“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 because we hear nothing of Clarissa, and I think Aunt Euphemia is the same, for I heard her talking and sighing last night when Miss Bidwell carried up the night light.  Dear Clarissa, how I wish I could see her again; I wonder if she be quite, quite happy shut up in New York among the Tories.”

“No doubt; though when she married Gulian Verplanck we had little thought of the occupation of New York by the British.  Do you recollect how pretty she looked on her wedding-day, Betty, and the little caps you and I wore,—­mine with a knot of blue, and yours of rose-color?  I found that ribbon one day last week, tucked away in a little box.  Have you kept yours?”

“No,” returned Betty, with a sudden blush and a quick, half-guilty throb of her heart, as she remembered in whose hand she had last seen that same bow of rose-color; “that is, I had it until last summer, when—­I lost it.”  And Betty dropped two stitches in her confusion, which fortunately Pamela was too much engrossed in her own thoughts to notice.

“It is five years last May,” said Pamela.  “You and I were tiny things of ten and eleven years, and Oliver strutted about grand and dignified in a new coat.  The first wedding in our family—­I wonder whose be the next?”

“Yours, of course.” said Betty quickly.  “That is if you and Josiah can ever make up your minds.  I will not be like you, Pamela, trust me, when my turn comes I’ll know full well whether I will or I won’t.”  And Betty tossed her saucy head with a mischievous laugh as there came a rap on the front door which caused both girls to start up and fly to the window.