the war was going on. No
news was ever allowed to reach us but what was of the most disheartening
nature, and Monsieur Roquion always contrived to bring it with a grin on
his countenance which we knew meant mischief, though we could not make
up our minds to believe him or not. One day he came in with a smile on
his countenance, and shrugging his shoulders--

"Very sorry for you, as we do not here benefit by your loss," he
remarked, endeavouring to put on a look of perfect sincerity. "You
have, undoubtedly, heard the sad news. Your brave Admiral Keppel has
been defeated in the channel. Most of his ships have been sunk or
taken, and he himself has been captured and is a prisoner in France."

Days and days passed away and we heard no more, and though we used every
exertion to discover the truth, no one we met could contradict it. Next
we heard that the successful French fleet had pursued Admiral Byron on
his voyage to America, had brought him to action and completely
dispersed and destroyed his fleet. We daily talked the matter over
among ourselves. We could scarcely believe that the sun of England had
set so low, and yet what right had we to doubt the truth of what we
heard? We had ourselves been captured by the enemy, and might not
others have been equally unfortunate?

Then we heard that the French had blocked up Lord Howe in New York, and
that the American patriots had triumphed over the British army and were
everywhere successful. How earnestly we longed for letters which might
inform us of the truth! but our cunning captors took care that we should
not get them. Perhaps they themselves believed the reports they spread
among us. One thing we knew, that in spite of all their reverses, the
English were not likely to give in without a desperate and prolonged
struggle, and that, therefore, our captivity might be continued to an
indefinite period. I therefore considered if I could not make myself
more comfortable than I had hitherto been. I called Tom Rockets to my
councils. He, faithful fellow, had been constantly in attendance on me.

"To my mind, sir, the best thing to do would be to keep chickens," he
observed with a look of simple earnestness. "My old mother used to keep
them, and I helped her to feed them, and I know all their ways; and if
we could get a few we could keep them in this here stable of yours, sir,
and they would well-nigh feed themselves."

I thought Tom's proposal so good a one that