“And, sir, do you know the British are bringing their ships up the river?”

Washington’s eyes gleamed.  “I have sent men to Frog’s Point,” he smiled.  “They will meet a welcome when they land.  Thank you.  And now farewell.  Take heed as you return.  You are safer without a guard.”

“Is there no work for me to do?  Is there no place in the ranks for such as I?”

The tremendous question broke from Andy’s lips.  To go back into idleness was his one dread.  He longed to follow; to be the humblest, but most patriotic, of the many.  Washington understood.

“I must leave here directly,” he answered.  “Ere another week passes I shall be gone.  Where future battles are to be fought, remains to be seen, but always, my first object is to guard the Hudson.  I need faithful hearts here.  I shall not forget you, Andy McNeal, nor your service.  If I can use you, be ready.  I shall know where to find you.  You are sure to be more useful here than elsewhere.  You know your woods as few others do, and I know I can depend upon your courage and faithfulness.  Again farewell.”

Andy arose, drew on the disguising headgear, not even thinking of it, so full was his heart, and so he departed to face whatever lay before.

The immediate thing that faced Andy McNeal was the meeting with his own father.  It took all the courage he possessed to do this, and yet he knew that he could not begin to live again until the new complications had been grappled with and readjusted.

After dark of the same day upon which Andy had seen Washington, he reached his mother’s little house.  Hans and he had had several encounters with the British, but a thickheaded, deaf Dutchman, and a young, frightened lame girl, with a hideous bonnet, served only for a moment’s idle sport for the king’s gallant men.  And after annoying delays they were allowed to pass with a warning to come soon with more food, or their houses would be burned over their heads.

Andy paused outside the cottage.  He heard his mother moving about, and the indistinct voice of a man from the guest-room beyond.

“The vine again!” thought Andy.  But the ascent in the gown was difficult.  “A maid’s progress is bitter hard!” smiled he, and he thought tenderly of Ruth.

The little loft-room seemed oddly changed to Andy.  He looked about.  Everything was the same, and yet—­

“It is that voice below-stairs,” muttered he.  “It alters everything.”  A feeling of hatred crept in Andy’s heart against this man who had suddenly assumed so close a relationship to him.

“What will mother do?” he questioned as he changed his clothing, and put on the decent Sunday-suit that was hanging from the pegs.  “What will she do?” And in his heart Andy knew what she would do, what, at least, she would want to do.  He had seen it shining back of the trouble in her eyes when she first spoke to him.  The want had brought the look of beauty with it, and had banished the marks of the lonely years.