JOHN! John!"
John Condit sat up in bed and looked bewilderedly around his little low-ceilinged room under the eaves. Again came the voice and this time he recognized it as Mehitable's.
"Why, enter, Hitty!" he called out. "The latch be not drawn!"
In answer to this the rough-hewn door was suddenly flung open and Mehitable, crimson-faced from pushing against it, bounced in.
"It be not drawn, 'tis true!" she ejaculated drolly. "'Tis not needed, with a door that sticks like that!"
She came over to gaze down at her brother who had snuggled down shiveringly beneath his coverlet upon the narrow pallet again.
"Nay, you must be out and on your way this afternoon, John!" she told him half falteringly. Ever was it hard to have her brother leave on the dangerous and uncertain missions of war! She held out an official-looking paper to him. "Here be your summons from His Excellency which but now came by messenger. You must go back to Morristown!"
John took the message and read it eagerly. "Aye!" He nodded his head. Then he looked at his sister, who
