"Joscelyn," Mary Singleton said, coming in one day when the winter was at its fiercest, "father says he is going to Canada to stay until things get settled. We cannot stir from our gate without receiving some rudeness, and our property is threatened with confiscation, piece by piece, on the ground that we used it to aid the king's cause. Will you come with us? We would love to have you." "No, for my mother would not think of such a thing; and where she is, there will I stay." "Well, you had no man in the war; but against us the enmity is strong, because Eustace actually bore arms in the king's service." "Will Eustace go with you?" "No; he writes that as soon as he gets his discharge, he means to return here and accept whatever fate comes to him." "I am glad. That is the right way to take his defeat. Your father is old and worn with annoyance, but Eustace is young enough to meet the struggle and win his way. Trust me; all will be well with him in the end," and Joscelyn's eyes were on Betty's window over the way. "Edward Moore joins us in New York," Mary said, with a blush. "And I shall not be there to play the part of bridesmaid! Well, I shall content myself with putting a handful of rice and an old shoe into your trunk." After the Singletons were gone, Joscelyn was very lonely, for the only house at which a welcome always met her was Mistress Strudwick's. "You may say what you please, Amanda Bryce, but that girl comes here when she likes, and stays as long as she pleases; and if there is anybody I'm gladder to see, I do not know who it is," said the stanch old lady. Soundly she lectured Joscelyn at times, but the fault-finding always began and ended with a caress, so there was no sting in it. Here the girl sometimes met Betty; and the older woman, seeing the desire of their hearts shining in their faces, encouraged them to be friends. Here, too, Janet Cameron often came, and after the visit walked home openly with her arm in Joscelyn's, making merry little mouths at Mistress Bryce as they passed her door. These visits and walks were Joscelyn's chief pleasure, and she stood sorely in need of recreation, for of late she was thinner and more irritable than her mother had ever seen her. "You need a course of bitters," Mistress Strudwick said, opening her medicine-box one day. "I have been taking such a course for eight years." "Yes, Amanda Bryce's tongue drips not with honey! But I shall talk with your mother, and between us we will take you in hand and get the edge off your nerves." So Joscelyn dutifully yielded herself to her two physicians, who took much delight in the teas and tonics they brewed for her. During all these autumn and winter weeks, Richard Clevering had lain in the field hospital at Yorktown, racked with pain and fever from the wound he got when--singing a song of the Carolina hills--his regiment stormed that gun-girt bastion on the British left, and the colonies were free!