bable air
of polish and fine breeding, seemed strangely incongruous in connection
with his apparel and travel-worn appearance.

"I wonder where I am," he said half aloud, as he surveyed the pretty
sheet of water sparkling in the afternoon sun. "Faith, 'tis hard enough
to be half starved and foot-sore, without being lost in an enemy's
country. The woman who gave me that glass of milk at five o'clock this
morning said I was within a mile of Goshen. I must have walked ten miles
since then, and am apparently no nearer the line than I was
yesterday--Hark! what's that?"--as a sound of voices struck his ear
faintly, coming from some distance on his right. "Some one comes this
direction. I had best conceal myself in these friendly bushes until I
ascertain whether 'tis friend or foe."

So saying, he plunged hastily into a thicket of low-lying shrubs close
at hand, and, throwing himself flat upon the ground under them, was
comparatively secure from observation as long as he remained perfectly
still. The next sound he heard was horses' feet, moving at a walk, and
presently there came in view a spirited-looking bay mare and a gray
pony, the riders being engaged in merry conversation.

"No, no, Betty," said the little girl of about nine years, who rode the
pony; "it is just here, or a few rods farther on, where we had the
Maypole set last year, and I know I can find the herbs which Chloe wants
near by on the shore of the pond. Let's dismount and tie the horses
here, and you and I can search for them."

"It's well I did not let you come alone," said the rider of the bay
mare, laughing as she spoke. "Truly, Miss Moppet, you are a courageous
little maid to wish to venture in these woods. Not that I am afraid,"
said Betty Wolcott suddenly, remembering the weight and dignity of her
sixteen years as compared with her little sister, "but in these
troublous times father says it were well to be careful."

"Since when have you grown so staid?" said Miss Moppet, shaking her long
yellow hair back from her shoulders as she jumped off her pony and led
him up to a young ash-tree, whose branches allowed of her securing him
by the bridle to one of them, "Of all people in the world, Betty, you to
read me a lecture on care-taking," and with a mischievous laugh the
child fled around the tree in pretended dismay, as Betty sprang to the
ground and shook her riding-whip playfully in her direction.

"Ungrateful Moppet," she said, as she tied both hor