An Unwilling Maid
Being the History of Certain Episodes during the American Revolution in
the Early Life of Mistress Betty Yorke, born Wolcott
By Jeanie Gould Lincoln
| A great-grandmother's bewitching face, Looks forth from this olden story, For Love is a master who laughs at place, And scoffs at both Whig and Tory. To-day if he comes, as a conqueror may, To a heart untouched by his flame, Be loyal as she of the olden day, That Eighteenth Century dame! |
CONTENTS
I. MISS MOPPET
II. BULLETS FOR DEFENSE
III. OLIVER'S PRISONER
IV. FRIEND OR FOE
V. A LOYAL TRAITOR
VI. BY COURIER POST
VII. WHAT FOLLOWED A LETTER
VIII. INSIDE BRITISH LINES
IX. BETTY'S JOURNEY
X. A MAID'S CAPRICE
XI. ON THE COLLECT
XII. A FACE ON THE WALL
XIII. AT THE VLY MARKET
XIV. THE DE LANCEY BALL
XV. LOVE OR LOYALTY
XVI. MOPPET MAKES A DISCOVERY
XVII. A KNOT OF ROSE-COLORED RIBBON
CHAPTER I
It was a warm summer day. Not too warm, for away up in the Connecticut hills the sun seemed to temper its rays, and down among the shadows of the trees surrounding Great Pond there were cool, shady glades where one could almost fancy it was May instead of hot July.
At a point not far from the water, leaning against the trunk of a stately maple, stood a young man. His head, from which he had raised a somewhat old and weather-beaten hat, was finely formed, and covered with chestnut curls; his clothes, also shabby and worn, were homespun and ill-fitting, but his erect military carriage, with an indescribable air of polish and fine breeding, seemed strangely incongruous in connection with his apparel and travel-worn appearance.
"I wonder where I am," he said half aloud, as he surveyed the pretty sheet of water sparkling in the afternoon sun. "Faith, 'tis hard enough to be half starved and foot-sore, without being lost in an enemy's country. The woman who gave me that glass of milk at five o'clock this morning said I was within a mile of Goshen. I must have walked ten miles since then, and am apparently no nearer the line than I was yesterday—Hark! what's that?"—as a sound of voices struck his ear faintly, coming from some distance on his right. "Some one comes this direction. I had best conceal myself in these friendly bushes until I ascertain whether 'tis friend or foe."
So saying, he plunged hastily into a thicket of low-lying shrubs close at hand, and, throwing himself flat upon the ground under them, was comparatively secure from observation as long as he remained perfectly still. The next sound he heard was horses' feet, moving at a walk, and presently there came in view a spirited-looking bay mare and a gray pony, the riders being engaged in merry conversation.
"No, no, Betty," said the little girl of about nine years, who rode the pony; "it is just here, or a few rods farther on, where we had the Maypole set last year