d the confusion of the traitor."

"Who told you that story?" enquired Kinnison.

"An old friend of mine, named Buckram; he was one of the men who
disguised themselves," replied Colson.

"I'm inclined to believe it's a tough yarn," said Kinnison. "It's true
enough to the character of Washington. He never let his feelings swerve
him from the strict line of duty. But all that stuff about the Indian
girl is somebody's invention, or the most extraordinary thing of the
kind I've heard tell of. I don't doubt your friend's veracity, but it's
a tough yarn."

"Probable enough," remarked Hand.

"It's a very pretty story," said Ransom, "and I'm inclined to swallow it
as truth."

"I'm satisfied of its truth," said Colson. "But I wouldn't ask any of
you to believe it, if there's anything in it staggers you."

"I think Rugsdale was served as all such traitors in such times should
be served," said Hanson. "Hurra! for Gineral Washington."

"Three cheers for General Washington!" suggested Hand, and the three
cheers were given. A song was called for by several voices, and a young
man volunteered to favour the company with "Liberty and Washington," the
song which follows:--

When Freedom, from her starry home,
Look'd down upon the drooping world,
She saw a land of fairy bloom,
Where Ocean's sparkling billows curl'd;
The sunbeams kiss'd its mighty floods,
And verdure clad its boundless plains--
But floods and fields and leafy woods,
All wore alike a despot's chains!
"Be free!" she cried, "land of my choice;
Arise! and put thy buckler on;
Let every patriot raise his voice
For Liberty and Washington!"

The word went forth from hill to vale,
Each patriot heart leapt at the sound;
Proud Freedom's banner flapp'd the gale,
And Britain's chains fell to the ground.
Man stood erect in majesty,
The proud defender of his rights:
For where is he would not be free
From stern oppression's deadening blights!
Be free--be free then, happy land!
Forever beam the light that shone
Upon the firm and dauntless band,
Who fought beside our Washington!

Lo! where the forest's children rove
Midst woody hill and rocky glen,
Wild as the dark retreats they loved--
What now are towns were deserts then.
The world has marked her onward way,
Beneath the smile of Liberty;
And Fame records the glo