After a night of excitement from wild alarms, the Americans left the Forsyth household at daylight, leaving not one behind, for even the wounded officer they carried with them in a litter. Utterly worn out the family sought rest, and it was late in the day when the father arose, and leaving the others, sleeping, went out to see what of his property had been left. The more closely he examined the more fully the unwelcome fact was forced upon him, that he was left destitute, and when he came upon the black head of his cow, which the soldiers had slaughtered for beef, he sat down in a despairing mood. “It’s no for mysel’ I’m troubled,” he exclaimed, “but for my ailin’ wife and puir Maggie! To face a Canadian winter wi’ a bare loof is awfu.” And he gave way to a fit of despondency. “This winna do,” he said with a rueful look at the devastation around him, “a stout heart to a stey brae, and wi’ God’s help, I’ll mak the best o’t.” When Maggie sometime afterwards appeared at the door he was industriously laboring to bring his surroundings into order. “Weel, lass, an’ hoo are ye after oor big pairty?” “No so ill; but, father, what are we to do, there’s no a bite in the house? The cellar is rookit as clean as if a pack of wolves had visited it.” The old man approached and taking his daughter by the hand drew her to the seat by the door-step. “Maggie, I ken ye hae a brave spirit and can bear the worst. I am a ruined man. The Yankees have eaten us oot o’ house an’ hold. The very boards o’ the byre hae been torn awa’ to licht their fires. Oor coo, the young beasts, the pigs, hae a’ been eaten. There’s no even a chuckie left.” “O but there is,” interrupted Maggie, “see to Jenny Tapknot over there,” pointing smilingly thro’ tears to a favorite chicken that had eluded the soldiers and was eyeing them from a branch. “Weel, weel, we hae one leevin’ thing left us. O’ a’ oor crop there is naething to the fore but the unthreshed wheat, an’ mickle o’t is useless from the sojers using it to lie on.” “Was it right, father, for them to take your property without paying you?” “Pay me! The thocht o’ paying a subject o’ the King never entered their heids. Micht is richt wi’ them. What we are to do is no just clear to me yet, but we’ll trust in Him wha has never failed to supply oor bite an’ sup. Only, Maggie, ye maun for yer mither’s sake put a cheerfu’ face on’t an’ mak the best o’t.” “Hoot, father, what gars ye doot me? We hae aye been provided for an’ sae will we yet, says the auld sang. You take the canoe an’ go down to Morrison’s an’ see what you can get there to keep us going until the morn, an’ while you’re away I’ll red the house an’ hae a’ ready for supper gin mither wakens.”