There followed a weary hour of waiting, while first the carts, then the artillery, and finally the few hundred ill-clad, weary men filed off on the post-road. Before the rear-guard had begun its march, British regiments could be discerned across the river, and presently a battery came trotting down to the opposite shore, and a moment later the guns were in position to protect a crossing. This accomplished, a squadron of light dragoons rode into the water and struck boldly across, a number of boats setting out at the same moment, each laden with redcoats. While they were yet in mid-stream the Continental bugles sounded the retreat, and the last American regiment marched across the green and disappeared from view.

Owing to the fact that the coach had not been parked with the waggons, but had been brought to the tavern door, the baggage-train had moved off without it,—a circumstance, needless to say, which did not sadden the squire. It so happened that the vehicle had stopped immediately under the composite portrait sign-board of the inn; and no sooner was the last American regiment lost to view than the publican appeared, equipped with a paint-pot and brush, and, muttering an apology to the owner of the coach, now seated beside his wife and daughter on the box, he climbed upon the roof and, by a few crude strokes, altered the lettering from “Gen. George the Good into “King George the Good.” But he did not attempt to change the firm chin and the strong forehead the bondsman had added to the face.

Barely was the operation finished when the British light horse came wading out of the water and cantered up the river road to the green, the uniforms and helmets flashing brilliantly, the harness jingling, and the swords clanking merrily.

“There are troops worth talking about,” cried the squire, enthusiastically.

He spoke too quickly, for the moment the “dismount” sounded, twenty men were about the coach.

“Too good horses for a damned American!” shouted one, and a dozen hands were unharnessing them on the instant. “A load of prog, boys!” gleefully shouted a second, and both doors were flung open, and the soldiers were quickly crowding each other in their endeavours to get a share. “Egad!” announced another, “but I’ll have a tousel and a buss from yon lass on the box.” “Well said!” cried a fourth, and both sprang on the wheel, as a first step to the attainment of their wishes.

Mr. Meredith, from the box, had been shrieking affirmations of his loyalty to King George without the slightest heed being paid to him; but there is a limit to passivity, and as the two men on the wheel struggled which should first gain the desired prize, the squire kicked out twice with his foot in rapid succession, sending both disputants back into the crowd of troopers. Howls of rage arose on all sides; and it would have fared badly with the master of Greenwood had not the noise brought an officer up.

“Here, here!” he cried sharply, “what ’s all this pother about?”

“’T is a damned Whig, who is—”

“A lie!” roared the squire. “There is no better subject of King George living than Lambert Meredith.”

The officer jeered. “That’s what every rebel claims of late. Not one breathes in the land, if you’d but believe the words of you turncoats.”

“’T is not a lie,” spoke up Janice, her face blazing with temper and her fists clinched as if she intended to use them. “Dadda always—”

“Ho!” exclaimed the officer, “what a pretty wench! Art a rebel, too? for if so, I’ll see to it that guard duty falls to me. Come, black eyes, one kiss, and I’ll send the men to right about.”

Janice caught the whip from its socket and raised it threateningly, just as another officer from a newly arrived company came spurring up and, without warning, began to strike right and left with the flat of his sword. “Off with you, you damned rapscallions!” he shouted. “Leftenant Bromhead, where are your manners?”

“And where are yours, Mr. Hennion, that ye dare speak so to your superior officer?” demanded the lieutenant.

There was no mistaking Philemon, changed though he was. He wore a fashionable wig, and his clothes fitted well a figure that, once shambling and loose-jointed, had now all the erectness of the soldier, but the face was unchanged.

“I’ll not quarrel with you now,” swaggered Philemon. “If you want ter fight later I’m your man, an’ if you want ter go before Colonel Harcourt with a complaint I’ll face you. But now I’ve other matters.” He turned to the trio on the box, and exclaimed as he doffed his hat: “Well, squire, didst ever expect sight of me again? An’ how do Mrs. Meredith and Janice? Strap my vitals, if I’ve seen such beauty since I left Brunswick,” he added airily, and making Janice feel very much put out of countenance.

“Welcome, Philemon!” cried Mrs. Meredith, “and doubly welcome at such a moment.”

“Ay,” shouted the squire, heartily. “Ye arrived just in the nick o’ time to save your bride, Phil.” A remark which sent the whip rattling to the ground from the hands of Janice. “An’ ye a king’s officer!” he ended. “Bubble your story to us, lad.”

