"That's a very good story," commented Martine, "and as we know you never tell anything but the exact truth, Priscilla, neither Amy nor I would think of doubting it." As the trio were walking back toward town they met Mrs. Redmond, driving. "Come," she cried, "which two of you will drive with me? You slipped off this afternoon without my realizing that you were going away, and now I want company." "I would rather stroll along," replied Amy, "but I am sure that Martine and Priscilla would enjoy the drive. Martine is turning antiquarian, and if your driver can take you to some old grave or Indian mound, she will be delighted to use her shovel." "I don't know what I can promise in the way of graves and mounds, but if Martine comes with me I can offer her a lovely view." "If you please, Mrs. Redmond," said Priscilla, "I would rather walk back home than drive." Although Amy tried to make her change her mind, Priscilla was firm, and the discussion ended by Amy's getting into the carriage with Martine and Mrs. Redmond. As she walked along the main street, where the houses were still rather far apart, Priscilla noticed a little graveyard in a corner of a garden. As the gate was open, she felt at liberty to walk inside. The stones at which she glanced were of marble, and the inscriptions were well cut. The names on two or three of them were French, and the men who bore them had evidently been officers in the English army. This interested her, and when she saw a girl of about her own age standing at the door of a cottage near by, she felt emboldened to speak to her. "They were not really French," said the girl, in answer to her question, "but of Huguenot family, who fought for the King in the Revolution. I've heard my mother say that one of them was a cousin of her grandmother's, and they all came here together at the close of the war." Priscilla was delighted. Here, perhaps, was a person who would tell her something about the Loyalists of the Revolution. "Were your people Loyalists?" she asked. "Why, of course," was the reply, as if anything else were unsupposable. "Oh, I'm so glad!" responded Priscilla. "I've been waiting to hear more about the Loyalists." "You are an American?" questioned the girl. "Americans are not apt to care about Loyalists; they seem to think only about the Acadians; but my ancestors were all Loyalists, and if you will just come into the house my mother would love to talk to you." So Priscilla followed her new acquaintance indoors. Outside, the house looked small, but within she found many rooms opening one into another, none of them very large, and all of them with low ceilings. "My mother's great-grandfather built this house when he first came from New York. He was an officer in the Loyal American Regiment. There is his commission; we framed it to hang on the wall."