ristocratic folk were wont to deal. Truth to tell,
Madam Cruger had made matters somewhat uncomfortable for her portly cook
when she learned that the cakes made by that functionary were too few to
meet her ideas of hospitality; and although Kitty knew that it would
require speed on her part to go to the market and return in time to
dress and be ready to receive their visitors in the drawing-room by
twelve o'clock, she preferred to pour oil on the troubled waters and
procure domestic peace at the expense of a little personal fatigue.
Beside, it was not unpleasant to trip along with the merry crowd, bent
on enjoying themselves, and Kitty knew that she would meet many an
acquaintance, out, like herself, on some belated errand for New Year
day.

But there was one occurrence for which Kitty had not bargained, and that
befell her as she gained the market door. The fisherman, who had
followed her as swiftly as he dared without creating notice, passed
close at her elbow, then turned and met her face to face. Kitty grew a
little pale as he touched his cap respectfully, but she stopped in
obedience to the glance which met hers.

"A Happy New Year to you, my good man," she said. "I fear that you and
your brother craftsmen suffer this terribly cold winter. Stand aside out
of the chilly wind which meets us through the market door and I will
speak to you. Cato," to her servant, "go on to Fran Hansel's stall, and
let her weigh out five pounds of seedcakes for my mother; I will join
you there in a moment," and she turned back to the fisherman, knowing
that in the crowd she was comparatively safe, provided her voice was not
loud enough to attract attention.

"What is it?" she murmured, almost breathless from excitement, yet
striving to maintain a quiet, even careless exterior. "I hoped you had
fulfilled your dangerous errand and gone hence two days ago."

"I cannot leave until my mission is completed; we have almost certain
news of an incursion by the British across the Kill von Kull, which will
do much injury to the peaceful country folk of Elizabethtown and Newark.
The man they call 'Billy the fiddler' will have a message for me
to-night of the greatest importance, and he plays with others at the De
Lancey ball; are you to be there, and at what hour?"

"I, Oliver?" said Kitty, and turned rosy red as the incautious word
escaped her; "all New York is going at eight o'clock, but what has that
to do with"--

"This," whispered Olive