ationed at Reading,
Connecticut, with a band of ill-fed, unpaid troops. He was quartered at
the Marvin house, and Mary, daughter of farmer Marvin, won her way to the
heart of this rough soldier through the excellence of her dumplings and
the invigorating quality of her flip. He even took her into his
confidence, and, being in want of a spy in an emergency, he playfully
asked her if she knew any brave fellow who could be trusted to take a
false message into the British lines that would avert an impending
attack. Yes, she knew such an one, and would guarantee that he would take
the message if the fortunes of the colonial army would be helped thereby.
Putnam assured her that it would aid the patriot cause, and, farther,
that he would reward her; whereat, with a smile and a twinkling eye, the
girl received the missive and left the room.

When daylight had left the sky, Mary slipped out of the house, crossed a
pasture, entered a ravine, and in a field beyond reached a cattle
shelter. On the instant a tall form stepped from the shadows and she sank
into its embrace. There was a kiss, a moment of whispered talk, and the
girl hurriedly asked her lover if he would carry a letter to the British
headquarters, near Ridgefield. Of course he would. But he must not read
it, and he must on no account say from whom he had it. The young man
consented without a question--that she required it was sufficient; so,
thrusting the tiny paper into his hand and bidding him God-speed, she
gave him another kiss and they parted--he to go on his errand, she to
pass the night with the clergyman's daughter at the parsonage. At about
ten o'clock Putnam was disturbed by the tramping of feet and a tall,
goodlooking fellow was thrust into his room by a couple of soldiers. The
captive had been found inside the lines, they said, in consultation with
some unknown person who had escaped the eye of the sentry in the
darkness. When captured he had put a piece of paper into his mouth and
swallowed it. He gave the name of Robert Lockwood, and when Putnam
demanded to know what he had been doing near the camp without a permit he
said that he was bound by a promise not to tell.

"Are you a patriot?" asked the general.

"I am a royalist. I do not sympathize with rebellion. I have been a man
of peace in this war."

Putnam strode about the room, giving vent to his passion in language
neither choice nor gentle, for he had been much troubled by spies and
informers sin