When Janice came to examine the contents of the baskets, she was somewhat disappointed at the mess of pottage for which she had half bartered herself. Though every article the commissary had enumerated was to be found, it was in meagre quantities, and the girl was shrewd-witted enough to divine the giver's intention,—that she should be quickly forced again to appeal to him. Her mother’s requirements and her own hunger, however, prevented dwelling on the future, and scarcely had these been attended to, when Mobray and André appeared, to inquire if her immediate needs were supplied, and with a plan of assistance.

“Miss Meredith,” said Mobray, “Captain André and I have had assigned to us for quarters the Franklin house down on Second Street; and he and I have agreed that, if Mrs. Meredith can be moved, you are to come and share it with us.”

“We ask it as a favour, which, if granted, will make us the envy of the army,” remarked André. “And it will, I trust, not be an entirely one-sided benefit. The old fox’s den is more than comfortable, Mobray and I have a couple of rankers as servants, one of whom has more or less attached to him a woman who cooks well enough to make even the present ration eatable, and, lastly, though our presence may be something of a handicap, yet in such unsettled times one must tolerate the dogs if they but keep out the wolves. Hang and whip as we may, the men will plunder, and some in high office are little better. Alone here, you are scarcely safe, but with us you need have no fear.”

Janice attempted some objections, but her previous helplessness and loneliness, as well as her recent fright from the commissary, made them faint-hearted, and it needed little urgence to win her consent to the plan. Her mother approving, a surgeon and an ambulance were secured, and before nightfall the removal was safely accomplished.

When, after the first good night’s sleep she had enjoyed since her mother sickened, the girl was summoned to breakfast, she found that others had been more wakeful. In the middle of the table was a pail of milk, a pile of eggs, four unplucked fowls, and two sucking pigs, arranged with some pretence of ornament, with two officer’s sword-knots to better the attempt at decoration, and the whole surmounted by a placard reading: “Only the brave deserve the fare.”

“Gaze, Miss Meredith!’, cried André, jubilantly. “See the results of a valour of which you were the inspiration! Marathon, Cressy, Fontenoy, and Quebec pale before the march, the conflict, and the retreat of last night, the glories of which would ne’er be credited, even alas! were it not necessary that they should ne’er be told.”

“We held counsel concerning our larder,” Sir Frederick explained, as the girl looked questioningly from man to man, “and agreed that since you had honoured us, we could not dare to starve you and Mrs. Meredith on salt pork and sea biscuit. So, last night, André and I, with our two servants, laid hold of a boat, crossed the Delaware, levied tribute on a fat Jersey farm, and returned ere day had come. Item.—To disobeying the general orders by stealing through the lines: one hundred lashes on the bare back. Item.—For ordering a soldier to break the rules of war: ten days in the guardhouse. Item. —For plundering, contrary to proclamation: death by shooting. Wilt drop a tear o’er my grave, fair lady?”

“Oh, sirs!” exclaimed Janice, “you should not—to take such risk—”

“Not since I went birds-nesting in Kent have I had such a night’s sport,” declared André, gleefully. “And the thought that we were checkmating that scoundrel Clowes did not bate the pleasure. If he were fit company for gentlemen we have him to dinner to-day, just to spoil his appetite with sight of our cates.”

“You do not like— Why do you call Lord Clowes scoundrel?” asked Janice.

Mobray shrugged his shoulders as he made answer: “On enough grounds and to boot. But ’t is sufficient that he gave his parole to the rebels, and then broke it by escaping to our lines. He is a living daily disgrace to the uniform we all wear, and yet his influence is so powerful with Sir William that we can do nothing against him. Pray Heaven that some day he’ll not be able to keep in the rear, and that the rebels recapture and give him the rope he merits.”

