nperceived, and hurried down to the river's edge. On the other side,
at some distance, he could see a faint gleam of light between the
leafless trees. He had watched it longingly. There were many kindly
disposed people who gave shelter to deserters. He threw off his heavy
coat, and his boots, with the soles worn through, and made a plunge. The
water was cold, the way longer than it looked; but he buffeted across
and crawled out in the autumn blast, dripping and shivering, and ran up
to the kitchen steps, that looked more friendly than the great wide
porch and stately doorway. The maids were frightened, and a man came, to
whom he told his story in broken English, and was taken in, warmed and
fed and clothed, and kept out of sight for several days.

In his gratitude and delight, he made himself useful. He had been
accustomed to farming and herds and flocks. The old Morris estate was
large; and when the British Army was safely out of the way, there was
work in plenty; and a faithful hand Anthony Woolf proved.

When the long summer days came the next year, there was no end of
spinning in the great house, where linen and woollen were made for the
family use. The farmers' daughters used to be eager for the chances; and
one day, when pretty Phebe Oakley's grandmother was going over to the
great house, as it was so often called, the young girl begged her to
speak a good word for her, as she could spin both wool and flax.

"They'll be glad to have you," said grandmother on her return. "But,
Phebe, they have a young Woolf over there; so look out he doesn't catch
you."

Phebe tossed her head. She was in no hurry to be caught. And yet it so
fell out that when Anthony Woolf had saved up a little money, and
negotiated for a farm over in the valley, he caught pretty Phebe Oakley,
and built a house for her, and prospered.

They looked at the place where the Hessian Army had been encamped, and
traced the course of the young fellow's daring swim. And here was the
old part of the house he had built, and where he had outlived his own
son, but left grandsons behind him, one of whom had married Cousin
Jennie. Grandmother was still alive,--a little, rather-faded, and
shrunken old lady who had once been pretty Phebe Oakley, who lived with
her daughter in the old part.

"There are lots of romances lying about unused," said Ben. "I should
like to have a story-teller's gift myself."

Hanny was so interested in young Mr. Woolf that she had