Betty, when I shall be here to see you start upon your travels."

Betty was busy enough all that day; indeed, nothing more than a confused
recollection remained with her afterward of trunk and two small boxes to
be packed; of Pamela's urging her acceptance of a new lute-string slip,
rose-colored, which had recently come to her from Boston; of Miss
Bidwell's innumerable stockings all tucked carefully away in one corner
of the hair-covered brass-nailed box, and even Miss Moppet's tenderly
cherished blue bag embroidered in steel beads, which had belonged to
their mother, but which Moppet insisted could be used by Betty with
great effect for her handkerchief at a ball.

"Ball, indeed," sighed Betty, whose brave heart was beginning to quail
at thought of an untold length of separation from her beloved family. "I
should think the hearts of the patriots imprisoned in New York would
scarce be occupied with balls in such times as these."

"You mistake," said Pamela, who, truth to tell, half longed for Betty's
opportunities, for was not her sister going somewhere near Josiah's
post? "I am sure Clarissa's letter which you read me bade you bring all
your best gowns and finery, and we have all heard how gay the army of
occupation make the city."

"Aye, to those who are Tories," said Betty, with curling red lips, "but
for me--oh, Miss Bidwell, if you put in another pair of stockings I
shall require as many feet as a centipede, who I read has hundreds of
them."

"Hundreds of feet?" echoed Miss Moppet. "Oh, Betty, do I live to hear
you tell a fairy tale as if it were real?"