“Grandma Elsie, what was the story about Lydia Darrah?” asked Gracie.  “I don’t remember to have heard it.”

“She lived in Philadelphia when the British were in possession there during the winter after the battle of the Brandywine,” replied Mrs. Travilla.  “She belonged to the Society of Friends, most of whom, as you doubtless remember, took no active part in the war; at least, did none of the fighting, though many helped in other ways; but some were Tories, who gave aid and comfort to the enemy in other ways than by the use of arms.”

“What a shame!” cried Walter.  “You will tell us about the doings of some of those when you are done with the story of Lydia Darrah, won’t you, mamma?”

“If you all wish it,” she answered; then went on with her narrative: 

“Judging from her conduct at that time, Lydia must have been an ardent patriot; but patriots and Tories alike had British officers quartered upon them.  The adjutant-general took up his quarters in Loxley House, the home of the Darrahs, and, as it was a secluded place, the superior officers frequently held meetings there for private conference on matters connected with the movements of the British troops.”

“One day the adjutant-general told Mrs. Darrah that such a meeting was to be held that evening, and that he wanted the upper back room made ready for himself and the friends who would be present.  He added that they would be likely to stay late and she must be sure to see that all her family were early in their beds.

“His tone and manner led Mrs. Darrah to think something of importance was going forward, and though she did not dare disobey his order, she resolved to try to find out what was their object in holding this private night meeting, probably hoping to be able to do something to prevent the carrying out of their plans against the liberties of her country.

“She sent her family to bed, according to directions, before the officers came, and after admitting them retired to her own couch, but not to sleep, for her thoughts were busy with conjectures in regard to the mischief they—­the unwelcome intruders into her house—­might be plotting against her country.

“She had lain down without undressing and after a little she rose and stole softly, in her stocking feet, to the door of the room where they were assembled.

“All was quiet at the moment when she reached it.  She put her ear to the keyhole and—­doubtless, with a fast beating heart—­waited there, listening intently for the sound of the officers’ voices.

“For a few moments all was silence; then it was broken by a single voice reading aloud an order from Sir William Howe for the troops to march out of the city the next night and make an attack upon Washington’s camp at Whitemarsh.

“Lydia waited to hear no more, for that was sufficient, and it would have been dangerous indeed for her to be caught there.

“She hastened back to her own room and again threw herself on the bed; but not to sleep, as you may well imagine.