When Madame returned to the room he came suddenly out of his reverie. He saw at once that his mother was strangely troubled. She sat down and covered her face with her thin, trembling hands, and when Neil bent over her with a few soothing words she sobbed: "Oh, my dear lad, I'm feared your father is _fey_, or else he has been drinking beyond his reason; and goodness knows what nonsense he has been saying. The men who brought sae much wine out may have done it to set him talking; and anyway, it shames me, it pains me, to think o' Alexander Semple being the butt o' a lot o' fellows not worthy to latch his shoe buckles. But he's getting auld, Neil, he's getting auld; and he's always been at the top o' the tree in every one's respect, and I canna bear it." "Dear mother, never has father stood so high in all good men's opinion as he stands this night. He has a little secret from you, and, I dare say, it is the first in his life, and it is more than wine to him. It is the secret, not the wine." "What is it, Neil? What is it?" Then Neil sat down by his mother's side, and looking into her face with his own smiling and beaming, he told her with dramatic power and passion the story of "the bit scrimmage," as the Elder defined the wordy battle, adding, "There is not a man, young or old, in New York, that this night is more praised and respected for his righteous wrath than Alexander Semple. As for Quentin Macpherson, he may go hang!" And long before the story was finished Madame was bridling and blushing with pride and pleasure. "The dear auld man! The brave auld man!" she kept ejaculating; and her almost uncontrollable impulse was to go to him and give him the kiss and the few applauding words which she knew would crown his satisfaction. But Neil persuaded her to dissemble her delight, and then turned the conversation on the condition of the city. "It is bad enough," he said. "Famine and freezing will soon be here, and the town is left under the orders of a hired mercenary--a German, a foreigner, who neither understands us nor our lives or language. It is a shameful thing. Was there no Englishman to defend New York? Every citizen, no matter what his politics, is insulted and sulky, and if Washington attacks the city in Clinton's absence, which he will surely do, they won't fight under Knyphausen as they would under a countryman. Even DeLancey would have been better. I, myself, would fight with a DeLancey leading, where I would be cold as ice behind Knyphausen." "When men are left to themselves what fools they are," said Madame. "They don't think so. You should hear the talk about what Clinton is going to do in the South, and he will find Cornwallis too much for him." "How is that? Cornwallis?" "Cornwallis hates Clinton passionately; he will sacrifice everything rather than cooperate with him. Clinton successful would be worse than his own disgrace. Yet Clinton is sure he will succeed in subduing the whole South." "And Knyphausen?"