WHERE be Father going?" Mehitable's voice was surprised, though rather muffled because of her efforts to roll the heavy churn from the icy buttery to a warmer place in the Condit kitchen.
Her mother looked up smilingly from the bread she was mixing upon the table. A great fire blazed upon the hearth, sending out such terrific heat that it threatened to scorch objects nearer than halfway across the room, for this was baking day, and the Dutch oven must be made ready. The heat was borne by the family without protest, however. Outside it was zero weather. A cold snap had come which, rumor had spread, had frozen solid for many feet all of the rivers, including the Hudson, and had made accessible, by passage across the ice, even Staten Island.
"I think he is going to Newark, Hitty!" Mistress Condit's arms moved with the lithe, thumping motion of flattening the bread out and rolling it back deftly into a great ball of dough. "Why, dear?"
"Newark!" Mehitable bumped the churn upright and stood regarding her mother with bright, disappointed eyes, "Oh, Mother—I thought he was going next week!"
"Well—I don't know." Mistress Condit shook her head absently, presently adding: "What difference does it make, Hitty? Surely ye were not thinking o' asking to go! Why," she protested, "I've only just gotten my two little maids back home, and here ye want to traipse again!"
"But, Mother"—Mehitable's tone was dignified, reasonable—"hast forgotten about the uniforms for the 'Blues'? We promised to help Mistress Hedden with them when we saw her at the Jones's last week!"
"Lawk, so we did!" Mistress Condit's expression was one of startled remembrance. "I had indeed forgotten! And, of course, your father won't go again to the Town by the River so soon!"
"Of course not!" agreed Mehitable, her manner mild. "Now"—she looked up briskly—"suppose ye ask Father to delay but a little while, and I will get the butter made. Then I will pack a saddlebag and plan to stay all night at the Heddens', as can Father, for Mistress Hedden hath often told him he was welcome—and we will be back to-morrow. 'Tis too cold for you and Cherry to venture forth; but I am tough and don't mind and we can keep our promise, Mother. The 'Jersey Blues,'" finished the girl diplomatically, "ought not to suffer for lack o' uniforms because o' us womenfolk failing to do our part!"
"Aye, 'tis true!" Patriotic Mistress Condit was appealed to, as her wily young daughter knew she would be, in her most vulnerable spot. "Samuel," she addressed her husband, at that moment passing through the kitchen, "will ye not wait for Hitty to make the butter so that she may go with you to Newark?"
"Now, Mother!" Squire Condit stopped in the middle of the room and looked at her in reproachful dismay. "Cannot I plan to go out without being thus hindered? I am all ready, as ye can see." He gestured toward his boots and tapped the greatcoat he was wearing. "Besides," he started to pass his wife, as though the matter were ended, "it be much too cold for Hitty to venture forth!"
He reckoned without the lady, however. Mistress Condit, her floury arms outflung, stepped laughingly in front of him, barring his passage. "Now, Samuel, ye know what the end will be, so just make up your mind to yield at once!" she exclaimed, threatening to touch him and making him dance backward to avoid her.
Squire Condit burst into helpless laughter. "Nay, I surrender!" he cried, dodging with chuckling fear the floury hands which gestured so perilously close to his coat. "I will wait, though I can't see why Hitty should have to go this terrible weather," he grumbled, seating himself upon a chair to kick off his boots. Thoughtful Charity appeared at his elbow with the bootjack, then turned to her mother.
"Why not let me make the butter, then Hitty and Father could start at once?" she implored.
"Nay!" Mehitable bustled about. "Ye are not strong enough! But I will let you salt it, Cherry."
An hour or so later, two muffled figures set forth upon horseback from the Condit gate. Charity, watching them wistfully through the window, turned at last silently back to the fireplace. Her mother watched her with tender eyes.
"Why," said Charity half to herself, seating herself in the inglenook and taking up the stocking she was knitting for Young Cy, "why must I ever be the one to wait at home! It must be so fine to be strong and able to go forth as Hitty does!"
