Mistress Thankful read this composition once, twice, and then tore it
up. Then, reflecting that it was the first letter of her lover's that
she had not kept, she tried to put together again the torn fragments,
but vainly, and then in a pet, new to her, cast them from the window.
During the rest of the day she was considerably distraite, and even
manifested more temper than she was wont to do; and later, when her
father rode away on his daily visit to Morristown, she felt strangely
relieved. By noon the snow ceased, or rather turned into a driving
sleet that again in turn gave way to rain. By this time she became
absorbed in her household duties,--in which she was usually
skilful,--and in her own thoughts that to-day had a novelty in their
meaning. In the midst of this, at about dark, her room being in the
rear of the house, she was perhaps unmindful of the trampling of horse
without, or the sound of voices in the hall below. Neither was
uncommon at that time. Although protected by the Continental army from
forage or the rudeness of soldiery, the Blossom farm had always been a
halting-place for passing troopers, commissary teamsters, and
reconnoitring officers. Gen. Sullivan and Col. Hamilton had watered
their horses at its broad, substantial wayside trough, and sat in the
shade of its porch. Miss Thankful was only awakened from her daydream
by the entrance of the negro farm-hand, Caesar.
"Fo' God, Missy Thankful, them sogers is g'wine into camp in the road,
I reckon, for they's jest makin' theysevs free afo' the house, and
they's an officer in the company-room with his spurs cocked on the
table, readin' a book."
A quick flame leaped into Thankful's cheek, and her pretty brows knit
themselves over darkening eyes. She arose from her work no longer the
moody girl, but an indignant goddess, and, pushing the servant aside,
swept down the stairs, and threw open the door.
An officer sitting by the fire in an easy, lounging attitude that
justified the servant's criticism, arose instantly with an air of
evident embarrassment and surprise that was, however, as quickly
dominated and controlled by a gentleman's breeding.
"I beg your pardon," he said, with a deep inclination of his handsome
head, "but I had no idea that there was any member of this household at
home--at least, a lady." He hesitated a moment, catching in the
raising of her brown-fringed lids a sudden revelation of her beauty,
and partly losing his composure. "I am Major Van Zandt: I have the
honor of addressing--"
"Thankful Blossom," said Thankful a little proudly, divining with a
woman's swift instinct the cause of the major's hesitation. But her
triumph was checked by a new embarrassment visible in the face of the
officer at the mention of her name.
"Thankful Blossom," repeated the officer quickly. "You are, then, the
daughter of Abner Blossom?"
"Certainly," said Thankful, turning her inquiring eyes upon him. "He
will be here betimes. He has gone only to Morristown." In a new fear
that had taken possession of her, her questioning eyes asked, "Has he
not?"
The officer, answering her eyes rather than her lips, came toward her
gravely. "He will not return to-day, Mistress Thankful, nor perhaps
even to-morrow. He is--a prisoner."
Thankful opened her brown eyes aggressively on the major. "A
prisoner--for what?"
"For aiding and giving comfort to the enemy, and for harboring spies,"
replied the major with military curtness.
Mistress Thankful's cheek flushed slightly at the last sentence: a
recollection of the scene on the porch and the baron's stolen kiss
flashed across her, and for a moment she looked as guilty as if the man
before her had been a witness to the deed. He saw it, and
misinterpreted her confusion.
"Belike, then," said Mistress Thankful, slightly raising her voice, and
standing squarely before the major, "belike, then, I should be a
prisoner too; for the guests of this house, if they be spies, were MY
guests, and, as my father's daughter, I was their hostess; ay, man, and
right glad to be the hostess of such gallant gentlemen,--gentlemen, I
warrant, too fine to insult a defenceless girl; gentlemen spies that
did not cock their boots on the table, or turn an honest farmer's house
into a tap-room."
An expression of half pain, half amusement, covered the face of the
major, but he made no other reply than by a profound and graceful bow.
Courteous and deprecatory as it was, it apparently exasperated Mistress
Thankful only the more.
"And pray who are these spies, and who is the informer?" said Mistress
Thankful, facing the soldier, with one hand truculently placed on her
flexible hip, and the other slipped behind her. "Methinks 'tis only
honest we should know when and how we have entertained both."
"Your father, Mistress Thankful," said Major Van Zandt gravely, "has
long been suspected of favoring the enemy; but it has been the policy
of the commander-in-chief to overlook the political preferences of
non-combatants, and to strive to win their allegiance to the good cause
by liberal privileges. But when it was lately discovered that two
strangers, although bearing a pass from him, have been frequenters of
this house under fictitious names--"
"You mean Count Ferdinand and the Baron Pomposo," said Thankful
quickly,--"two honest gentlefolk; and if they choose to pay their
devoirs to a lass--although, perhaps, not a quality lady, yet an honest
girl--"
"Dear Mistress Thankful," said the major with a profound bow and smile,
that, spite of its courtesy, drove Thankful to the verge of wrathful
hysterics, "if you establish that fact,--and, from this slight
acquaintance with your charms, I doubt not you will,--your father is
safe from further inquiry or detention. The commander-in-chief is a
gentleman who has never underrated the influence of your sex, nor held
himself averse to its fascinations."
"What is the name of this informer?" broke in Mistress Thankful
angrily. "Who is it that has dared--"
"It is but king's evidence, mayhap, Mistress Thankful; for the informer
is himself under arrest. It is on the information of Capt. Allan
Brewster of the Connecticut Contingent."
Mistress Thankful whitened, then flushed, and then whitened again. Then
she stood up to the major.
"It's a lie,--a cowardly lie!"
Major Van Zandt bowed. Mistress Thankful flew up stairs, and in
another moment swept back again into the room in riding hat and habit.
"I suppose I can go and see--my father," she said, without lifting her
eyes to the officer.
"You are free as air, Mistress Thankful. My orders and instructions,
far from implicating you in your father's offences, do not even suggest
your existence. Let me help you to your horse."
The girl did not reply. During that brief interval, however, Caesar
had saddled her white mare, and brought it to the door. Mistress
Thankful, disdaining the offered hand of the major, sprang to the
saddle.