“There ain’t much ter tell as you don’t know already. Sir William put no faith in the news I carried, thinkin’ it but a Whig trick, and so they held me prisoner. But later, when ’t was too late ter use it, they learned the word I brought them was true; so they set me free, and as there was no gettin’ away from Boston, the general gave me a cornetcy, that I should not starve.”

“I’ll lay to it that there’ll be no more starvation now that you ’re back home,” cried the squire, “though betwixt your cheating old sire, who’ll pay no interest on his mortgages, and the merchants gone bankrupt in York, and now this loss of harvest and stock, ’t is like Greenwood will show but a lean larder for a time. But mayhaps now that ye’ve gone up in the world, ye’d like to cry off from the bargain?”

“But let me finish the campaign by capturin’ Philadelphia, and dispersin’ Washington’s pack of peddlers and jail-birds, which won’t take mor’n a fortnight, and then you can’t name a day too soon for me, an’ I hope not for your daughter. You can’t call me gawk any longer, I reckon, Janice?”

“Thou camst nigh to losing her, Phil,” declared Mrs. Meredith.

“Ay,” added the squire. “Hast heard of how that scoundrel Evatt schemed

“Oh, dadda!” moaned Janice, imploringly.

“No scoundrel is he, squire, nor farmer neither; he bein’ Lord Clowes,” asserted Phil. “He joined our army at New York, and is Sir William’s commissary-general an’ right-hand man.”

A more effectual interruption than that of the girl’s prevented Mr. Meredith from enlarging upon the theme, for the bugle sounded in quick succession the “assembly” and “boots and saddles.”

“That calls me,” announced Phil, with an air of importance. “We ain’t goin’ ter give the runaways no rest, you see.”

“But Phil,” cried the squire, “ye’ll not leave us to be again—And they’ve stole Joggles and Jumper, and all my hams and sides. Ye must—”

“I can’t bide now,” called back the cornet, hurriedly taking his position just as the bugle called the marching order, and the squadron moved off after the retreating Continentals.

Helpless to move, the Merediths sat on their coach while an officer, accompanied by a file of soldiers and half a dozen drummers, took station at the Town Hall. First a broadside was posted on the bulletin-board, and the drums beat the “parley” long and loudly. Then the drummers and the file split into two parties, and marching down the village street in opposite directions, the non-commissioned officers, to the beat of drum, shouted summons to all the population to assemble at the hall to take the oath of allegiance to “King George the Third, by the grace of God, of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, and so forth.”

The first man to step forward to take the oath, sign the submission, and receive his pardon was the Hon. Joseph Bagby, erstwhile member of the Assembly of New Jersey, but now loudly declaring his loyalty to the crown, and his joy that “things were to be put in order again.” The second signer was the publican; the third was Esquire Hennion; and after him came all the townsmen, save those who had thrown in their lot along with the parson that morning by marching off with Washington.

Mr. Meredith descended from his seat and waited his turn to go through what was to him a form, and during this time the ladies watched the troops being ferried across the river. Presently an officer rode up the river road, issuing orders to the regiments, which promptly fell in, while the rider halted at the tavern, announced the soon-to-be-expected arrival of Generals Howe and Cornwallis, and bade the landlord prepare his best cheer. While he spoke a large barge landed its burden of men and horses on the shore, and a moment later a dozen officers came trotting up to the tavern between lines of men with their guns at “present arms.”

“What ho! Well met, friend Meredith,” cried one of the new-comers, as the group halted at the tavern. “I was but just telling Sir William that the king had one good friend in Brunswick town, and now here he is!” Evatt, or Clowes, swung out of the saddle and extended his hand.

Although the squire had just recovered the whip dropped by Janice, he did not keep to his intention of laying it across the shoulders of the would-be abductor, but instead grasped the hand offered.

“Well met, indeed,” he assented cordially. “’T is a glad sight to us to see our good king’s colours and troops.”

“Sir William,” called the baron, “thou must know Mr. Lambert Meredith, first, because he’s the one friend our king has in this town, and next, because, as thy commissary, I forbid thee to dine at the tavern on the vile fried pork or bubble and squeak, and the stinking whiskey or rum thou’lt be served with, and, in Mr. Meredith’s name, invite thee and his Lordship to eat a dinner at Greenwood, where thou’lt have the best of victuals, washed down with Madeira fit for Bacchus.”

“Ay,” cried Mr. Meredith, “the rebels have done their best to bring famine to Greenwood, but it shall spread its best to any of his Majesty’s servants.”

