THE hardships of the following weeks were never forgotten by Tom Deering nor Cole; the entire state of Virginia seemed overrun with the enemy in small parties; they were compelled to lie concealed for days at a time in the hut of a slave, in the cabin of a woodman or in the dwellings of patriots of higher rank. Sometimes these shelters were not to be had; and in such cases they slept in the woods or the thickets. Food was scarce, and many days they scarcely broke their fast. At length joyous news reached them. Lafayette had set out from Baltimore in the latter part of April and had arrived on the 29th, after forced marches of two hundred miles, at Richmond. This was the first news of the gallant marquis that they had heard since leaving the camp of General Greene on the Don, weeks before. They were not more than a hundred miles or so from Richmond at the time, and at once set out for that place. “Great things have happened, Cole, since we started on this journey,” said Tom, “and greater still are going to happen.” News had reached them that on March 15th Greene, with an army of above 4,000 men had been attacked by Cornwallis at Guilford Court House, and they learned that while the Americans had fallen back, Cornwallis was so badly crippled that he could not follow up his advantage. “And they say,” said Tom, “that Lord Cornwallis intends to march north and endeavor to conquer Virginia. Well, let him come; I suppose Lafayette will be ready for him, and perhaps he will find that Virginia is as tough a bone to pick as Carolina.” They were riding, while Tom spoke, along a narrow and little frequented road; it was late on the second day of their journey since hearing of the entrance of the French general into Richmond, and they had already began to wonder how far they were from the town. Standing some distance from the road, among a clump of trees was a long, low building that looked like a schoolhouse. The two stopped to examine it carefully before venturing into full view of its possible occupants. “It looks like a schoolhouse,” said the young swamp-rider, “and, if it is, should be deserted at this time. But there is no telling, in these days, for----” But he never finished the sentence. A scream rang out from the building at which they were gazing, and almost at the same instant the door burst open and a boy of possibly fifteen darted forth. After him followed a man in the uniform of a British general of brigade, and two soldiers, one of whom carried a rope. “Stop, you dog,” cried the officer in a high, harsh tone. “Stop, or I fire!” He held a heavy pistol in his hand; the fleeing lad saw it and stopped, terror-stricken. “Come back,” directed the officer, a sneer curling his lip at the promptness of the obedience. “Come back, you young hound, and answer the questions which I ask you.”