"It is no burden," said I; "but I do not know where I shall be sent, now that the war is come to Tryon County. And--I can not bear to think of you alone and unprotected, living the miserable life of a refugee in the women's quarters at Johnstown Fort." "Does solicitude for my welfare truly occupy your thoughts, sir?" "Why, yes, and naturally. Are we not close friends and comrades in misfortune, Penelope?" "I counted it no misfortune to live at Summer House." "No, nor I.... I was very happy there.... Alas for your pretty cottage!--poor little châtelaine of Summer House!" "John Drogue?" "I hear you." "Did you suppose I ever meant to take that gift of you?" "Why--why, yes! I gave it! Even now I have the deed to the land and shall convey it to you. And one day, God willing, a new cottage shall be built----" "Then you must build it, John Drogue, for the land is yours and I never meant to take it of you, and never shall.... And I thank you,--and am deeply beholden--and touched in my heart's deep depths--that you have offered this to me.... Because you desired me to be respectable, and well considered by men.... And you wished me to possess substance which I lacked--so that none could dare use me lightly and without consideration.... And I promise you that I have learned my lesson. You have schooled me well, Mr. Drogue.... And if for no other reason save respect for you, and gratitude, I promise you I shall so conduct hereafter that you shall have no reason to think contemptuously of me." "I never held you in contempt." "Yes; when I stole your horse; and when you deemed me easy--and proved me so----" "I meant it not that way!" said I, reddening. "Yet it was so, John Drogue. I was not difficult. I meant no harm, but had not sense enough to know harm when it approached me!... And so I thank you for schooling me. But I never could have taken any gift from you." After a silence I rose and went into the officer's quarters. The Continental Captain was lying on his trundle-bed, but got up and sent two men to harness Kaya to our waggon. I told him I should leave all stores and provisions with him, and asked if he would look after our sheep and cattle and fowls until they could be fetched to Johnstown and cared for there. He was a most kindly man, and promised to care for our creatures, saying that the eggs and milk would be welcome to his garrison, and that if he took a lamb or two he would pay for it on demand. So when our waggon drove up in the darkness outside, he came and took leave of us all very kindly, saying he hoped that Penelope would be safe in Johnstown, and that the raiders would soon be driven out of the Sacandaga. I gave him our canoe, for which he seemed grateful. Then I helped Penelope into the waggon, got in myself and took the reins. Nick and the Saguenay vaulted into the box and lay down on our pile of furs and blankets.