The day before their departure, they escorted Van Heemskirk to his house.  Lysbet and Katherine saw them coming, and fell weeping on each other’s necks—­tears that were both joyful and sorrowful, the expression of mingled love and patriotism and grief.  It would have been hard to find a nobler-looking leader than Joris.  Age had but added dignity to his fine bulk.  His large, fair face was serene and confident.  And the bright young lads who followed him looked like his sons, for most of them strongly resembled him in person; and any one might have been sure, even if the roll had not shown it, that they were Van Brunts and Van Ripers and Van Rensselaers, Roosevelts, Westervelts, and Terhunes.

They had a very handsome uniform, and there had been no uncertainty or dispute about it.  Blue, with orange trimmings, carried the question without one dissenting voice.  Blue had been for centuries the colour of opposition to tyranny.  The Scotch Covenanters chose it because the Lord ordered the children of Israel to wear a ribbon of blue that they might “look upon it, and remember all the commandments of the Lord, and do them; and seek not after their own heart and their own eyes, and be holy unto their God.” (Num. xv. 38.) Into their cities of refuge in Holland, the Covenanters carried their sacred colour; and the Dutch Calvinists soon blended the blue of their faith with the orange of their patriotism.  Very early in the American struggle, blue became the typical colour of freedom; and when Van Heemskirk’s men chose the blue and orange for their uniform, they selected the colours which had already been famous on many a battle-field of freedom.

Katherine and Lysbet had made the flag of the new regiment—­an orange flag, with a cluster of twelve blue stars above the word liberty.  It was Lysbet’s hands that gave it to them.  They stood in a body around the open door of the Van Heemskirk house; and the pretty old lady kissed it, and handed it with wet eyes to the colour-sergeant.  Katherine stood by Lysbet’s side.  They were both dressed as for a festival, and their faces were full of tender love and lofty enthusiasm.  To Joris and his men they represented the womanhood dear to each individual heart.  Lysbet’s white hair and white cap and pale-tinted face was “the mother’s face;” and Katherine, in her brilliant beauty, her smiles and tears, her shining silks and glancing jewels, was the lovely substitute for many a precious sister and many a darling lady-love.  But few words were said.  Lysbet and Katherine could but stand and gaze as heads were bared, and the orange folds flung to the wind, and the inspiring word liberty saluted with bright, upturned faces and a ringing shout of welcome.

Such a lovely day it was—­a perfect June day; doors and windows were wide open; a fresh wind blowing, a hundred blended scents from the garden were in the air; and there was a sunshine that warmed everything to the core.  If there were tears in the hearts of the women, they put them back with smiles and hopeful words, and praises of the gallant men who were to fight a noble fight under the banner their fingers had fashioned.