manly foe, and of such I have no fear. It shall be our secret, yours and mine, Betty; we will not even tell Oliver just now, else it might make sore feeling between you. For Oliver was right, and"—smiling kindly, "so were you. Everything depends upon the point of view, my daughter; but let me beg you never to try your hand again to assist the escape of a British officer, or it might cost me the friendship of General Washington."
"Father, dear father!" cried Betty, overjoyed to find judgment so lenient accorded her, "I crave your pardon; 'twas alone for Moppet's sake."
"Aye," said General Wolcott, and then paused a brief second, for his wife's death, had been the forfeit paid for Moppet's birth, and this was one reason why the child had become the family idol. "Now run away, for I must close these papers in time for Oliver, who rides dispatch to Fort Trumbull to-night. And, Betty," as she stood glowing and smiling before him "my child, you grow more like your mother every day." and with a hasty movement General Wolcott turned away to conceal his emotion, as Betty went quickly from the room.