Nor did these home-coming men bring the only tidings from the outside world. Now and then letters came that set the tongues to wagging; now with news of Washington's refusal of a crown, now with a description of Mary Singleton's marriage to Edward Moore. Janet refused persistently to show her letters which came in the Halifax post, but one day Richard had one from Colborn that made him laugh with delight:-- "The miniature is set in a narrow gold frame, without jewels; for although I won my promotion, it was only a lieutenancy. However, I am content. It was at Guilford Court-house, in your own Carolina country, the day Tarleton was wounded. Soon I am going home, with my pockets full of American pebbles, to claim the original, and bring her back here to this great country to enjoy the freedom I am glad you won." And when Joscelyn went home, after hearing the letter read, she again opened her box of treasures and took from it a shining gold piece, and looked at it with a startled sweetness in her eyes. [Illustration: "'MY HEART'S PRISONER FOR TIME AND ETERNITY.'"] CHAPTER XXIX. THE END OF THE THREAD. "Does not all the blood within me Leap to meet thee, leap to meet thee, As the spring to meet the sunshine!" --"Hiawatha." After a few weeks Richard was able to leave his couch and move about a little, still hampered, however, by splints and bandages; for in his fevered tossings he had hurt his arm anew, and the setting had to be gone over again. The doctor's face was very grave as he warned him against another accident. One afternoon, being lonely and having no better way to pass the time, he went with Betty to her sewing society. There he protested he wished to make himself useful, and was quite willing to snip threads and tie knots. But his offer was received with scoffs, and instead he was forthwith enthroned in the best chair, served with coffee by one girl, and with cake by another, and petted and praised like a prince. "And now," said Janet Cameron, taking the stool at his feet and preparing to look very busy, "while we sew, you shall tell us a story of your camp life,--something that will make our blood curdle and tingle like it used to do when the war messengers rode into town, and we knew not what tidings they brought." "Yes, tell us a story, Master Clevering," they all cried, and settled themselves to listen. "Let it be about a real hero, Richard; and make him as tall as Goliath and as strong as Samson. We'll credit anything you say," laughed Janet, biting off a length of thread. "And if you wish to keep Janet's attention to the end, give him jet black hair and call him Frederick," cried Dorothy Graham. Whereat there was a general laugh, and for which personality the speaker got a prick from Janet's needle.