“Caution me, indeed!” laughed Sally.  “Wait until we both go, as we all are invited to Hartford with Dolly this winter when the Assembly meets, and then see if you be not fully as giddy as I am.”

“I do not believe that I can go to Hartford, Sally; you know Pamela is more Dolly’s friend than mine, and I think she needs some diversion, for ever since Josiah had his commission and joined the Continental army, she has nearly moped herself to death.  And Pamela is like my mother, not very strong; I can see that Aunt Euphemia is somewhat troubled about her even now, so perhaps our fine schemes for a trip to Hartford may have to be given up, at least so far as my going is concerned.”

Sally’s face fell; the visit to Hartford had been so long talked of, and Betty’s presence so much desired, that this was a dash of the coldest possible water.

“Oh, Betty, how truly sorry I shall be.  But let us hope for the best.  It will be a sad breaking up of all my plans for the winter if you cannot come.  I was also to stop at Fairfield with Mrs. Sherman, but since the raid of last summer her health has been so shattered that all thoughts of visitors have to be abandoned, and therefore I was counting upon our merry visit to Dolly as compensation.”

Sally looked so melancholy at this point that Betty took her hand and was about to take a rather more hopeful view of things, but the words died on her lips as the clatter of a horse’s feet was heard outside, and both girls ran to the window in time to see the rider draw rein at the south door of the mansion and dismount in apparent haste.

“It is some dispatch,” said Betty breathlessly.  “Did you not see the bag he carried at the saddle?  And there is my father—­oh, Sally, I wonder if there be news from General Washington and the army?” and struck by the sudden fear of ill-tidings the girls ran hastily from the room.

In the wide hall stood Miss Bidwell, and beside her the stranger, saddle-bag in hand, as Miss Euphemia emerged from the dining-room, whence General Wolcott had preceded her.

“From the commander-in-chief, general,” said the courier, touching his battered hat in salute, “and special dispatches from General Steuben.  Also this private packet, which was lying waiting at King’s Bridge Inn; I have been four days on the road, owing to my horse having lamed himself when near Chatham, and I could not make time on the nag which stands at your door.”

“King’s Bridge,” murmured Miss Euphemia; “then there is news of Clarissa.  Brother, have I your permission?”—­as General Wolcott gave the small packet into her hand.

“Break the seals,” said the general briefly, “and bring me the letters presently to my study.  See that the horse and man be well taken care of; I may have to dispatch instant answer to these,” and he went quickly down the hall, closing the door behind him.

With fingers that trembled somewhat, Miss Euphemia opened the cover, and disclosed three letters to the eager eyes of the girls, who stood breathless beside her.