"Yet, mayhap it is safer to wait at home," answered her mother quietly, shoving the pans of rising bread nearer the fire. "That's all right, dear—don't move!" she added. "I want ye to remain near the warmth of the fire, too, this bitter day. Suppose the British"—she went back to her first thought—"suppose they were to raid Newark this night, Cherry! Home would then seem a pretty good place to be in!"
"This bitter night, Mother!" answered Charity scornfully, for once not to be cheered. "Nay, the British like their comfort too well to venture forth this night!" And she fell into a gloomy reverie, wishing she might have formed a third of the little Newark-bound group, for the days, after their exciting Morris Town visit, seemed doubly monotonous.
Mehitable, doubtless because she was glad to get away from their Newark Mountain farm, was chatteringly happy, jogging along beside her father.
"And the American raid over to Staten Island was a failure, ye say, Hitty?" Squire Condit returned to the topic which had excited his interest ever since his daughter, primed with the latest war news, had returned from the army encampment.
"Aye, for all Quartermaster Lewis got the three hundred sleds together for the army, sir! They marched to Elizabethport and went across on the ice to Staten Island. They do say about three thousand men went, under Lord Stirling." Mehitable was as loquacious, and her father listened as eagerly, as though it were the first time, instead of nearer the tenth, that she had told of the incident.
"And the British had got word o' our army's coming?" prompted Squire Condit.
"Aye, Father." Mehitable sighed. "The expedition, forsooth, was a rank failure, for our men not only returned without the supplies they had hoped to capture; but about five hundred o' the soliders had their feet frozen. They came back to Kemble Hill much the worse for the raid."
"Too bad, too bad!" The Squire fell to ruminating sadly. "Though, of course, His Excellency could not have forseen the result!" he added loyally.
Passing the Ranfield Tavern, Mehitable and her father were hailed by Master Ranfield, who was busy at the well. As they reined their horses in surprise, he swung the well sweep to rest and came toward them.
"Good-morrow, Squire! Morrow, mistress!" He touched his forelock. "Did ye miss naught after leaving here that even last month?" he asked the young girl with twinkling eyes.
Mehitable knitted her brows. "Why, aye, Master Ranfield!" she exclaimed, then. "'Twas a little rush-woven basket, was it not! I ha' ne'er thought o' it since." She turned in laughing explanation to her father, as Master Ranfield smilingly went into the inn to fetch her property. "Mistress Wright did give it me wi' a piece o' Scotch cake and its recipe for my mother that day, and I must have left it here later i' my hurry to get away. The cake will be dry indeed; but the recipe is worth saving, and the basket must be returned to Mistress Wright." Then, as Master Ranfield, returning, handed the basket to her, she thanked him.
"I found it on the table full o' my wife's belongings—thread and wax and letters," he observed. "She being out, I dumped everything out, and now I shall pray someone will come e'er my mistress discovers what I ha' done"—Master Ranfield sighed half-jokingly, half in earnest—"for she doth not scold an there be strangers present!"
"Poor Master Ranfield, I envy him not his lot!" remarked Mehitable, a moment later, urging old Dulcie into a trot as her father's horse started away.
"The woman Ranfield doth indeed possess a shrew's tongue!" responded the Squire, thinking affectionately of his own sweet-natured wife.
They were silent for awhile, then Mehitable, tying the little basket to her saddle, idly plucked out of it a torn piece of paper. For a second, she thought it was the cake recipe which Mistress Wright had written; but, examining it, she saw the words "will see ye soon. Write out such information as can obtain price and"
Mehitable glanced up excitedly, then she checked the words upon her lips. With a glance at her father, who had noticed naught, she tucked the piece of paper away in her reticule, resolving to find some excuse for stopping at the Ranfield Tavern on her return and there investigate for herself. If Mistress Ranfield were a paid spy in British service, Mehitable meant to know it!
Everywhere, now, nearing the Town by the River, though the devastation was covered by the kindly snow, they saw the blackened barns and half-ruined houses left by enemy raids. Mehitable, eyeing them, spoke wrathfully.
"Ah, Father—an we could only go to England and spoil their homes thus!"
"Nay, Hitty!" The Squire shook his head sadly. "Wish not for more mischief to be caused in the world!"
