bare against the leaden sky, and there was a chill in the air that might
betoken snow. Pamela Wolcott stood in the sitting-room window and sighed
softly, as she gazed out at the November landscape, letting her fingers
beat soft tattoo against the lozenge-shaped pane.

"Pamela," said Betty from the depths of a big chair, where she sat
busily knitting a little stocking whose proportions suggested Miss
Moppet, "I wish you would stop that devil's march. Believe me, you had
much better come and talk to me, and so drive away the vapors, rather
than stand there and worry over the whereabouts of Josiah."

"It will take more than that to drive away the thoughts I cannot help,"
said Pamela, coming back from the window and seating herself on the
wide settle, for Pamela was somewhat given to seeking the warmest
corner, and dreaded a New England winter. "It is full time I had some
intelligence, for Josiah promised that he would take advantage of any
courier who started for New London to dispatch me a letter, and you know
that father had news two days since from Morristown, but nothing came
for me. Betty, I am sore afraid of evil tidings."

"You are ever faint-hearted," said Betty, glancing compassionately at
her sister.

"And I dreamed last night of a wedding," went on Pamela, "and that, you
know, is an evil sign."

"Best not let Aunt Euphemia hear you," Replied Betty, with a smile. "You
have been consulting Chloe, I am sure, as to the portents of dreams.
Fie, Pamela; Josiah is strong and well, and there is not likely to be a
movement of the troops just now, father says, so why worry? I am anxious