the sitting-room window and sighed
softly, as she gazed out at the November landscape, letting her fingers
beat soft tattoo against the lozenge-shaped pane.

"Pamela," said Betty from the depths of a big chair, where she sat
busily knitting a little stocking whose proportions suggested Miss
Moppet, "I wish you would stop that devil's march. Believe me, you had
much better come and talk to me, and so drive away the vapors, rather
than stand there and worry over the whereabouts of Josiah."

"It will take more than that to drive away the thoughts I cannot help,"
said Pamela, coming back from the window and seating herself on the
wide settle, for Pamela was somewhat given to seeking the warmest
corner, and dreaded a New England winter. "It is full time I had some
intelligence, for Josiah promised that he would take advantage of any
courier who started for New London to dispatch me a letter, and you know
that father had news two days since from Morristown, but nothing came
for me. Betty, I am sore afraid of evil tidings."

"You are ever faint-hearted," said Betty, glancing compassionately at
her sister.

"And I dreamed last night of a wedding," went on Pamela, "and that, you
know, is an evil sign."

"Best not let Aunt Euphemia hear you," Replied Betty, with a smile. "You
have been consulting Chloe, I am sure, as to the portents of dreams.
Fie, Pamela; Josiah is strong and well, and there is not likely to be a
movement of the troops just now, father says, so why worry? I am anxious
because we hear nothing of Clarissa, and I think Aunt Euphemia is the
same, for I heard her talking and sighing last night when Miss Bidwell
carried up the night light. Dear Clarissa, how I wish I could see her
again; I wonder if she be quite, quite happy shut up in New York among
the Tories."

"No doubt; though when she married Gulian Verplanck we had little
thought of the occupation of New York by the British. Do you recollect
how pretty she looked on her wedding-day, Betty, and the little caps you
and I wore,--mine with a knot of blue, and yours of rose-color? I found
that ribbon one day last week, tucked away in a little box. Have you
kept yours?"

"No," returned Betty, with a sudden blush and a quick, half-guilty throb
of her heart, as she remembered in whose hand she had last seen that
same bow of rose-color; "that is, I had it until last summer, when--I
lost it." And Betty dropped two stitches in her confusion, which
fortunately Pam