ething to eat, won't you?" accosted Pussy, rather glowing in
feature and agitated in voice by her own daring.

Meanwhile the rider had given Sweeping Wind a second intimation to
stand, which he obeyed, and sniffed at Pussy's cloak and cheeks and
silken bag as she held it forth to the rider, saying naively, "I went
to meeting and was invited to luncheon, and so didn't eat mine." She
spoke swiftly, as though she knew she must not detain him.

He answered with a smile and a "Thank you," took the bag, and rewarded
her by saying, "The British are getting out of Boston, bag and
baggage."

"And where are you going?" demanded Pussy, determined not to go home
with but half the story if she could help it.

"To Governor Trumbull with the good news and a demand for two thousand
men to save New York," he cried back, having gone on. His words were
entangled with a mouthful of gingerbread or mince-pie to such an
extent that it was a full minute before Pussy understood their import,
and then she could only say over and over to herself, as she hastened
on, "Father will be here, father will come home, and we'll have the
good old times back again."

But notwithstanding her hope and a country's wish, the good old times
were not at hand.

Pussy reached home and told the story. Baby went down plump into the
wooden cradle at the first note of it, and set up a tune of rejoicing
in his own fashion which no one regarded. Brother Benjamin, aged
thirteen, whistled furiously, regardless of the honors of the day.
Sammy, who was ten, clapped his hands and knocked his heels together,
first in joy, and then began to fear lest the war should be over
before he grew big enough to be in it.

"Mother," said Pussy, a few minutes later, "let Benny come with me to
tell Mr. Gale about it; may he?"

Pussy laid aside her Sunday bonnet, tied a straw hat over her ears
with a silk kerchief to keep out the wind, and in three minutes got
Benny into the highway.

"See here, Ben, I'm going to light a fire on Baldhead to tell all the
folks together about it, and I want you to help me; quick, before it
gets dark."

"You can't gather fagots," responded Ben.

Yes, she could, and would, and did, while Benny went to the house
nearest to Baldhead to ask for some fire in a kettle.

The two worked with such vigor and will that the first gathering of
darkness saw the light of the beacon-flame burst forth, and the great
March wind blew it into fiercest glow. Every