It was a glorious day. The wind blew, the grass waved, and the sun shone. A young man could not remain unhappy long over misfortunes yet unfelt. My memories were pleasant and so were my comrades. A half dozen other American officers, to be exchanged for an equal number of the enemy, accompanied us, and the two British officers in charge of the escort, of whom Catron was one, were men of wit, manners, and friendly temper. We made a lively party and found one another agreeable. We had always possessed the liking of Catron, but in truth we now seemed to have his unbounded admiration as well. "Ta-ra-ra, ta-ra-ra," rang the British bugle through the forest, announcing our approach to the American army. The journey had been all too fast. I never thought that I would part from an enemy with so much reluctance, and I became grave again when the first American sentinel stopped us. Our mission was explained, and an officer came and attended to the exchange. We bade our friends the British, good-bye, and then, according to orders, walked towards headquarters for instructions. As we passed down one of the camp streets we heard a cry of surprise, and looking about saw Sergeant Pritchard to whom we had once bade a good-bye that he thought would be eternal. We dropped back a little behind the others. "Sergeant Pritchard," said Marcel, "you owe me a dinner, but as provisions are scarce in the American camp I will not collect it." This was generous of Marcel, but I suspect that the true cause was his unwillingness to dine in state with a sergeant. "I reported that you had taken the places of the Englishmen and gone to Philadelphia," replied the good sergeant. "He made no comment in my presence, and I know not what he said to the general about it. Nor do I know what will come of the matter." Then he shook his head gloomily. "General Washington should behave as handsomely as Sir William Howe," said Marcel, and I was quite sure that it was General Washington's duty to do so. I acted as spokesman, and laid the case before our colonel, concealing nothing save my ride with Mary Desmond. He was a middle-aged man, amiable, and he liked us. In truth, both us had been fortunate enough to receive his praise for good service in action, but he could see no mitigating circumstances. "There is nothing to do but report the case to the commander-in-chief," he said. "I am sorry, for I esteem you two boys, and you have been of value." His solemn, even despondent tone depressed us. We began to feel afraid of the future and to wonder what General Washington would say to us. Our period of suspense was not long, as within two hours we were summoned to appear before the commander-in-chief. An aide led us to his headquarters, a small square log-house such as frontiersmen build for themselves. A sentinel was watching at the door, but we passed in and stood before the general, who was alone writing at a table.