BY COURIER POST
It had been a wild night, find the morning wind sobbed and sighed
through the elms, which, denuded of their leaves, stood out tall and
bare against the leaden sky, and there was a chill in the air that might
betoken snow. Pamela Wolcott stood in the sitting-room window and sighed
softly, as she gazed out at the November landscape, letting her fingers
beat soft tattoo against the lozenge-shaped pane.
"Pamela," said Betty from the depths of a big chair, where she sat
busily knitting a little stocking whose proportions suggested Miss
Moppet, "I wish you would stop that devil's march. Believe me, you had
much better come and talk to me, and so drive away the vapors, rather
than stand there and worry over the whereabouts of Josiah."
"It will take more than that to drive away the thoughts I cannot help,"
said Pamela, coming back from the window and seating herself on the
wide settle, for Pamela was somewhat given to seeking the warmest
corner, and dreaded a New England winter. "It is full time I had some
intelligence, for Josiah promised that he would take advantage of any
courier who started for New London to dispatch me a letter, and you know
that father had news two days since from Morristown, but nothing came
for me. Betty, I am sore afraid of evil tidings."
"You are ever faint-hearted," said Betty, glancing compassionately at
her sister.
"And I dreamed last night of a wedding," went on Pamela, "and that, you
know, is an evil sign."
"Best not let Aunt Euphemia hear you," Replied Betty, with a smile. "You
have been consulting Chloe, I am sure, as to the portents of dreams.
Fie, Pamela; Josiah is strong and well, and there is not likely to be a
movement of the troops just now, father says, so why worry? I am anxious
because we hear nothing of Clarissa, and I think Aunt Euphemia is the
same, for I heard her talking and sighing last night when Miss Bidwell
carried up the night light. Dear Clarissa, how I wish I could see her
again; I wonder if she be quite, quite happy shut up in New York among
the Tories."
"No doubt; though when she married Gulian Verplanck we had little
thought of the occupation of New York by the British. Do you recollect
how pretty she looked on her wedding-day, Betty, and the little caps you
and I wore,--mine with a knot of blue, and yours of rose-color? I found
that ribbon one day last week, tucked away in a little box. Have you
kept yours?"
"No," returned Betty, with a sudden blush and a quick, half-guilty throb
of her heart, as she remembered in whose hand she had last seen that
same bow of rose-color; "that is, I had it until last summer, when--I
lost it." And Betty dropped two stitches in her confusion, which
fortunately Pamela was too much engrossed in her own thoughts to notice.
"It is five years last May," said Pamela. "You and I were tiny things of
ten and eleven years, and Oliver strutted about grand and dignified in a
new coat. The first wedding in our family--I wonder whose be the next?"
"Yours, of course." said Betty quickly. "That is if you and Josiah can
ever make up your minds. I will not be like you, Pamela, trust me, when
my turn comes I'll know full well whether I will or I won't." And Betty
tossed her saucy head with a mischievous laugh as there came a rap on
the front door which caused both girls to start up and fly to the
window.
"Why, 'tis Sally Tracy," cried Betty. "I did not know she had returned
from her visit to Lebanon." And she ran rapidly along the hall, and
opening the door, embraced her friend with all a girl's enthusiasm.
"Welcome, Sally," said Pamela, as the pair came hand in hand towards
her, "Betty has been moping ever since you left, and had a desperate fit
of industry from sheer loneliness. I really believe she has made a
stocking and a half for Moppet--or was it a pair, Betty?"
"The second pair, if you please," retorted Betty, rejoiced to see Pamela
smile, even if at her own expense; "and Miss Bidwell says they are every
bit as fine as yours."
"They may well be that," said Pamela, whose pet detestation was the
manufacture of woolen stockings (then considered one of the component
parts of a girl's education in New England). "But Sally is such a
marvelous knitter that she will no doubt rejoice at your success. Had
you as severe weather in Lebanon as this? I am fearful that we will have
a hard winter, the cold has set in so early."
