was wont to do; and later, when her father rode away on his daily
visit to Morristown, she felt strangely relieved. By noon the snow
ceased, or rather turned into a driving sleet that again in turn
gave way to rain. By this time she became absorbed in her
household duties,--in which she was usually skilful,--and in her
own thoughts that to-day had a novelty in their meaning. In the
midst of this, at about dark, her room being in the rear of the
house, she was perhaps unmindful of the trampling of horse without,
or the sound of voices in the hall below. Neither was uncommon at
that time. Although protected by the Continental army from forage
or the rudeness of soldiery, the Blossom farm had always been a
halting-place for passing troopers, commissary teamsters, and
reconnoitring officers. Gen. Sullivan and Col. Hamilton had
watered their horses at its broad, substantial wayside trough, and
sat in the shade of its porch. Miss Thankful was only awakened
from her daydream by the entrance of the negro farm-hand, Caesar.

"Fo' God, Missy Thankful, them sogers is g'wine into camp in the
road, I reckon, for they's jest makin' theysevs free afo' the
house, and they's an officer in the company-room with his spurs
cocked on the table, readin' a book."

A quick flame leaped into Thankful's cheek, and her pretty brows
knit themselves over darkening eyes. She arose from her work no
longer the moody girl, but an indignant goddess, and, pushing the
servant aside, swept down the stairs, and threw open the door.

An officer sitting by the fire in an easy, lounging attitude that
justified the servant's criticism, arose instantly with an air of
evident embarrassment and surprise that was, however, as quickly