"But your Excellency, though the committee would not part with the powder, some lads of spirit would not see you want for it, and--and by united effort we succeeded in getting and bringing to Cambridge twenty half-barrels of powder, which is now outside, subject to your orders." With an exclamation mingling disbelief and hope, the commander sprang to the window. A glance took in the two carts loaded with kegs, and he turned, his face lighted with emotion. "God only knows the grinding anxiety, the sleepless nights, I have suffered, knowing how defenceless the army committed to my charge actually was! You have done our cause a service impossible to measure or reward." He shook the man's hand warmly. "And I ask in payment, your Excellency, premission to volunteer." "In what capacity?" "I have served in the British forces as an officer, but all I ask is leave to fight, without regard to rank." "Tell me the facts of your life." "As I said, my name is John Brereton. Nothing else about me will ever be known from me." Washington scrutinised the man with an intent surprise. "You cannot expect us to trust you on such information." "An hour ago it would have been possible for me to have sneaked by stealth into the British lines with this letter," said the man, taking from his pocket a sheet of paper and handing it to the general. "What think you would Sir William Howe have given me for news, over the signature of General Washington, that the Continental Army had less than ten rounds of powder per man?" Washington studied the face of the young fellow steadily for twenty seconds. "Are you good at penmanship?" he asked. "I am a deft hand at all smouting work," replied Brereton. "Then, sir," said Washington, smiling slightly, "as I wish to keep an eye on you until you have proved yourself, I shall for the present find employment for you in my own family." Thus a twelve-month passed without Philemon Hennion, John Evatt, Charles Fownes, Parson McClave, or any other lover so much as once darkening the doors of Greenwood. "Janice," remarked her mother at the end of the year, "dost realise that in less than a twelve-month thou 'lt be a girl of eighteen and without a lover, much less a husband? I was wed before I was seventeen, and so are all respectably behaved females. See what elopements come to. 'T is evident thou 'rt to die an old maid." XXII THE OLIVE BRANCH