Robert Shirtliffe sat beside a frozen stream binding a cloth around his frosted feet. The shoes were in tatters, and the bare flesh showed through the gaping rents in many places. His clothing, too, was worn and thin and but poorly protected him from the cutting blast. As he bent over his painful task, for one moment his strength faltered, and he almost wished that he had gone back to New England, with the other men whose term of enlistment had expired, and whose faint hearts had not been loyal enough to again pledge themselves for further service. The wish was but a fleeting one. Go back? What had he to go back for? All that he had in life to look forward to, lay near—if it existed at all. For during the time which lay between his leaving Boston and now as he sat beside the Delaware river in New Jersey, Shirtliffe had not seen, or heard of Morley. But even with the memory of disappointment and bitter suffering to keep him company on this Christmas eve, Robert was proud to think that he had been one of the three thousand men who had remained with their glorious leader. For never was general loved by his soldiers, more than was Washington. What they suffered, he shared. When their hearts grew faint, by his inspired courage he lifted them to new heights of loyalty and hope. Where danger threatened, there was he at the front. His massive form a target for every enemy’s bullet, and a mark of nobility for his followers. From afar Robert had seen and worshipped. In his young heart the love for this great man amounted to a positive passion. To serve him, though his services might never be known, was the daily wish of the poor New England boy. The wish was strong within his heart now and helped to keep back the stinging tears of agony which by near his tired eyes. The men with whom he had been tramping in search of food, had gone on ahead, and Robert sat alone. Presently a step startled him, and he glanced up. Down the shadowy road, leading his weary horse, strode a tall figure with bowed head, and moving lips. The boy on the path sprang up, all pain and misery forgotten; he stood ready to salute, for well he knew that gallant form. Never before had he been so near. The moment was fraught with keenest joy. But the approaching man saw him not. He was praying. It was no new thing for Washington to plead for help from a mightier power, all his men knew, and honored him, for his childlike faith. “Bless us with wisdom in our councils, success in battle, and let our victories be tempered with humanity. Endow, also, our enemies with enlightened minds, that they may be willing to restore liberty and peace. Grant the petition of thy servant for the sake of him thou hast called thy beloved Son; nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done. Amen.” The splendid head was raised and in the gloaming the clear eyes rested upon the boy saluting by the road.