"They have had one flurry of snow already," Sally answered, "but not so
much wind as we of Litchfield rejoice in. But I had a merry visit and
saw much company. Dolly bemoaned daily that you could not come, Pamela."
"I am to go later, after or about the day set apart for Thanksgiving.
But you and Betty have much to say to each other, and I will not
interrupt you; Miss Bidwell has something for me to do, I'll warrant;
so, farewell for the present, Sally." And Pamela left the room.
"Come, sit beside me on the settle," said Betty, putting Sally in the
warmest seat. "Your fingers are cold, and the room is not yet
sufficiently warm. Well,"--with a significant smile,--"what have you to
tell me?"
"Not what you think," with a smiling nod, "for Francis Plunkett is far
too pressing for my taste,'' answered Sally.
"Ha, ha," quoth Betty, much amused, "is that the way you take it? Then I
foresee that Francis will win for his much speaking."
"Indeed he will not; I teased him well the last evening, and he dare not
resume the subject for a while at least."
"Then there is some one else," said Betty. "Can it be that Oliver"--
"Oh, no," cried Sally hastily; "Oliver has not such an idea, believe me,
Betty."
"How can you answer for him?" retorted Betty, laughing. "But your tone
answers for yourself, so I must guess again. I think I have heard
something of a handsome young lawyer from Branford"--
"Fie!" cried Sally, in her turn averting her face quickly, but not
before Betty had perceived her heightened color, "I have but met him
three times, and there are plenty of other personable men as well as he,
for while one stops with Dolly the officers from Fort Trumbull are ever
coming and going, you know."
"Ah, Sally, you are growing giddy, I fear," continued Betty with comical
pretense of solemnity. "I think it behooves me to caution you."
"Caution me, indeed!" laughed Sally. "Wait until we both go, as we all
are invited to Hartford with Dolly this winter when the Assembly meets,
and then see if you be not fully as giddy as I am."
"I do not believe that I can go to Hartford, Sally; you know Pamela is
more Dolly's friend than mine, and I think she needs some diversion, for
ever since Josiah had his commission and joined the Continental army,
she has nearly moped herself to death. And Pamela is like my mother, not
very strong; I can see that Aunt Euphemia is somewhat troubled about her
even now, so perhaps our fine schemes for a trip to Hartford may have to
be given up, at least so far as my going is concerned."
Sally's face fell; the visit to Hartford had been so long talked of, and
Betty's presence so much desired, that this was a dash of the coldest
possible water.
"Oh, Betty, how truly sorry I shall be. But let us hope for the best. It
will be a sad breaking up of all my plans for the winter if you cannot
come. I was also to stop at Fairfield with Mrs. Sherman, but since the
raid of last summer her health has been so shattered that all thoughts
of visitors have to be abandoned, and therefore I was counting upon our
merry visit to Dolly as compensation."
Sally looked so melancholy at this point that Betty took her hand and
was about to take a rather more hopeful view of things, but the words
died on her lips as the clatter of a horse's feet was heard outside, and
both girls ran to the window in time to see the rider draw rein at the
south door of the mansion and dismount in apparent haste.
"It is some dispatch," said Betty breathlessly. "Did you not see the bag
he carried at the saddle? And there is my father--oh, Sally, I wonder if
there be news from General Washington and the army?" and struck by the
sudden fear of ill-tidings the girls ran hastily from the room.
In the wide hall stood Miss Bidwell, and beside her the stranger,
saddle-bag in hand, as Miss Euphemia emerged from the dining-room,
whence General Wolcott had preceded her.
"From the commander-in-chief, general," said the courier, touching his
battered hat in salute, "and special dispatches from General Steuben.
Also this private packet, which was lying waiting at King's Bridge Inn;
I have been four days on the road, owing to my horse having lamed
himself when near Chatham, and I could not make time on the nag which
stands at your door."
"King's Bridge," murmured Miss Euphemia; "then there is news of
Clarissa. Brother, have I your permission?"--as General Wolcott gave the
small packet into her hand.
"Break the seals," said the general briefly, "and bring me the letters
presently to my study. See that the horse and man be well taken care of;
I may have to dispatch instant answer to these," and he went quickly
down the hall, closing the door behind him.
