"Thank God, I am once more with friends!" he says, as he takes out his gold watch. "I must get on. I am in great haste." "We can not let you go," say the men. "But I have a pass." "Whose?" "Gen-er-al Ar-nold's." "You must get off your horse." "But, I tell you, you will get in a scrape if you stop me. Read this pass." [Illustration: MA-JOR AN DRÉ.] "No good. You said you were Brit-ish; we must search you." "I have naught." "We will see. Take off your coat." The coat is laid off, and the boots. Ah, what is this? The hand of Ar-nold in this; and "West Point" the date. A shout went up, "He is a spy!" He was a young Eng-lish man by the name of An-dré. He took his watch and purse, and said he would give them all, if they would let him go free. They would not, but took him to the near A-mer-i-can Post to try him. Of course, what Ar-nold had done all came out. He had known this would be the case, for as soon as the news was brought that An-dré was in the hands of our men, he took leave of his wife, gave a kiss to his boy, and sped on his way to an Eng-lish ship. He got to Eng-land, and was paid a large sum of gold; and they gave him a fine place at the head of some troops; but no man would make a friend of him. The Eng-lish had been glad to use him, but they would not take him by the hand. You may think what a life he had. His own land had cast him out, but he came back to fight her at the head of the foe. But the new land where he had made his home had no real place for him. Once in the great house in Eng-land, where the wise men meet to talk of their laws, one rose to make a speech. But when he saw Ar-nold in a seat near him, he said, "I will not speak while that man is in the house." Long years after, when one of the great men of France had it in his mind to come to this land, he went to Ar-nold for some notes to his friends. Ar-nold said, "I was born in A-mer-i-ca. I spent my youth there; but Ah! I can call no man in A-mer-i-ca my friend." In the mean time An-dré, the young Eng-lish man, who had met Ar-nold, and got the plans which were to give us up in to the hands of the foe, was shown to be a spy. There was but one doom for a spy. He must be hung. All felt for his fate. He was young, and had a fine face, and the air of good birth; but his hour had come. Tears were shed at his death; though he was our foe. All knew he was a brave man, who had not been slow to risk his life in the cause of his land. He thought he was right, and took all means to serve his own ends. For Ar-nold, who would have sold his own, there was but hate, and they gave him a name which would serve to show what his crime had been to all time--Ar-nold the Trai-tor!