“Darthea’s captain--but I must not tell tales out of school;--indeed he needs to be dealt with. Tell the witch if she _will_ stay among the R. R.’s--which is what we call them--Ragged Rebels it is--she must look to suffer. I am not as sure she does. Oh, these men! Between us, there is a certain Olivia L--who is great friends with Mr. Wynne. She hath a winning air of artless youth. I am pleased to hear from _my_ colonel, whom you must soon know, that we shall soon be with you in our dear Philadelphia, and Mr. G. W. hoeing tobacco, or worse, poor man. Dear me! I have quite lost my way, and must look back. “I can fancy Darthea weeping. She hath small need. It is my way to love to tease whom I love, and the more I do love the more I do love to tease. I cannot believe any would be false to Darthea? nor is he, I am sure; but _thou_ dost know (as Mistress Wynne’s Captain Blushes would word it. ‘Thou’ and ‘thee’ are sweet. I would I had a Quaker lover)--_thou_ dost know that the she who is _here_ is always more dangerous than the she who is _there_. That is Darthea, dear. “I forgot to say stays is wore looser, which is a mercy; also the garters _must_ be one red and one blue.” When, amused, I read a bit to Jack, he declared we ought to read no more, and if he had been of the mess which did read it, he would have had reason out of some one. Indeed, he was angry-red, and beginning to twitch in his queer way, so that I feared he would bring about a quarrel with Mr. Hamilton, who knew neither woman and was still shaking with laughter. I liked it no better than Jack did, but he had said enough, and I shook my head at Hamilton as I lay on the floor of the hut behind Jack. Mr. Hamilton, who was a very model of good breeding, and despite his vivacity never forgot what was due to others, said at once: “I ask pardon, Mr. Warder. I did not know either of the ladies was known to you. Had I been aware, no one should have read the letter.” Then Jack said he had been hasty, and hoped Mr. Hamilton would excuse him. “There is nothing to excuse, Mr. Warder; but I must tell you the rest, for it much delighted his Excellency. It is but a madcap account of how Miss Franks tied our own colours all over Mr. Andre’s black poodle, and let him loose at a ball the De Lanceys had in honour of Sir Henry Clinton. Our Excellency says it is a pity we had not captured the fair writer. That is as near to a jest as he ever comes, but he can enjoy our staff nonsense for all his gravity. I leave you the letter; you may like some day to deliver it. I hope we shall move soon. This camp life is devilish dull. And here is the British mouse in a hole and won’t come out, and our serious old cat a-watching. Lord, the patience of the man! Come over and see us soon, Mr. Warder, and you too, Wynne.” “I wish Miss Darthea had the letter. But she never can have it now,” said I. “Hardly,” says Jack, blushing sweetly. I think the garters were on his mind.