In contrast to the past, the next few days were very happy ones to Janice. Her mother mended steadily, and was soon able to come to meals and to stay downstairs. The servants relieved the girl of all the household drudgery, and spared her from all dwelling on her empty purse. As for the young officers, they could not do enough to entertain her, and, it is to be suspected, themselves. Piquet was quite abandoned, and in place of it nothing would do André but he must teach Janice to paint. Not to be thrown in the background, Mobray produced his flute, and, thanks to a fine harpsichord Franklin had imported for his daughter, was able to have numberless duets with the maiden. Then they took short rides to the south of the city, where the Delaware and Schuylkill safeguarded a restricted territory from rebel intrusion, and daily walks along the river-front or in the State House Gardens, where one of the bands of a few regiments garrisoning the city played every afternoon for the amusement of the officers and townspeople, and where Janice was made acquainted with many a young macaroni officer or feminine toast. Save for the high price of provisions, and the constant war talk, Philadelphia bore little semblance to being in a state of semi-siege, and the prize which two armies were striving to hold or win, not by actual conflict, but by a strategy which aimed to keep closed or to open sources of supplies.

Late in October Howe’s army fell back from Germantown and took position just outside the city, where it was set to work throwing up lines of fortifications. And a startling rumour which seemed to come from nowhere, but which, in spite of denials from headquarters, spread like wildfire, supplied a reason for both the retrograde movement and the construction of blockhouses and redoubts.

“The rebels have the effrontery to give it out that they have captured General Burgoyne’s whole force,” sneeringly announced Mobray, as he returned from guard mount. “There seems no limit to the size of their lies.”

“La! Sir Frederick,” exclaimed Janice, “’t is just what Colonel—what somebody predicted. He said that if General Washington could but keep Sir William busy until it would be too late for him to go General Burgoyne’s aid, all would be well at the end of the campaign.”

“And having conceived the hope, they seek to bolster their cause by spreading the tale abroad,” scoffed the baronet.

“‘Facile est inventis addere,’” laughed André. “They are merely settling the moot point as to who is the father of invention.”

“What rebel was it bubbled the conceit to you, Miss Meredith?” inquired Mobray.

“’T was Colonel Brereton,” replied the girl, with a faint hesitation. Then she added, as if a new idea occurred to her, “So you see the American is not the father of invention, Colonel Brereton being an Englishman.” Though spoken as an assertion, the statement had a definite question in it.

“Who is this fellow, who, like Charles Lee, fights against his own country?” asked André.

“No one you ever knew, John,” replied Mobray; “but I, who do, have it not in my heart to blame him.”

“Wilt not tell us his history?” begged Janice, eagerly. “Once he said his great-grandfather was King of England, and since then I’ve so longed to know it!”

“’T is truth he spoke, poor fellow, but he was an old-time friend of mine, which would be enough to seal my lips respecting his sorry tale, since he wishes oblivion for it. But I am his debtor as well, for he it was who helped me to a prompt exchange when I was taken prisoner last spring.”

“Of course I would not have thee tell me anything that is secret,” remarked Janice. Then, after a moment, she went on, “There is, however, something of which you may be able to inform me?”

“But name your desire.”

“I must get it,” announced the girl, and she left the room and went upstairs. But once in the upper hallway, she did not go to her room, merely pausing long enough to take the miniature from its abiding spot, and then returned. “Wilt tell me if the diamonds are false?” she requested, placing the ornament in André’s hand.

“No, for a certainty,” replied the captain.

“Then is it not worth five pounds?” exclaimed Janice.

“Five pounds,” laughed André, derisively. “’T is easily worth five hundred!”

“Oh, never!” cried the girl.

“Ay. Am I not right, Mobray?”

“Beyond question. And then ’t is not worth the portrait it encircles,” asserted Mobray, gallantly.

“And yet I could not get one pound for it,” marvelled Janice, and told the two officers how she had sought to barter it.

“’T is evident you asked too little, Miss Meredith,” surmised André, “and so made him suspect your title.”

“Would that you might offer it to me at a hundred times five pounds!” bemoaned the baronet. “To think of such a pearl being cast before such swine

“Who painted it, Miss Meredith?” asked André.

