ILLUSTRATIONS

Volume I.
       Janice Meredith (Miniature in color)
       “’T is sunrise at Greenwood”
       “Nay, give me the churn”
       “The British ran”
       “It flatters thee”
       “You set me free”
       “The prisoner is gone
       “Here’s to the prettiest damsel”
       “I’m the prisoner”
       “Trenton is unguarded.  Advance”
       “He’d make a proper husband”
       “Stay and take his place, Colonel”
       “Thou art my soldier”
       “’T is to rescue thee, Janice”
Volume ii. 
       George Washington (In color)
       “There’s no safety for thee”
       “The despatch!”
       “Who are you?”
       “Art comfortable, Janice?”
       “Where is that paper?”
       “Victory”
       “Washington has crossed the Delaware!”
       “I love you for your honesty, Janice”
       “Don’t move!”
       “Have I won?”
       “Where are you going?”

JANICE MEREDITH A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION

VOLUME I

A HEROINE OF MANY POSSIBILITIES

“Alonzo now once more found himself upon an element that had twice proved destructive to his happiness, but Neptune was propitious, and with gentle breezes wafted him toward his haven of bliss, toward Amaryllis.  Alas, when but one day from happiness, a Moorish zebec—­”

“Janice!” called a voice.

The effect on the reader and her listener, both of whom were sitting on the floor, was instantaneous.  Each started and sat rigidly intent for a moment; then, as the sound of approaching footsteps became audible, one girl hastily slipped a little volume under the counterpane of the bed, while the other sprang to her feet, and in a hurried, flustered way pretended to be getting something out of a tall wardrobe.

Before the one who hid the book had time to rise, a woman of fifty entered the room, and after a glance, cried—­

“Janice Meredith!  How often have I told thee that it is ungenteel for a female to repose on the floor?”

“Very often, mommy,” said Janice, rising meekly, meantime casting a quick glance at the bed, to see how far its smoothness had been disturbed.

“And still thee continues such unbecoming and vastly indelicate behaviour.”

“Oh, mommy, but it is so nice!” cried the girl.  “Did n’t you like to sit on the floor when you were fifteen?”

“Janice, thou ’t more careless every day in bed-making,” ejaculated Mrs. Meredith, making a sudden dive toward the bed, as if she desired to escape the question.  She smoothed the gay patchwork quilt, seemed to feel something underneath, and the next moment pulled out the hidden volume, which was bound, as the bookseller’s advertisements phrased it, in “half calf, neat, marbled sides.”  One stern glance she gave the two red-faced culprits, and, opening the book, read out in a voice that was in itself an impeachment, “The Adventures of Alonzo and Amaryllis!”