“Here ’s loyalty indeed,” said Sir William, heartily, as he leaned in his saddle to shake the squire’s hand. “Damn your rebel submissions and oaths, not worth the paper they ’re writ on; but good Madeira,—that smacks loyal and true on a parched tongue and cannot swear false. Lead the way, Mr. Meredith, and we’ll do as much justice to your wine as later we’ll do to Mr. Washington, if we can ever come up with him. Eh, Charles?”

The officer addressed, who was frowning, gave an impatient movement in the saddle that seemed to convey dissent. “Of what use was our forced march,” he demanded, “if not to come up with the fox before he finds cover?”

“Nay, the rebels are so little hampered by baggage that they can outstrip all save our light horse. And because they have the legs of us is no reason for our starving ourselves; the further they run, the more exhausted they’ll be.”

“Well argued,” chimed in Clowes. “And your Excellency will find more at Greenwood than mere meat and drink. Come, squire, name your dame and Miss Janice to Sir William. In playing quadrille to win, man, we never hold back the queens.”

All the horsemen uncovered to the ladies, as they were introduced, and Howe uttered an admiring epithet as his eyes fixed on the girl. “The Queen of Hearts scores, and the game is won,” he cried, bowing low to Janice. “Ho, Charles, art as hot for the rebels as thou wert a moment since?”

“I still think the light horse had best be pushed, and should be properly supported by the grenadiers.”

“Nay, wait till Knyphausen comes up, and then we’ll—”

“’T is no time to play a waiting game.”

“Tush! Lord Cornwallis,” replied Sir William, irritably. “The infantry have done their twenty miles to-day. I’ll not jade my troops into the runaway state of the rebels. What use to kill our men, when the rebellion is collapsing of itself?” During all his argument the commander-in-chief kept his eyes fixed on Janice.

“I can’t but think—” began the earl.

“Come, come, man,” interjected Howe, “we must n’t let the Whigs beat us by starvation. Must we, eh, Mr. Meredith?”

“’T would be a sad end to all our hopes,” assented the squire. “And while we have to do with the rebels, let me point out to ye the two most malignant in this town. There stand the precious pair who have done more to foment disloyalty than any other two men in the county.” It is needless to say that Mr. Meredith was pointing at Squire Hennion and Bagby, who, more curiously than wisely, had lingered at the tavern.

“He lies!” and “’T ain’t so! shrieked Bagby and Hennion in unison, and each began protestations of loyalty, which were cut short by Sir William, who turned to Cornwallis and ordered the two under arrest, pending further information.

“Now we’ll see justice,” chuckled the master of Greenwood, gleefully. “If ye’ll not pay interest on your debts, I’ll pay interest on mine—ay, and with a hangman’s cord belike.”

“But I signed a submission and oath, and here ’s my pardon,” protested Bagby, producing the paper, an example that Hennion imitated.

“Damn Campbell’s carelessness!” swore Howe. “He deals pardons as he would cards at piquet, by twos, without so much as a look at their faces. A glance at either would have shown both to be rapscallion Whigs. However, ’t is done, and not to be undone. Release them, but keep eye on each, and if they give the slightest cause, to the guardhouse with them. Now, Mr. Meredith.”

“I must ask your Excellency’s assistance to horse my coach, and his Majesty owes me a pair not easy to match, stole by your troops this very morning.”

“Make note of it, Mr. Commissary, and see to it that Mr. Meredith has the two returned, with proper compensation. And, Charles, if the theft can be fixed, let the men have a hundred stripes apiece. Unless a stop can be put to this plundering and raping, we’ll have a second rebellion on our hands.”

Cornwallis shrugged his shoulders and issued the necessary orders. Then horses being secured for the carriage, the squire and dames, accompanied by the generals, set out for Greenwood.

It was long past the customary dining hour when the house was reached, and though Mrs. Meredith and Janice joined Sukey and Peg in the hurried preparation of the meal, it was not till after three that it could be announced. As a consequence, before the men had tired of the Madeira, dark had come. One unfortunate of the staff was therefore despatched to order the regiments to bivouac for the night.

“Tell the commissaries to issue an extra ration of rum,” directed Sir William, made generously minded by the generous use of the wine. “And now, friend Lambert, let ’s have in the spirits, and if it but equal thy Madeira in quality we’ll sing a Te Deum and make a night of it.”

Janice, at a call from the host, brought in the squat decanters; and the general insisted, with a look which told his admiration, that his first glass should be mixed by the girl.