With fingers that trembled somewhat, Miss Euphemia opened the cover, and
disclosed three letters to the eager eyes of the girls, who stood
breathless beside her.
"One for your father (it is Gulian Verplanck's hand), this for me, from
Clarissa, and the smaller one for you, Betty; let us go into the
sitting-room and read ours together."
"None for me?" said Pamela's despairing voice, with a sob treading on
the words; "oh, I fear me some evil has befallen Josiah."
"No, no," whispered Betty, stealing her hand lovingly into her sister's,
as she pulled her gently into the room; "father has the dispatches;
these are but the long-looked-for letters from New York, Pamela, and
I'll wager there is something from Josiah among father's packets. Let us
see what my letter says," and Betty, having seated Pamela and Sally on
the settle, placed herself on a convenient cricket, and broke the seal
of her letter. But before her eyes had time to see more than "Dearest
Betty," she was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from her aunt.
"Clarissa has been at death's door," cried Miss Euphemia, startled out
of her usual composure. "I knew this long silence boded no good. Listen,
I will read it," and the three girls gathered round her chair at once.
"Dear and Honored Aunt" (ran the letter), "I take up my pen, after many
days of pain and dire distress, to send loving greetings to you, my
Beloved father, and my dear sisters. For the hand of death was nearly
upon me; thank God that I am still preserved to my dear Husband and to
you.
"It was a very malignant and severe attack of Fever, and Gulian procured
the services of no less than three Physicians, as for days I laid
unconscious. My little baby died at two hours old, and I never saw him.
Alas, how I have suffered! I am now very weak, altho' able to be dressed
and sit up each day. This is my first letter; and I pine so sorely for
you, my dear ones, that my dear Husband permits me to write, and begs
with me that you will permit one of my sisters to come to me and cheer
my heart"--
"Come to her! Good lack!" cried impetuous Betty, interrupting the
reader, "how is one to go when the British are in occupation?"--
"How, indeed," sighed Miss Euphemia; "but perhaps the letter will tell,"
and she resumed her reading, after wiping her eyes softly. "Where was
I?--oh"--
"Father will no doubt be able to procure a pass from General Washington,
which will admit the bearer into the City, and Gulian will himself be
ready when you advise us, and will await you at King's Bridge Inn. Dear
Aunt, send me some one soon, and let me see a dear home face, else I
shall die of grief and homesickness, far from my own people.
"Your loving and obedient niece,
"CLARISSA VERPLANCK."
By this time Pamela was sobbing aloud, and tears flowed down Miss
Euphemia's cheeks, but Betty sprang to her feet with a little impatient
stamp, crying,--
"Aunt, aunt, which of us shall go? Pamela, you are a gentle and charming
nurse; shall it be you?"
"I!" sighed Pamela; "oh, I would go to the world's end for Clarissa."
"But this is to go to New York," cried Betty, with unconscious irony;
"and as we can neither of us go alone, why could not my father arrange
for one of us to accompany Mrs. Seymour, who leaves shortly to be near
her brother for the winter? Did you not tell me, Sally, that she was
going to New York?"
"Yes," answered Sally Tracy, "she has been making all manner of
preparations, for, as you know, her brother is imprisoned in the city;
and since her acceptance of the pleasure coach from the Mayor of New
York (which he presented her with when he was released from Litchfield
gaol), she has been pining to go to him. And, beside, she travels in her
coach as far as possible; and my mother said last night that General
Washington was to send her safe-conduct through our lines to the city."
"We must first consult your father," said Miss Euphemia gravely, much
upset by the suggestion of making up her mind to do anything in haste,
for she was a very deliberate person, and despised hurried decisions. "I
will find him as soon as he has finished the dispatches, and, moreover,
this letter to him from Gulian may have directions. I incline to think
that you, Betty, will be the one to go. Pamela can scarce bear the
journey in this weather," and gathering her papers carefully in her
hand, Miss Euphemia left the room, and the girls gazed blankly at each
other with startled eyes and throbbing hearts.