Spring was in the land and in my heart, too, and when Nick Stoner galloped to my door in his new forest dress, very fine, I, nothing loath, did hasten to dress me in my new doe-skins, not less fine than Nick's and lately made for me by a tailor-woman in Kingsborough who was part Oneida and part Dutch. That day I wore a light, round cap of silver mole fur with my unshorn hair, all innocent of queue or powder, curling crisp like a woman's. Of which I was ashamed and eager to visit Toby Tice, our Johnstown barber, and be trimmed. My new forest dress, as I say, was of doe-skin--a laced shirt belted in, shoulder-caped, cut round the neck to leave my throat free, and with long thrums on sleeve and skirt against need. Trews shaped to fit my legs close; and thigh moccasins, very deep with undyed fringe, but ornamented by an infinite pattern of little green vines, made me brave in my small mirror. And my ankle moccasins were gay with Oneida devices wrought out of porcupine quills and beads, scarlet, green, purple, and orange, and laid open at the instep by two beaded flaps. I saddled my mare, Kaya, in her stall, which was a log wing to my house, and presently mounted and rode around to where Nick sat his saddle a-playing on his fife, which he carried everywhere with him, he loving music but obliged to make his own. "Lord Harry!" cried he on seeing me so fine. "If you are not truly a Viscount then you look one!" "I would not change my name and health and content," said I, "for a king's gold crown today." And I clinked the silver coins in my pouch and laughed. And so we rode away along the Johnstown road. He also, I think, was dying for a frolic. Young minds in trouble as well as hard-worked bodies need a holiday now and then. He winked at me and chinked the shillings in his bullet-pouch. "We shall see all the sights," quoth he, "and the Kennyetto could not quench my thirst today, nor our two horses eat as much, nor since time began could all the lovers in history love as much as could I this April day.... Were there some pretty wench of my own mind to use me kindly.... Like that one who smiled at us--do you remember?" "At Christmas?" "That's the one!" he exclaimed. "Lord! but she was handsome in her sledge!--and her sister, too, Jack." "I forget their names," said I. "Browse," he said, "--Jessica and Betsy. And they live at Pigeon-Wood near Mayfield." "Oho!" said I, "you have made their acquaintance!" He laughed and we galloped on. Nick sang in his saddle, beating time upon his thigh with his fife: "Flammadiddle! Paddadiddle! Flammadiddle dandy! My Love's kisses Are sweet as sugar-candy! Flammadiddle! Paddadiddle! Flammadiddle dandy! She makes fun o' me Because my legs are bandy----" He checked his gay refrain: "Speaking of flamms," said he, "my brother John desires to be a drummer in the Continental Line." "He is only fourteen," said I, laughing.