THERE was nothing about Mehitable as she trotted off through the down-pouring rain to indicate that she was any one but a plump little Colonial maid faring forth through disagreeable weather to Newark. The Indian had disappeared into the swamp, two sides of which Mehitable must skirt before her road led her up over the hills and down into the Town by the River. But she was neither surprised nor chagrined at her escort's vanishing—she had learned enough of Indian manners and methods by now to know that he would travel far and fast through the devious paths of the swamp and arrive at their joint destination long before he could, though he went by foot and she by horse.
Indeed, he had been a reluctant escort. Only her announcement, upon reading the note he had so mysteriously brought to her from Young Cy, that if he did not permit her to go with him to Newark upon a rescue mission she would follow him, had made him yield.
It must be confessed that Mehitable was enjoying herself. Save for a slight pricking of her conscience whenever she thought of Charity's sobbing, distracted little figure as the latter had tried in vain to stay her from carrying out her impetuous decision, the madcap