"Think you the British will try to avenge General Washington's attack on Staten Island?" asked the girl. "Newark must suffer an they do!"
"It will not be soon, I feel sure," said her father, "for it is too cold to suit the enemy! The British, as well as the fat Hessians, like their comfort well. And now, Hitty"—his tone became business-like as they rode into the village of Newark—"I will leave ye at Mistress Hedden's. Tell the lady, however, Hitty, that I will not put her to the trouble o' bedding me. I must see some men this evening and will stay at the Eagle Tavern."
"Oh, Father!" Mehitable was quick to protest; but afterward how glad she was that her father had not yielded.
As they drew rein before the Hedden residence on Broad Street—the main thoroughfare running north and south on which were many handsome residences, Squire Condit reached over and caught the bridle of his daughter's horse, preparatory to leading him away to the tavern stable.
"Farewell, Hitty!" he said, nodding. "Giddap, General!"
"Wait!" Mehitable, who had leaped to the ground, sprang after him as he started away. She slipped upon the icy road, was up and ran after her father wildly as he jogged unheedingly away, to the great amusement of various interested faces in neighboring windows. "Father, wait ye!"
Squire Condit, turning in his saddle and perceiving the figure of his daughter running after him, brought his horse to an abrupt halt.
"How now, Hitty?" he asked, much amused, also.
"My bag—the saddlebag!" gasped Mehitable. "My 'housewife' be in it! How could I sew upon the uniforms an ye take my sewing things to the Eagle Tavern, Father!" She looked up at him reproachfully as she unslung the bag. "Now ye may go!" She gave him laughing permission at last and held up the bag triumphantly.
Mistress Hedden greeted her smilingly, having seen the incident from her window. "I thought it must be you, Hitty! Town girls do not run so well!" Then, as Mehitable blushed, she added laughingly: "That was a compliment, my child." She led the way past her parlor into the warm kitchen at the end of the hall. "Ye are just in time, for Mistress McWhorter, our pastor's wife, and my daughter are but now cutting out the uniforms!"
Mehitable followed her rather shyly; but the kindly manners of both Mistress Hedden and her daughter soon put her at ease, and in a little while her fingers were flying as swiftly as any.
As they sewed, the ladies laughed and chatted. Mistress McWhorter was holding forth mischievously when Mehitable seated herself and took up a blue coat.
"I suppose," said the minister's wife, with a teasing glance at Mistress Hedden's daughter, who was betrothed to the lady's half brother, Captain Cumming, "I suppose ye be sorry, my dear, the uniform ye ha' there be not for John Cumming—'twould make it so much more interesting, forsooth—eh?"
"Fie, mistress, no fair to tease!" cried the young girl, blushing and tossing her head. "Tell us, Hitty"—she tried to divert the others' attention from her own crimson cheeks—"tell us whom ye would be cutting out your uniform for an ye could choose!"
Mehitable thought for a moment, then looked up blandly. "John!" she answered demurely.
"No fair!" Laughing, the other girl shook her head. "Brothers are not to be included. Besides, that would be denying Mistress Nancy Livingston her privilege! She would then ha' no uniform to work on for her choosing!"
"She would—would have her cousin, Captain Anthony Freeman," murmured Mehitable. Suddenly, to her enormous confusion, she felt her cheeks reddening. The other girl, with a little cry, pounced upon her.
"How now, Hitty Condit, have I stumbled upon a pretty secret?"
"Indeed not! I have not the least interest in Captain Freeman! Of all the shallow, frittering creatures! Why, he hath reputation for being a wild young rake! Nay, not Captain Freeman, I prithee! Not him!" Mehitable spoke rashly and was rather taken aback when Mistress McWhorter, who had been listening in silence, now interrupted in her soft voice.
"Is't true, Hitty! Why, I thought him a very nice young man—not that kind at all!"
The blue uniform dropped into Mehitable's lap. "Ye—ye know him?" she stammered. How she wished, now, she had not spoken so hastily! Indeed, what proof, save the little fairy story of Charity's telling, had she that Anthony Freeman was at all rakish. "My dreadful tongue! Will I ne'er learn to control it!" she thought uncomfortably.
