“Oh, Maggie, I wish you had stayed where you were,” said her mother, “you have come into the lion’s den, for your father is no maister here.” “I am sure, mother, these gentlemen will not harm us.” “Not at all,” interrupted one of the strangers, “and in a few hours we will leave you alone again.” “The sicht o’ your backs will be maist welcome,” remarked Mrs Forsyth. “Where is father?” “Helpin’ thae Yankees to get a haud o’ his ain property. They took him oot to get fodder for their horses.” There was a bustle outside and presently two soldiers carried in a young lad, in lieutenant’s uniform, whose white face told that he had been wounded. They were about to lay him down in front of the fire, when Mrs Forsyth darted forward: “No, na; dinna pit the puir chiel on the floor; tak him to my ain bed,” and she helped to place him there. Two surgeons took off his coat and shirt, when the wound appeared; a bullet had gone through the fleshy part beneath the arm-pit, causing some loss of blood without doing serious injury. When the surgeons said he would recover, Mrs Forsyth’s face beamed and she bustled about to get the requisites needed to clean and dress the wound, while, under her orders, Maggie made gruel to revive his strength. While thus engaged, officers came and went, and the house was never without several of them. There came a tall, square-built man, whose shoulder-straps indicated high rank, and his quiet, resolute face one accustomed to command. He advanced to the bed where the wounded lad lay, asked a few questions, and spoke encouragingly to the sufferer. “It is too bad that Dingley, of all our corps, should have had this luck,” remarked an officer. “Yes, and to no purpose. I fear the miscarriage of our plan to surprise the ford will lead to the abandonment of the purpose to capture Montreal.” “There is not a man in the army that does not wish we were in winter-quarters. To fight in such a country at this season is more than flesh and blood can stand.” “Yet to go back will disgrace us,” said the superior officer, who withdrew. “Who is that?” asked Maggie of one of the surgeons. “That is Col. Purdy, and if he had been in command we would not have spent all summer doing nothing and come here in the end of October.” “Yet he failed in capturing the ford,” remarked Maggie, with a sparkle in her eye. “He could not help the weather and the dark night that kept us standing in the woods until daybreak. After all, we would have surprised the guard and taken the ford had it not been for somebody, perhaps a traitor among ourselves, who carried word of our coming.” “Maybe,” said Maggie demurely, “but you did not get the ford and what can you do now?” “Nothing, I am afraid. The failure of our brigade to carry the key of the enemy’s position may cause the General to give up the enterprise.” CHAPTER XIII.