“’T was Colonel Brereton.”

Mobray looked up quickly at her, then once more at the miniature. He turned it over, and as the initials on the back caught his eye, he frowned, but more with intentness than anger. For a moment he held it, then handed it to Janice with the remark, “Know you the frame’s history?”

“Only that it once held another portrait, and that of a most beautiful girl.”

“Whom he forgot, it appears, once you were seen, for which small blame to him, Miss Meredith,” replied Mobray, as he rose and left the room, his face set sternly, as if he were fighting some emotion.

For two days the young officers continued to get infinite amusement out of the rebel news, but on the third their gibes and flouts ceased, and a sudden gravity ensued, the cause of which was explained to the women that evening when the time had come for “good-night.”

“Ladies,” said André, “the route is ordered before daybreak to-morrow, so we must say a farewell to you now, and leave you for a time to the sole charge of Mrs. O’Flaherty. She has orders from us, and from her putative spouse, to take the greatest care of you both, and we have endeavoured to arrange that you shall want for nothing during what we fervently hope will be but a brief absence.”

“For what are you leaving us?” asked Mrs. Meredith.

“In truth, ’t is a sorry business,” growled Mobray. “Confirmation came last night of Burgoyne’s capitulation, and this means that General Gates’s army will at once effect a juncture with Washington’s, and the combined force will give us more than we bargained to fight. Burgoyne’s fiasco makes it all the more necessary that we hold Philadelphia, and so, as our one chance, we must, ere the union is effected, capture the forts on the Delaware, that our warships and supplies may come to us, lest, when the moment arrives for our desperate struggle, we be handicapped by short commons and no line of retreat.”

“Wilt pray for our success, Miss Meredith?”

“Ay,” urged the baronet, “for whatever your sympathies, remember that we fight this time to reunite you with your father.”

And that night Janice made her first plea in behalf of the British arms.

The absence of Mobray and André brought the commissary once again to the fore. Previous to their departure he had dropped in upon the Merediths, only to receive a cool greeting from Janice, and such cold ones from the two captains as discouraged repetition. Now, relieved of their supercilious taunts and affronts, the baron became a daily visitor. He always brought gifts of delicacies, paid open court to Mrs. Meredith, and never once recurred to the words he had wrung from Janice, for the time making himself both useful and entertaining. From his calls the ladies learned the course of the war and of what the distant cannonading meant: of the bloody repulse of Donop’s Hessians at Red Bank, of the burning of the Augusta 64, of the bombardment of the forts on Mud Island, and of the other desperate fighting by which the British struggled to free their jugular vein, the river, from the clutch of Washington’s forces.

It was Clowes who brought them the best proof of the final triumph of the royal army, for one November morning he broke in upon their breakfast, unannounced, and with him came Mr. Meredith.

Had the squire ever doubted the affection of his wife and daughter, the next few minutes of inarticulate but ecstatic delight would have convinced him once for all. Mrs. Meredith, who, since her fever, had been unwontedly gentle and affectionate, welcomed him as he had not been greeted in years; and Janice, shifting from tears to laughter and back again, wellnigh choked him in her delight. Breakfast was forgotten, while the exile was made to tell all his adventures, and of how finally he had escaped from the ship on which perforce he had been for three months.

“’T was desperate fighting on both sides, but we were too many for them, and the river is free at last. The transport ‘Surrey’ was third to come up to the city, and the moment I was ashore I sought out Lord Clowes, hoping to get word of ye, and was not disappointed. Pox me! but I’d begun to think that never again should I see ye!”

There was so much to tell and to listen to in the next few days that the reunited family gave little heed to public events, though warm salutations and thanks were lavished on Mobray and André upon the return of the regiments which had operated against the forts.