"Aye. He supped at our house yesterday even," answered Mistress McWhorter quietly. "My husband is fond o' him, having known his parents before they died, as well as Mistress Nancy's parents, for years."
"But what—what was he doing in Newark?" exclaimed Mehitable. "I thought he was in Morris Town!"
"So he was," agreed Mistress McWhorter amiably. "He had to return some equipment borrowed from the Masons here for a festival in Morris Town."
"Did he return at once?" asked Mehitable eagerly. "I—I mean—is he"
"But, Hitty," interrupted the other girl soberly, though her eyes betrayed her mirth, "I thought ye said ye were not in the least interested in the young man! Methinks your words belie ye!"
Mehitable's round chin lifted. "Nay, I am not interested!" she insisted. "'Tis only that—that—he be John's friend and—and—Nancy's cousin, and—and—well, he is John's friend, so it be perfectly natural I be—wishing to—to—know"
"Aye, very natural!" agreed the other, bursting into laughter. "Don't try to explain, Hitty! Ye but make matters more complicated. And since ye are not interested in the young man, we will drop the subject and talk about John Cumming!" And to Mehitable's immense relief, then, the conversation was switched to another topic.
Half an hour later, however, Mistress McWhorter unexpectedly reintroduced Captain Freeman's name.
"In sooth, I do not know what to do wi' him," she was saying in a perplexed voice to Mistress Hedden. "He is to stay at the barracks another night e'er he returns to Morris Town, and unwittingly, not remembering the doctor and I were to dine out, I asked him to come to-night to supper. Of course, Mandy can serve him; but I fear it will be lonely for him to eat by himself."
"Whom are ye troubled about?" Mistress Hedden's daughter looked up from her giggling conversation with Mehitable. "Captain Freeman? Ah, Mother," she turned to Mistress Hedden, "do ask him over here! I pine to meet"—she shot a naughty look at Mehitable—"the terrible rake!"
"An you girls will not treat him politely, not a step shall he come!" admonished her mother. "Aye, send him here, for I know ye approve o' him"—she turned to the minister's wife cordially. "Hitty is doubtless mistaken!"
"Where are the barracks?" asked Mehitable, hoping that she was mistaken.
"In the new Academy," answered Mistress McWhorter.
"And very nice quarters the Academy makes!" said Mistress Hedden's daughter. She rose and, placing the coat she had been stitching upon a pile of uniforms, stretched herself with a little yawn. "There, that one be done!"
"Well, here be plenty more!" laughed her mother. "So stand not there idling!"
The girl took the unfinished garment her mother held out to her and returned to her seat beside Mehitable.
"Since the enemy ha' been so bold, we have had soldiers from the Continental Army in Newark here, doing picket duty on the west bank o' the Passaic River," she remarked.
"Aye?" responded Mehitable. But her tone was absent. Over and over would come that picture of certain reproachful dark eyes, thrusting out the real scene of firelit dining room and busy seamstresses. She sighed.
"Why do ye do thus, Hitty?" Drawing near, Mistress Hedden's young son, who had been watching Mehitable, imitated her by giving vent to a loud, long sigh. "Ye do make such funny faces! First ye smile and then ye frown!"
Mehitable hastily offered him a comfit from her pocket, and in the confusion of Mistress McWhorter's leave-taking, the child's words, to her relief, were unnoticed.
That evening, Mehitable hesitated on the stairs before descending to enter the Hedden parlor. Her thoughts were at war. She was in a quandary. Being sweet-natured as most quick-tempered folk, her better impulse was to greet Captain Freeman like the old friend he was, frankly showing him she was sorry for her rudeness to him that first meeting at Mistress Lindsley's. She owed him, besides, a debt of gratitude she had not yet allowed him to guess she was aware of. Then Charity's fairy tale, like an ugly snake thrusting its head up in warning, caused her heart to sink.
