"Indeed, Your Excellency needs no assurance"—Mistress Condit swept him a curtsey—"though I shall be glad to see my son!"
The general walked over to the fire, spreading his hands gratefully to its warmth. Noticing Charity asleep, he was careful to lower his voice, showing the unfailing courtesy which was characteristic of him.
"'Tis not so bitter as raw outside," he observed. "But these March gales up here in Jersey take one's vitality, methinks."
Suddenly the buttery door was thrown open impetuously and Mehitable, her dark curls tumbling from under her cap, her cheeks flushed crimson, appeared.
"Mother, who" she commenced. Then, seeing the guest, she stopped and stared.
"'Tis General Washington," admonished Mistress Condit sharply, not well pleased at her daughter's awkwardness. But the great man held up his hand leniently, a grave smile dawning in his eyes.
"'Tis my little friend Angeline," he welcomed.
Mistress Condit had left the room, so Mehitable came forward shyly, dropping a belated curtsey. Then, as Mistress Nancy also departed and General Washington, with a weary sigh, seated himself, the young girl pointed to her sister.
"Dost see poor Cherry?" she asked in a whisper.
Nodding, with a few skillful questions, he was soon in possession of all the facts of Charity's abduction, Mehitable pouring it out in breathless, indignant words.
"And poor Young Cy—no one knows where he be imprisoned!" she finished sorrowfully. "His mother
