Had the daughter merely remarked that “’T was a monstrous pity,” or suggested that her father should at once set off to the hostel to insist on his coming to them, Janice would have thought nothing of the incident; but in place of this Tibbie said, “’T is well,” with a toss of her head, even as she grew redder still, and realising this, she pretended that some supper preparation required her attention, and almost fled from the room.

“Colonel Brereton,” explained Mr. Drinker, “stopped with us last summer each time he rode through Trenton on public business, and we came to like him much; so glad were we when he was well enough from his wound this spring to once more drop in upon us.”

“His wound!” exclaimed Janice.

“Ay,” said Miss Drinker.  “Didst thee not know that he was hit at Whitemarsh, and was weeks abed?”

Mr. Drinker gave a hearty laugh as the girl shook her head in dissent.  “I’ll tell thee a secret, Jan,” he said, “and give thee a fine chance to tease.  There was a girl not a hundred miles from this house who was sorely wounded by that same British bullet, and who pilfered every goody she could find from our pantry, and would have it that I should ride myself to Valley Forge with them all, but that I found a less troublesome conveyance.”

“’T was very good of her,” said Janice, gravely.  “I—­I did not know that he had been wounded.”

“Thou wert hardly in the way of it,” replied Mr. Drinker.  “British officers were scarce news sheets of our army.”

However praiseworthy Miss Meredith may have thought her friend’s kindness to Brereton, one action conveyed the contrary import, for when the bed hour came she said to Tabitha:  “I think I’ll sleep with mommy, and not with thee, after all.”

“Oh, Jan, and I have so much to tell thee!”

“We make so early a start,” explained Miss Meredith, “that the sleep is more valuable to me.”  Then the girl, after a swallow, said:  “And I thank you, Tibbie, for being so good to Colonel Brereton, to whom we owe much kindness; for even had we known he was injured, we could have done nothing for him.”  She kissed her friend and followed her mother.

When Brereton appeared the next morning, Janice mounted the horse which was to bear her while the aide was exchanging greetings with the Drinkers; and when these quickly changed into farewells, she heeded not Tabitha’s protest that they had not kissed each other good-by.

“I thought to save time by mounting,” explained Janice, “and for this once it does not matter.”  And during the whole morning’s ride the aide found her strangely silent and unresponsive.