"Oh, I wish Cherry had minded her own affairs and told me naught o' her silly tale!" thought Mehitable crossly. "Though she did it for mine own good. Yet mayhap Nancy was mistaken—Mistress McWhorter thought so—and the good mistress be right—he doesn't look that kind—he"
She faltered miserably again at the half-closed door when, with leaden feet, she had reached it. Then her courage returned, and raising her chin in derision at her own cowardice, she pushed open the door, meaning to walk in and offer her hand in friendly greeting to Captain Freeman.
But, alas for all of Mehitable's good resolves! Captain Freeman and his young hostess, Mistress Hedden's daughter, were laughing and whispering in the corner and did not even glance up at her entrance.
Now, it is one thing to come, full of a noble desire to make atonement, to a person whom one has wronged; but quite another to find that person as happy as though the apology had been offered. In the close proximity of dark hair to yellow curls, of intimate giggles and the little hand which Mistress Hedden's daughter had placed upon a buff and blue sleeve as she gazed merrily up into her guest's black eyes, all of poor Mehitable's doubt and suspicions rushed back upon her.
"The fairy tale is true!" she thought passionately, to herself.
So her curtsey was stiff, indeed, when at last the young soldier did glance up and spring to his feet. Captain Freeman's bow—for he had learned his lesson, poor fellow!—was then as formal as her curtsey was stiff and the next moment both young people turned away, each hurt to the quick by the other's behavior. Mehitable swept over to seat herself beside Master Hedden, a mild-faced, kind-mannered man who, as the evening progressed and his youthful guest did not stir from his side but apparently hung engrossed upon his words, became quite flattered by her interest, and later told his wife that "Hitty Condit was a most amiable and bright maid!" How could the deluded man know that Mehitable's answers were only by some happy chance coherent, and that every bit of her attention was really centered upon the young couple across the room.
Mehitable was not comforted, either, by Mistress Hedden's daughter observing in her ear, as they went out to the supper table, "Ye be right, Hitty! The young man is a fascinating flirt!"
So passed that evening, and at last Captain Freeman bade them farewell. After his departure, Mistress Hedden was upon her way to bed when she noticed that her husband was still in low-voiced conversation outside the door. When he came in, shivering and rubbing his icy hands together, Mehitable, halfway up the stairs, heard his wife reproach him.
"Why, Father, art foolish to stand outside wi' Captain Freeman this cold night! What had he to say?"
Master Hedden laughed at his wife's curiosity as he closed and bolted the front door. "Captain Freeman tells me there be much agitation against me," he told her. Then, at her quick look of anxiety, he burst out, "But I care not! I be i' the right to enforce the laws o' the State! Let those Tories who are angry wi' me, when I warn them, take the oath o' allegiance an they do not want their property confiscated!"
"'Tis too bad ye ha' created so many enemies, however, Joseph, e'en though ye do be pursuing your official duties!" Mistress Hedden shook her head as she followed her husband upstairs. "Neighbors turning thus against neighbors i' this most dreadful war!"
It was late when the two girls, who slept together, dozed off—for Mistress Hedden's daughter had had to explain that she really cared only for "her John," and had been merely laughing and passing the time with Captain Freeman, and Mehitable, too proud to do other than accept the other's explanation, had related sundry interesting, though very innocent, tales of Morris Town—it was late, I say, when the summoning blows came upon the Heddens' front door, so that Mehitable thought at first it was morning and that they were being summoned to breakfast.
Someone moved in the moonlit room, grasped her arm. "Best get up, Hitty!" whispered Mistress Hedden's daughter hoarsely. "Mother hath gone down to answer the door, yet had we better dress!"
Springing out of bed to draw on her clothes with fumbling, desperate fingers, Mehitable asked, "Think ye it be a British raid?"
"Aye," choked the other. "Oh, Hitty, ever are Mother and I fearful they come for Father—the feeling be so bitter against him among the Tories because he has had to prosecute those who will not take the oath o' allegiance!"
"Nay," said Mehitable soothingly, thrusting her feet into her slippers. "Do not fear—it may be only a neighbor come in case o' sickness for your mother's help!" She reached up to fasten her dress as she spoke.
But the next instant her arms dropped rigidly to her sides. There came the sound of men's feet tramping upon the stairs.