“Are they not in their war-paint, sir?  I remember to have seen warriors, when a boy, and my glass has given these men the appearance of being on what they call ‘a war-path.’”

“Some of them are certainly in that guise, though he who came to the Knoll was not. He pretended that they were a party travelling towards the Hudson in order to learn the true causes of the difficulties between their Great English and their Great American Fathers.  He asked for meal and meat to feed his young men with.  This was the whole purport of his errand.”

“And your answer, sir; is it peace, or war, between you?”

“Peace in professions, but I much fear war in reality.  Still one cannot know.  An old frontier garrison-man, like myself, is not apt to put much reliance on Indian faith.  We are now, God be praised! all within the stockade; and having plenty of arms and ammunition, are not likely to be easily stormed.  A siege is out of the question; we are too well provisioned to dread that.”

“But you leave the mills, the growing grain, the barns, even the cabins of your workmen, altogether at the mercy of these wretches.”

“That cannot well be avoided, unless we go out and drive them off, in open battle.  For the last, they are too strong, to say nothing of the odds of risking fathers of families against mere vagabonds, as I suspect these savages to be.  I have told them to help themselves to meal, or grain, of which they will find plenty in the mill.  Pork can be got in the houses, and they have made way with a deer already, that I had expected the pleasure of dissecting myself.  The cattle roam the woods at this season, and are tolerably safe; but they can burn the barns and other buildings, should they see fit.  In this respect, we are at their mercy.  If they ask for rum, or cider, that may bring matters to a head; for, refusing may exasperate them, and granting either, in any quantity, will certainly cause them all to get intoxicated.”

“Why would not that be good policy, Willoughby?” exclaimed the chaplain.  “If fairly disguised once, our people might steal out upon them, and take away all their arms.  Drunken men sleep very profoundly.”

“It would be a canonical mode of warfare, perhaps, Woods,” returned the chaplain, smiling, “but not exactly a military.  I think it safer that they should continue sober; for, as yet, they manifest no great intentions of hostility.  But of this we can speak hereafter.  Why are you here, my son, and in this guise?”

“The motive may as well be told now, as at another time,” answered the major, giving his mother and sisters chairs, while the others imitated their example in being seated.  “Sir William Howe has permitted me to come out to see you—­I might almost say ordered me out; for matters have now reached a pass when we think every loyal gentleman in America must feel disposed to take sides with the crown.”

A general movement among his auditors told the major the extent of the interest they felt in what was expected to follow.  He paused an instant to survey the dark-looking group that was clustering around him; for no lights were in the room on account of the open windows, and he spoke in a low voice from motives of prudence; then he proceeded: