But Burgoyne’s Indians murdered her, and a fiend called The Wyandot Panther scalped her, they say—­all that beautiful, silky, long hair!  But Burgoyne did not hang him, Heaven only knows why, for they said Burgoyne was a gentleman and an honorable soldier!

“Then our company forgot the tragedy, and we danced—­think of it, dear!  How quickly things are forgotten!  Then came the terrible news from Oriskany!  I was nearly dead with fright until your letter arrived....  So, God help us I we danced and laughed and chattered once more when Arnold’s troops came.

“I did not quite share the admiration of the women for General Arnold.  He is not finely fibred; not a man who appeals to me; though I am very sorry for the slight that the Congress has put upon him; and it is easy to see that he is a brave and dashing officer, even if a trifle coarse in the grain and inclined to be a little showy.  What I liked best about him was his deep admiration and friendship for our dear General Schuyler, which does him honor, and doubly so because General Schuyler has few friends in politics, and Arnold was perfectly fearless in showing his respect and friendship for a man who could do him no favors.

* * * * *

“Dear, a strange and amusing thing has happened.  A few score of friendly Oneidas and lukewarm Onondagas came here to pay their respects to Magdalen Brant, who, they heard, was living at our house.

“Magdalen received them; she is a sweet girl and very good to her wild kin; and so father permitted them to camp in the empty house in the sugar-bush, and sent them food and tobacco and enough rum to please them without starting them war-dancing.

“Now listen.  You have heard me tell of the Stonish Giants—­those legendary men of stone whom the Iroquois, Hurons, Algonquins, and Lenape stood in such dread of two hundred years ago, and whom our historians believe to have been some lost company of Spaniards in armor, strayed northward from Cortez’s army.

     “Well, then, this is what occurred: 

“They were all at me to put on that armor which hangs in the hall—­the same suit which belonged to the first Maid-at-Arms, and which she is painted in, and which I wore that last memorable night—­you remember.

“So, to please them, I dressed in it—­helmet and all—­and came down.  Sir George Covert’s horse stood at the stockade gate, and somebody—­I think it was General Arnold—­dared me to ride it in my armor.

“Well, ...  I did.  Then a mad desire for a gallop seized me—­had not mounted a horse since that last ride with you—­and I set spurs to the poor beast, who was already dancing under the unaccustomed burden, and away we tore.

     “My conscience! what a ride that was! and the clang of my
     armor set the poor horse frantic till I could scarce
     govern him.