Lettice spoke up. “I’ll go, Patsey. I see a little place over yonder; maybe I can get some milk there.” And without further words she crossed the street to a shop on the other side. But no milk was to be had, and she trudged farther off. The sun beat down on her, and she felt ready to sink from exhaustion, for she remembered she had not eaten anything since morning, and very little then. She looked for her purse, but remembered that she had, in her excitement, placed it in her trunk. She stood still in perplexity. She could only beg some milk for a hungry baby; she could not offer to pay for it unless she went back to Patsey for the money. She was about to re-cross the street, when a pair of horses which had taken fright, came dashing along, and she felt herself suddenly snatched back. Looking up she saw Mr. Baldwin. “Miss Lettice,” he cried, “I did not dream it was you. Another moment you would have been under those horses’ feet.” “Yes, I know. I was just going to cross, and I got bewildered. I feel a little queer.” “And no wonder, in this broiling sun. I venture to say you have had nothing to eat for hours and are tired as well.” “That is about the truth. I was trying to get a sup of milk for Mrs. Gittings’s baby. See, she and her sister are over there, by that wagon at which the man is working. We came near having a breakdown and had to halt.” “You were on your way to Virginia, then?” “Yes.” “That is good. I think perhaps I can help you. See, there is Tomlinson’s hotel; do you remember it?” “Where the ball was held? Oh, yes.” She looked up at him and smiled, and for the first time noticed that his face did not wear its usual sunburnt hue. “You have been ill!” she exclaimed. He held up a bandaged arm. “Yes, I have been. My hand and a bit of my forearm were shot away about a month ago.” “Oh, and were you very ill?” “So, so. We will not talk of it now. Come, I think we can get the desired milk in here. They know me well, for I put up here when I am in town.” “And you have been here, how long?” “I arrived some days ago, but was scarcely in a state to pay my respects. I am out for the first time to-day.” “It is not a very good day, either. I am so very, very sorry to hear of your wound,” said Lettice, looking her compassion. They had reached the hotel by this time. Mr. Baldwin pushed open the door and ushered her into the hall. How well she remembered the place, and that night of rejoicing over victory. Now the triumphant British were entering the city, and the little army of militia was scattered. She remembered Mrs. Madison, as she stood there, the centre of attraction. Now she, too, was a refugee. She had time for no further reflections, for Mr. Baldwin returned with a cup of milk and a couple of slices of bread with some cold meat. “This is not very inviting,” he said, “but it was all I could get, and it will stay you. Shall I carry the milk over to your friends, and will you rest here till they are ready to go on?”