his thing on my back
a coat, would you? What could be lighter? So comfortable, too, in
this pleasant summer weather!"

"Oh, shut up, old man; you 're better off than I am, anyway; you've got
rags to help your shoes out, and just look at mine," said another,
sticking out a gaunt leg with a tattered shoe on the foot, every toe of
which was plainly visible through the torn and worn openings. "And
just look at this," he went on, bringing his foot down hard on the
snow-covered, frost-bound soil, making an imprint which was edged with
blood from his wounded, bruised, unprotected feet. "That's my
sign-manual; and it 's not hard to duplicate in the army yonder,
either."

"That's true; and to think that the cause of liberty's got down so low
that we are its only dependence. And they call us the grand army!"

"Well, as you say," went on another, recklessly, "we can't get into
anything worse, so hurrah for the next move, say I."

"Three days' rations and light marching order, meaning, I suppose, that
we are to leave our heavy overcoats and blankets and foot stoves and
such other luxuries behind; that rather indicates that we are going to
do something besides retreat; and I should like to get a whack at those
mercenary Dutchmen before I freeze or starve," was the reply.

"Bully for you!"

"I'm with you, old man."

"I, too."

"And I," came from the group of undaunted men surrounding the speaker.

"And to think," said another, "of its being Christmas day, and all
those little children at home--oh, well," turning away and wiping his
eyes, "marching and fighting may make us forget, boys. I wouldn't mind
suffering for liberty, if we could only do something, have something to
show for it but a bloody trail and a story of defeat. I 'm tired of
it," he continued desperately. "I 'd fight the whole British army if
they would only let me get a chance at them."

"We're all with you there, man, and I guess this time we get a chance,"
replied one of the speakers, amid a chorus of approval which showed the
spirit of the men.

While the men were talking among themselves thus, the four riders on
the tired horses had ridden up to the farmhouse. A soldier dressed no
better than the rest stood before the door.

"Halt! Who are you?" he cried, presenting his musket.

"Friends. Officers from Philadelphia, with messages for his
excellency," replied the foremost. "Don't you recognize me, my man?"

"Why, it's Lieutenant Talbot!