“Eat, and I will explain.”  Andy began mechanically.  He must be ready for his task in any case.  Food was the first step.

“I have been reading the Bible to the children, Andy.  They wanted the story of David.  As I read it seemed as if you were like David.  When he went to meet Goliath, how impossible his victory seemed, but the hand that swung the sling was strong enough to win the day.  Andy,” Ruth bent toward him, her face glowing, “you are strong enough to win against your Goliath!”

“Mine?”

“Yes; all the king’s men!  You will get to Washington before another day is passed.  But—­you must let me help you.”

Andy set the cup of milk down and stared at the earnest face.

“I’m very dull,” he said.  “I only know that I must go.  I do not see, now, that you can help.”

“You must not think of going abroad as Andy McNeal,” the girl explained.  “They are watching for you.  Janie says that more than one Britisher has been to her door.”

“Do you know—­” Andy began.

“Yes,” nodded Ruth, “but he is well hidden.  It is you they are after.  Then, too, I know what the British expect to do.  Hans Brickman found out and he is almost frightened to death with his secret.  He thinks the British will see his secret written all over him, and he is afraid to go into camp—­the patriot camp, you know.  He has honey and butter to sell, and he sells to friend or foe.  I’ve told him I will go with him to-night.”

“What secret?” asked Andy, keen to the main point.

“The British war-ships are going up the river!” Ruth was whispering in Andy’s ear, not daring to trust her voice even in the little room.  “Father says the General does not expect this move, but they are getting ready down by the Battery.  Father says the forts cannot stand a river attack.”

“But Washington must know this.  He never is taken off guard.”  Andy spoke proudly and with assurance.

“Well, any way,” said Ruth, “he is preparing for a land attack.  It is common talk.”

“Just a blind!” Andy broke in.  But his face was troubled.  “However, I must get these papers to him, and if I can I will speak to him.  It can do no harm.”

“But you cannot go as you are, Andy.”

“How then?”

“Why,” Ruth went to the door and dragged in a bundle, “in these!” She held up one of her own dresses, a big sunbonnet, and a neat white apron.

“Ruth!” Andy flushed hotly.

“I have sprained my ankle,” Ruth explained with an assumed whimper, “and poor Hans is about distracted.  He is afraid to go peddling alone with his secret writ large in both Dutch and English on his foolish face.  I have told him I will go lame or no lame.  Fortunately he is hard of hearing and stupid as an owl in broad daylight.  You might be less like me than you are, and Hans would not know.  We have much to be thankful for, Andy.”

“Ruth, I cannot!”