“Nay, nay,” he cried, checking her as she reached for the loaf sugar.” “Put it to thy lips, and ’t will be sweeter than any sugar can make it. Take but a sip and give us a toast along with it.” And the general caught at the girl’s free hand and tried to put his other arm about her waist.

“Oh, fie, Sir William!” called Clowes, too flushed with wine to guard his tongue. “What will Mrs. Loring think of such talk?”

“Think! Let her think what she may,” retorted the general, with a laugh. “Dost thou not know that woman is never sweeter than when she is doubtful of her empire?”

Janice, with heightened colour and angry eyes, eluded Howe’s familiarities by a backward step, and, raising the glass, defiantly gave, “Success to Washington!” Then, scared at her own temerity, she darted from the room, in her fright carrying away the tumbler of spirits. But she need not have fled, for her toast only called forth an uproarious burst of laughter.

“I always said ’t was a rebellion of petticoats,” chuckled Sir William. “And small blame to them when they sought to tax their only drink. ’Fore George, I’d rebel myself if they went to taxing good spirits unfairly. Ah, gentlemen, after we have finished with Mr. Washington next week, what sweet work ’t will be to bring the caps to a proper submission! No wonder Cornwallis is hot to push on and have done with the men.”

The morrow found Sir William no less inclined to tarry than he had been the day before, and, using the plea that they would await the arrival of Knyphausen’s force, he sent orders to the advance to remain bivouacked at Brunswick, much to the disgust of Cornwallis, who was little mollified by the consent he finally wrung from his superior to push forward the Light Horse on a reconnoissance,—a task on which he at once departed.

Thus rid of his disagreeable spur, the general settled down before the parlour fire to a game of piquet with Clowes, not a little to the scandalising of card-hating Mrs. Meredith. Worse still to the mother, nothing would do Sir William but for Janice to come and score for him, and it is to be confessed that his attention was more devoted to the black of her eyes and the red of her cheeks than it was to the same colours on the cards. Three times he unguarded a king in the minor hand, and twice he was capoted unnecessarily. As a result, the baron won easily; but the gain in purse did not seem to cheer him, for he looked discontented even as he pocketed his winnings. And as every gallant speech his commander made the girl had deepened this look, the cause for the feeling was not far to seek.

Dinner eaten, the general, without leaving the table, lapsed into gentle, if somewhat noisy, slumber; and his superior thus disposed of for the moment, Clowes sought Janice, only to find that two young fellows of the staff, having abandoned the bottle before him, had the longer been enjoying her society. He joined the group, but, as on the preceding evening, Janice chose to ignore his presence. What he did not know was something said before his entrance, which had much to do with the girl’s determination to punish him.

“Who is this person who is so intimate with Sir William?” she had asked the staff secretary.

McKenzie gave his fellow-staffsman a quick glance which, manlike, he thought the girl would not perceive. “He ’s commissary-general of the forces,” he then replied.

Janice shrugged her shoulders. “Thank you for enlightening my ignorance,” she said ironically. “Let me add in payment for the information that this is a spinet.”

Again McKenzie exchanged a look with Balfour. The latter, however, after a glance at the door, said, in a low voice: “He ’s no favourite with us; that you may be sure.”

“He—Is he—Is Baron Clowes his true name?” Janice questioned.

“More true than most things about him,” muttered McKenzie.

“Then he has another name?” persisted the girl.

“A half-dozen, no doubt,” assented Balfour. “There are dirty things to be done in every kind of work, Miss Meredith, and there are always dirty men ready to do them. I’d not waste thought on him. Knaves go to make up a complete pack as much as kings, you know,” he finished, as Lord Clowes entered the room.

Cornwallis returned at nightfall, with word of the junction of reinforcements; but, despite the news, it required all the urgence of himself and Clowes to induce the commander-in-chief to give the marching order for the next morning. Nor, when the hour of departure came, was Howe less reluctant, lingering over his adieux with his host and hostess, and especially with their daughter, to an extent which set the earl stamping with impatience and put a scowl on Clowes’ face. Even when the general was in the saddle, nothing would do him but he must have a stirrup cup; and when this had been secured, he demanded another toast of the girl.

“You gave Mr. Washington your good wishes last time, Miss Janice, runaway though he was. Canst not give a toast for the troops that don’t run?” he pleaded.

Janice, with a roguish look in her eyes that boded no good to the British, took the glass, and, touching it to her lips, said: “Here ’s to the army which never runs away, and which never—” Then she paused, and caught her breath as if wanting courage.

“Out with it! Complete the toast!” cried the general, eagerly.

“And which never runs after!” ended Janice.