An enforced change speedily brought them back to the present. The mustering of all the royal army, now swelled by reinforcements of three thousand troops hurriedly summoned from New York, compelled a rebilleting of the troops, and nine more officers were assigned by the quartermaster-general to the Franklin house, overcrowding it to such an extent as to end the possibility that it should longer shelter the Merediths. The squire went to Sir William Erskine, only to be told that as he was a civilian, the Quartermaster’s Department could, or at least would, do nothing for him. An appeal to Clowes resulted better, for that officer offered to share his own lodgings with his friends,—a generosity which delighted Mr. Meredith, but which put an anxious look on his daughter’s face and a scowl on that of Mobray.

“I make no doubt ’t was a well-hatched scheme from the start,” he asserted. “Lord Clowes and Erskine are but Tom Tickle and Tom Scratch.”

With the same thought in her own mind, Janice took the first opportunity to beg her father to seek further rather than accept the commissary’s hospitality.

“Nay, lass,” replied Mr. Meredith. “Beggars cannot be choosers, and that is what we are. Remember that I am without money, and have been so ever since those rascals hounded me from home. Had not Lord Clowes generously stepped forward as he has, we should be put to it to get through the winter without being frozen or starved. And your mother’s health is not such as could stand either, that ye know.”

“You are quite right, dadda,” assented the girl, as she stooped and kissed him. “I—I had a reason—which now I will not trouble you with—and selfishly forgot both mommy and our poverty.” Then flinging her arms about his neck, she hid her head against his shoulder and said: “I am promised —you have given Philemon your word, and you’ll not go back on it, will you, dadda?” almost as if she were making a prayer.

“Odds my life! what scatter-brains women are born with!” marvelled Mr. Meredith. “No wonder the adage runs that ‘a woman’s mind and a winter’s wind oft change’! In the name of evil, Jan, what started ye off on that tangent?”

“You will keep faith with him, dadda?” pleaded the daughter.

“Of course I will,” affirmed the squire. “And glad I am, lass, to find that ye’ve come to see that I knew not merely what was best for ye, but what would make ye happiest. If the poor lad is ever exchanged, ’t will be glad news for him.”

The removal to the commissary’s quarters might have been for a time postponed, for barely had the new arrangement been achieved when another manoeuvre wellnigh emptied the city of the British troops. Massing fourteen thousand soldiers, Howe sallied forth to attack the Continental army in its camp at Whitemarsh.

“We have word,” Lord Clowes explained, “that Gates is playing his own game, and, instead of bringing his army to Mr. Washington’s aid, he keeps tight hold of it, and has, after needless delay, sent him but a bare four thousand men. So, in place of waiting for an attack, Sir William intends to drive the rebels back into the hills, that we may obtain fresh provisions and forage as we need them.”

The movement proved but a march up a hill to march down again, and four days later saw the British troops back in Philadelphia with only a little skirmishing and some badly frosted toes and ears to show for the sally, the young officers tingling and raging with shame at not having been allowed to fight the inferior Continental army.

The commissary, however, took it philosophically. “Their position was too strong, and they shoot too straight,” he told his guests. “It will all turn for the best, since no army can keep the field in such weather, and Washington will be forced to go into winter quarters. He must then fall back on Lancaster and Reading, out of striking distance, leaving us free to forage on the country at will.”

Once again his prediction was wrong. “That marplot of a rebel general has schemed a new method of troubling us,” he grumbled angrily a week later. “Instead of wintering his troops in a town, as any other commander would, our spies bring us word that he has marched them to a strong position on Valley Creek, a bare twenty miles from here, and has them all as busy as beavers throwing up earthworks and building huts. If God does n’t kindly freeze the devil’s brood, they’ll tie us into our lines just as they did last winter, and give us an ounce of lead for every pound of forage we seek. No sooner do we beat them, and take possession of a town, than they close in and put us in a state of siege, just as if they were the superior force. Small wonder that Sir William has written the Ministry that America can’t be conquered, and asking his Majesty’s permission to resign. A curse on the man who conceived such a mode of warfare!”