“Give him my best affection,” said Betty.  “And oh, sir, to my little sister at home pray deliver my fondest love,” and tears were brimming in Betty’s eyes as Caesar flicked his whip at the horses’ heads and the coach started.

The road being somewhat better than that already traveled, the miles which intervened between Ridgefield and White Plains were more briskly done, and Caesar had the satisfaction of pulling up his horses in good condition before the well-known tavern at the latter place in time for dinner.  The somewhat pretentious sign hanging out over the door had been changed to suit the times and the tempers of the guests, for what had previously read “The King’s Arms, Accommodations for Man and Beast,” was now “The Washington Inn,” and beneath it a picture in Continental uniform of a man whose rubicund countenance required considerable imagination to transform into a likeness of the commander-in-chief.  As their happened to be a lack of hostlers, it took some time to get the horses baited, and it was later than Mrs. Seymour could have wished when Caesar finally made his appearance and informed his mistress that all was ready for their departure.  The weather had been growing colder steadily, and greatly to their surprise the travelers learned that in all probability Harlem River was frozen, and grave doubts were expressed by mine host of the inn whether the ladies could gain their journey’s end without much discomfort and exposure.  But Mrs. Seymour and Betty were both of the opinion that it was inexpedient to linger longer on the road, so for the fourth time they climbed into the coach, and, muffling themselves as closely as possible to keep out the cold, pursued their onward way.

Five miles, eight miles, were covered with fair speed, and Betty’s spirits were rising rapidly at the thought that New York and Clarissa were not far away, when Caesar turned around on his box, and, bringing his horses to a walk, said in an awestruck whisper,—­

“‘Fore de Lord, madam, I done suspect de redcoats is comin’; d’ye heah ’em from de woods ober dar?” pointing with trembling hand in the direction of a sound which rang out on the frosty air at first indistinctly, and then resolved itself into a song.

“Under the trees in sunny weather,
Just try a cup of ale together. 
And if in tempest or in storm,
A couple then, to make you warm,"[1]—­

sang a rollicking voice, in fairly good time and tune, as a group of men came in sight.  As they neared the coach, the man in advance trolled out in an accent which betrayed his Teutonic origin,—­

“But if the day be very cold,
Then take a mug of twelve months old!”

[Footnote 1:  A topical song then in vogue in New York. (See Story of the City of New York.)]

“Hello, halt there!” came the command, as the singer seized the horse by the bridle, and another soldier dragged Caesar roughly from his seat; “who are you, and whence bound?”