"If my father were but at home," said Betty to herself, "he would know
and understand, but Oliver will not listen, no, not even when I implored
him to keep Captain Yorke close prisoner here for two days by which time
my father is sure to arrive. Aunt Euphemia is too timid and Pamela is
much the same; as Josiah happens to agree perfectly with Oliver, Pamela
could never be induced to see how cruel it is to repay our debt in this
way. Oliver is but a boy,"--and Betty's lips curved in scorn over her
brother's four years' seniority,--"and--and--oh! I am, indeed, astray.
What, here I am, one of the loyal Wolcotts,--a family known all through
the land as true to the cause of Freedom and the Declaration,--and here
I sit planning how to let a British officer, foe to my country, escape
from my father's house. I wonder the walls do not open and fall on me,"
and poor Betty gazed half fearfully overhead, as if she expected the
rafters would descend upon the author of such treasonable sentiments.
"But something must be done," she thought rapidly. "I care not whether
he be friend or foe, I take the consequences; be mine the blame," and
she lifted her pretty head with an air of determination, as a soft knock
fell upon her chamber door; but before she could rise to open it, the
latch was raised and a little figure, all in white, crept inside.

"I can't sleep, Betty," sobbed Moppet, as her sister gathered the child
in her arms; "it's too, too dreadful. Will General Putnam hang my dear,
kind gentleman as the British hanged Captain Nathan Hale, and shall we
never, never see him more?"

"Dear heart," said Betty, smoothing the yellow hair, and tears springing
again to her eyes as she thought of the brave, manly face of her
country's foe. "No, Moppet, Captain Yorke is not a spy, as, alas! was
poor Nathan Hale, but"--