In March, before the snow began to melt, several sleigh-loads of different necessaries were sent up the valley of the Mohawk, to a point opposite the head of the Otsego, where a thriving village called Fortplain now stands.  Thence men were employed in transporting the articles, partly by means of “jumpers” improvised for the occasion, and partly on pack-horses, to the lake, which was found this time, instead of its neighbour the Canaderaiga.  This necessary and laborious service occupied six weeks, the captain having been up as far as the lake once himself; returning to Albany, however, ere the snow was gone.

Chapter II.

  All things are new—­the buds, the leaves,
  That gild the elm-tree’s nodding crest,
  And even the nest beneath the eaves—­
  There are no birds in last year’s nest.

  Longfellow.

“I have good news for you, Wilhelmina,” cried the captain, coming into the parlour where his wife used to sit and knit or sew quite half the day, and speaking with a bright face, and in a cheerful voice—­“Here is a letter from my excellent old colonel; and Bob’s affair is all settled and agreed on.  He is to leave school next week, and to put on His Majesty’s livery the week after.”

Mrs. Willoughby smiled, and yet two or three tears followed each other down her cheeks, even while she smiled.  The first was produced by pleasure at hearing that her son had got an ensigncy in the 60th, or Royal Americans; and the last was a tribute paid to nature; a mother’s fears at consigning an only boy to the profession of arms.

“I am rejoiced, Willoughby,” she said, “because you rejoice, and I know that Robert will be delighted at possessing the king’s commission; but, he is very young to be sent into the dangers of battle and the camp!”

“I was younger, when I actually went into battle, for then it was war; now, we have a peace that promises to be endless, and Bob will have abundance of time to cultivate a beard before he smells gunpowder.  As for myself”—­he added in a half-regretful manner, for old habits and opinions would occasionally cross his mind—­“as for myself, the cultivation of turnips must be my future occupation.  Well, the bit of parchment is sold, Bob has got his in its place, while the difference in price is in my pocket, and no more need be said—­and here come our dear girls, Wilhelmina, to prevent any regrets.  The father of two such daughters ought, at least, to be happy.”

At this instant, Beulah and Maud Willoughby, (for so the adopted child was called as well as the real), entered the room, having taken the lodgings of their parents, in a morning walk, on which they were regularly sent by the mistress of the boarding-school, in which they were receiving what was then thought to be a first-rate American female education.  And much reason had their fond parents to be proud of