But Marcel had begun to brush his uniform with his hands, and settle the handsome sword, which was his proudest adornment, a little more rakishly by his side. We walked to the door and knocked, and when some one within wished to know in a strong voice who was there, Wildfoot responded with a question. "Are you alone?" he asked. "Yes," said the voice. "Who is it?" "Wildfoot and two friends." The door was opened at once, and we entered, beholding a woman who seemed to be the sole occupant of the house. At least none other was visible. "I hope you are well, mother," said Wildfoot, and the woman nodded. But I saw at once that she was no mother of his, although old enough. She, too, was large and powerful, almost masculine in build, but there was no similarity whatever in the features. "Lieutenant Chester and Lieutenant Marcel of the American army, good friends of mine and trusted comrades," said Wildfoot, "and this, gentlemen," he continued to us, "is Mother Melrose, as loyal a patriot as you can find in the Thirteen Colonies, and one who has passed many a good bit of information from the British army in Philadelphia on to those who needed it most. Mother, can't you find us something to eat while we talk?" The woman looked pleased with his praise, and speedily put upon a table substantial food, which we attacked with the zest that comes of hard riding. Yet from the first I studied the room and the woman with curiosity and interest. The note of Mother Melrose's manner and air was self-reliance. She walked like a grenadier, and her look said very plainly that she feared few things. She must have been at least sixty, and perhaps was never beautiful. I surmised, from the complete understanding so evidently existing between her and Wildfoot, that she helped him in his forays, warning him of hostile expeditions, sending him news of wagon trains that could be cut off, and otherwise serving the cause. There were many such brave women who gave us great aid in this war. But I wondered at a fortitude that could endure such a lonely and dangerous life. "Do you know that the British army is encamped near you, mother?" asked Wildfoot, as we drank a little wine that she brought from a recess, probably captured by Wildfoot himself from some wagon train. "I know it," she replied, her old eyes lifting up, "and glory be to God, they have been forced to run away from Philadelphia at last!" She passed presently into a rear room which seemed to be a kitchen, and Marcel said:-- "A fine patriot, but has she no sons, nobody to help her here and to protect her, maybe?" "She can protect herself well enough," replied Wildfoot, "and there is nobody else in this house except a serving lad, who, I suspect, is in the kitchen helping himself to a little extra supper. But she has sons, three of them. They're in our business, and far away from here." "Three for the cause," I commented. "That is doing well."