glory--he thinks
now that he may get Washington's place,--that he is willing to agree
that Burgoyne's soldiers may return to England if only they'll fight
no more against America, and we may imagine the smile on the face of
the English general. Nor is it difficult to imagine the dark red of
anger in Colonel Morgan's face when Gates seeks his support for the
place of commander-in-chief, and the "old wagoner" curtly tells him
that he will have no part in such a scheme, that he will fight under
Washington or not fight at all.

Zeb was sufficiently recovered from his wound to be able to see the
British troops march past on the day of the surrender, looking down
the ranks of Americans, some trim and soldierly, as were the
Continentals, and others clad in homespun or the skins of the forest.
And in the ranks filing past in dejection Rodney saw the sneering face
of Mogridge. The flower of the British aristocracy, sons of nobility
and members of Parliament, had been subalterns under Burgoyne.
Mogridge, as ever, had followed in the wake of those having money so
that he might live as the leech lives.

"I have got a furlough, and as soon as this wound will let me I'm
going to Boston to see the folks." And at the moment Zeb said this he
was carrying, in an inside pocket of his dirty hunting shirt, a letter
from Melicite, the fair young French girl whose kindness to him and
young Lovell in Quebec had won from him more than mere friendship.[3]

"And I'm going down into Connecticut to find the girl who sewed her
name inside my coat," remarked a militia man standing by; for there
were girls who won husbands by this simple little device, stitching
their fate into the homespun coats they made for the soldiers.

Rodney turned away, feeling a bit lonely. He would find Conrad.

"Conrad, if I can get you freed will you promise me to live a friend
to Americans and, on getting back to your people, will find Louis and
bring him to my home in Charlottesville?"

For several minutes Conrad made no reply, and then he said: "Yah, I
vill." And so it came about that, when his wound was healed, he turned
his face toward his chosen home in the forest.

-----

[3] See "Marching with Morgan."

CHAPTER XXVI

TRICKED, AND BY HIS FRIEND

Burgoyne, on meeting Colonel Morgan after the surrender, had said to
him: "Sir, you command the finest regiment in the world."

"A feller with ornary jedgment mought reach that ar conclusion with
ha