shall be paid to-night. But, this letter has been written on the
eastern bank of the Hudson, and is quite three weeks old--why have we
not seen you, sooner?"

"Can't see, when he don't come."

"That is plain enough; but why have you not come back sooner? That is
my question."

"Want to look at country--went to shore of Great Salt Lake."

"Oh!--Curiosity, then, has been at the bottom of your absence?"

"Nick warrior--no squaw--got no cur'osity."

"No, no--I beg your pardon, Nick; I did not mean to accuse you of so
womanish a feeling. Far from it; I know you are a man. Tell us,
however, how far, and whither you went?"

"Bos'on," answered Nick, sententiously.

"Boston! That has been a journey, indeed. Surely my son did not allow
you to travel in his company through Massachusetts?"

"Nick go alone. Two path; one for major; one for Tuscarora. Nick got
dere first."

"That I can believe, if you were in earnest. Were you not questioned by
the way?"

"Yes. Tell 'em I'm Stockbridge--pale-face know no better. T'ink he fox;
more like wood-chuck."

"Thank you, Nick, for the compliment. Had my son reached Boston before
you came away?"

"Here he be"--answered the Indian, producing another missive, from the
folds of his calico shirt.

The captain received the note which he read with extreme gravity, and
some surprise.

"This is in Bob's handwriting," he said, "and is dated 'Boston, June
18th, 1775;' but it is without signature, and is not only Bob, but Bob
Short."

"Read, dear Willoughby," exclaimed the anxious mother. "News from
_him_, concerns us all."

"News, Wilhelmina!--They may call this news in Boston, but one is very
little the better for it at the Hutted Knoll. However, such as it is,
there is no reason for keeping it a secret, while there is _one_
reason, at least, why it should be known. This is all. 'My dearest
sir--Thank God I am unharmed; but we have had much to make us reflect;
you know what duty requires--my best and endless love to my mother, and
Beulah--and dear, laughing, capricious, _pretty_ Maud. Nick was
present, and can tell you all. I do not think he will extenuate, or
aught set down in malice."' And this without direction, or signature;
with nothing, in fact, but place and date. What say _you_ to all
this, Nick?"

"He very good--major dere; he know. Nick dere--hot time--a t'ousand
scalp--coat red as blood."

"There has been another battle!" exclaimed the captain; "that is too
plain t