“Thet ’ere is a lie!” cried Hennion, yet following the officer.

“It is, if you never signed such a paper,” remarked Jack, drily.

“I defy yer ter show it.” challenged Hennion.

“If you want sight of it, introduce the bill,” retorted the aide.

“Say, colonel,” said Bagby, with a decided cringe, “you won’t use those documents against your old friends, will you?”

“’T ain’t fer a Continental officer ter injure them cairn ginooine Whigs,” chimed in Hennion, “an’ only swore an oath cuz it seemed bestest jest then.”

“If you don’t want those papers known, stop persecuting the Merediths.”

“So thet gal ’s caught yer, too, hez she?  Look aout fer them.  They’ll use yer ter save theer lands, an’ then they’ll send yer ter right-abaout, like they done with my Phil.  I warns yer agin ’em, an’ ef yer don’t listen ter me, the day’ll come when yer’ll rue it.”

Meanwhile the Drinkers had made the new arrivals most welcome; and the two girls, with so much to tell each other, found it difficult to know where to begin.  They had not talked long, however, when Janice became conscious that there was a rift in the lute.

“My letter,” she said, “would have told you better than ever I now can all about the routs and the plays, and everything else; but, alas! some one broke into our house the night the British left Philadelphia, and search as I would the next day, I could not find what I had written you.”

“I should think thee ’d be glad,” replied Tibbie; “for surely thou ’rt ashamed of having been so Toryish.”

“Not I,” denied Janice.  “And why should I be?”

“Shame upon thee, Janice Meredith, for liking the enemies of thy country!”

“And pray, madam,” questioned Janice, “what has caused this sudden fervour of Whigism in you?”

“I never was unfaithful to my country, nor smiled on its persecutors.”

“Humph!” sniffed Janice.  “One would think, to hear you talk, that you have given those smiles to some rebel lover.”

“Better a Whig lover than one of your popinjay British officers,” retorted Tibbie, crimsoning.

“Gemini!” burst from the other.  “I believe ’t is a hit from the way you colour.”

“And if ’t was—­which ’t is not—­’t is naught to feel ashamed of.” resentfully answered the accused.

The two girls had been spatting thus in lowered voices on the sofa, and as Tibbie ended, her disputant’s arm was about her waist, and she was squeezed almost to suffocation.

“Oh, Tibbie, wilt tell me all about it—­and him—­once we are in bed to-night?” begged Janice, in the lowest but most eager of whispers.

Whether this prayer would have been granted was not to be known, for as it was uttered Mr. Drinker interrupted their dialogue.

“Why, Tabitha,” he called from across the room, “here ’s a great miscarriage.  Mrs. Meredith tells me that Colonel Brereton rode with them from Philadelphia, but thinking to o’ercrowd us he has put up at the Sun tavern.”