astonishment, and, I may add, to my own, she showed nothing of that
disposition she had exhibited a few moments before. On the
contrary, she blushed slightly, and said nothing.

And then the conversation changed,--upon the weather, the hard
winter, the prospects of the Cause, a criticism upon the commander-
in-chief's management of affairs, the attitude of Congress, etc.,
between Mr. Blossom and the count; characterized, I hardly need
say, by that positiveness of opinion that distinguishes the
unprofessional. In another part of the room, it so chanced that
Mistress Thankful and the baron were talking about themselves; the
assembly balls; who was the prettiest woman in Morristown; and
whether Gen. Washington's attentions to Mistress Pyne were only
perfunctory gallantry, or what; and if Lady Washington's hair was
really gray; and if that young aide-de-camp, Major Van Zandt were
really in love with Lady or whether his attentions were only the
zeal of a subaltern,--in the midst of which a sudden gust of wind
shook the house; and Mr. Blossom, going to the front door, came
back with the announcement that it was snowing heavily.

And indeed, within that past hour, to their astonished eyes the
whole face of nature had changed. The moon was gone, the sky
hidden in a blinding, whirling swarm of stinging flakes. The wind,
bitter and strong, had already fashioned white feathery drifts upon
the threshold, over the painted benches on the porch, and against
the door-posts.

Mistress Thankful and the baron had walked to the rear door--the
baron with a slight tropical shudder--to view this meteorological
change. As Mistress Thankful looked over the snowy landscape, it