“Andy, you shall!” They looked into each other’s eyes and then because they were young and brave, they smiled; smiled above the danger and heartache.

[Illustration:  “IT TOOK ALL OF ANDY’S COURAGE TO DON THE FEMALE ATTIRE.”]

“What a girl you are!” laughed Andy.

“Yes, there are few like me,” sighed the girl.  “Born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.”

“Born to deliver others from trouble, I verily believe,” added Andy.

“Not a moment to spare!” commanded Ruth.  “You have eaten a noble meal.  I must go to my room to suffer now.  When Hans bawls from the wagon, be ready, and remember the eggs are a shilling more to his majesty’s men than to Washington’s.”

It took all Andy’s courage to don the female attire.  He had never done so hard a thing, yet he knew that Ruth was right.  If he hoped to reach the patriot camp he must not attempt it as Andy McNeal.  “Next best then,” he thought, “is to go as Ruth White.  God bless Ruth!”

“Hi!” rose shrilly on the soft evening air, “hi! we starts now!”

It was Hans bellowing from the wagon.  Andy plunged into the bonnet, whose big, flapping frill almost hid his face.  He took his crutch—­its aid was not to be despised now—­and hobbled down-stairs.

“Washington is in the Morris Mansion!” Ruth whispered as he passed her door.

Under his sunbonnet Andy turned scarlet, but he did not turn toward Ruth.

“There goes our Ruthie to sell eggs,” called little Margaret White from over her bowl of milk in the kitchen.  “Does your leg hurt awful, Ruthie?”

Mrs. White at the table did not turn, but she said: 

“Take heed, Margaret, your milk is spilling.  Ruth is all right.”  As in very truth she was.

“We be late, already,” called Hans from his wagon.  “Can you get up, miss?”

Andy mounted slowly, and crouched behind Hans among the baskets and pails.  The Dutch boy had but recently come over from Long Island to live with the parson.  After the battle of Long Island he had fled to what he thought were more peaceful pastures for employment; but he had his doubts.  Dangers pursued Hans, and he was sore distressed.  It was necessary for him to sell the products of the little farm, and, really, the danger of the parson’s daughter going along to straighten matters out, was no great matter.  Peddlers, unless suspected, were allowed to pass the lines, and their wares paid for with more or less honesty.

CHAPTER VIII

AT HEADQUARTERS

“Your excellency, dar am a lame girl, an a fool Dutchman outside.  De girl done say, she’s got to delibber de eggs to yourself, sah!”

“Eggs!” The tall, anxious man at the table turned sharply.  He was writing to Congress, and the interruption annoyed him.