It was one evening when the entire city had passed under the spell of this lighter mood, that I walked with Duncan Hale to the top of the great mound where flew the flag. The warmth of the beautiful spring air was everywhere about us. The grass had sprung green on the hillslopes, the brooks ran full to overflowing, and the dark green of the great forest was taking on a lighter shade. But Duncan's face wore a heavy, apprehensive look. 'I have seen the Governor,' he said in answer to a question, 'and things at present are far from hopeful. The rebels have been winning in New England. Many in this province whom the Government had hoped would be loyal have refused the oath of allegiance to the King. A few have openly declared for the enemy. Two nights ago a cargo of hay being shipped from here to New York for the King's cavalry was burned. Worst of all, reports have come from about the great bay to the north--from the St. John and Miramichi Rivers, that thousands of the Indians, urged by agents from the rebel General Washington, are on the point of rising.' At the last words I suddenly stopped. The beauties of the spring evening had no more charm for me. 'Can all this be true?' I gasped. 'It is not to be denied, the Governor fears,' Duncan said. 'Halifax may be besieged in less than a month.' 'But cannot something be done?' I cried. 'The Governor has one hope, that the Indians on the St. John may yet be kept loyal. He has asked me to go with others and make the attempt.' 'I shall go also,' I said, 'if the Governor will permit.' 'The Indian is treacherous; there will be danger.' 'I shall go though, Duncan: I must go, if I may be of service. I thought all was now safe.' 'So do many. Few in the city know our real danger. And another thing that is discouraging is this: David Elton and many other farmers, who have been into the country for several miles, say that it is absolutely unfit for cultivation. Rocks, rocks, and only rocks everywhere is their report. Food also is running very low in the city.' We turned and walked down the slope. Had I been right in being so cheerful? As I entered the door of our temporary home, I heard my mother and Caroline in earnest conversation. 'But I ought to accept the offer, mother,' my sister was saying. 'We are poor now, and our money is half spent already. What are we to do when it is gone? Are we to remain, like so many others, a burden on the King and the Government?' 'But, Caroline,' my mother said, 'you must remember your family, your name, and social standing. To accept this position means that you become a servant. Have you considered that, my dear?' 'Yes, mother,' Caroline said as I entered the room, 'I have thought of that. But how can there be any disgrace in doing honest work? I am strong and well; I want to do something to help Roger support you and Lizzie.'