nt upon counting a heap of stockings; "please
fetch me a pair of scissors when you come up again."

Off flew Moppet, marking her progress down the garret stairs by various
exclamations as she dropped the jacket and tripped on the wrapper, but,
finally reached the bottom in safety, Betty went on overlooking the
chest; there were many articles to select from, and a red skirt of
Moppet's which did not appear to be forthcoming. She ran her hand down
to the very bottom of the chest, and feeling some garment made of smooth
cloth with a gleam of red in it, dragged it forth and held it up to the
light. As she did so, her hand struck something hard and round.

"What have I found?" thought Betty, but the next moment she saw that
what she held was an officer's dark blue riding-cape fastened with brass
buttons, on each of which was engraved a crown, and the cape was lined
with British scarlet.

"What have you got there?" said Moppet's voice, as she appeared at her
side. "Why, 'tis Captain Yorke's cape that he muffled me in the day I
fell into Great Pond--Oh, Betty, Betty, what is amiss?"

Down on her knees fell Betty. She buried her face in the cape's folds,
and tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to say, "It is nothing,
nothing, I am tired--I am--Oh, Geoffrey, Geoffrey, I think my heart is
breaking."

Miss Moppet opened her eyes to their widest; then slowly and
deliberately she grasped the situation in "high Roman fashion."

"Betty Wolcott, do I live to see you weep over a scarlet coat!"

No answer; indeed, Betty scarcely heard the words. The flood-gates were
let loose and the agony of days and months must have its way.

"Betty!" this time the voice of reproving patriotism quavered somewhat.
"I do believe you are worse than Pamela." But Betty sobbed on,--sobs
that fairly racked her slender body.

"Well, I don't care what anybody says,"--and Moppet flung the Whig cause
to the wind as she cast herself down beside Betty,--"he's dear and
handsome and brave; whether he be British or Yankee, I love him, and _so
do you_, naughty, naughty Betty!"

And with her head on Miss Moppet's sympathizing shoulder, and Miss
Moppet's loving arms clasped around her neck, Betty Wolcott whispered
her confession and was comforted.

CHAPTER XVII

A KNOT OF ROSE-COLORED RIBBON

The sun rose bright and clear over the Bay of New York. It had been a
somewhat gray dawn, but the fog and mist had gradually rolled away, and
the day b