"And beg permission to remain, sir, your most humble and obliged and obedient servant, "NICHOLAS STONER." I laid aside Nick's letter, half smiling, half sad, at the thoughts it evoked within me. Young Master Snips was now a-drying of my hair. I opened another letter, which bore the inscription, 'By flag.' It had been unsealed, which, of course, was the rule, and so approved and delivered to me: "DEAR JACK, "I am fearfully unhappy. This day news is brought of the action at Oriska, and that my dear brother is dead. "I pray you, if it be within your power, to give my poor Stephen decent burial. He was your boyhood friend. Ah, God, what an unnatural strife is this that sets friend against friend, brother against brother, father against son! "Can you not picture my wretchedness and distress to know that my darling brother is slain, that my husband is at this moment facing the terrible rifle-fire of your infuriated soldiery, that many of my intimate friends are dead or wounded at this terrible Oriskany where they say your maddened soldiers flung aside their muskets and leaped upon our Greens and Rangers with knife and hatchet, and tore their very souls out with naked hands. "I pray that you were not involved in that horrible affair. I pray that you may live through these fearful times to the end, whatever that end shall be. God alone knows. "I thank you for your generous forbearance and chivalry to us on the Oneida Road. I saw your painted Oneida Indians crouching in the roadside weeds, although I did not tell you that I had discovered them. But I was terrified for my baby. You have heard how Iroquois Indians sometimes conduct. "Dear Jack, I can not find in my heart any unkind thought of you. I trust you think of me as kindly. "And so I ask you, if it be within your power, to give my poor brother decent burial. And mark the grave so that one day, please God, we may remove his mangled remains to a friendlier place than Tryon has proven for me and mine. "I am, dear Jack, with unalterable affection, "Your unhappy, "POLLY." My eyes were misty as I laid the letter aside, resolving to do all I could to carry out Lady Johnson's desires. For not until long afterward did I hear that Steve Watts had survived his terrible wounds and was finally safe from the vengeance of outraged Tryon. Another letter, also with broken seal, I laid open and read while Snips heated his irons and gazed out of the breezy window, where, with fife and drum, I could hear the garrison marching out for exercise and practice. And to the lively marching music of _The Huron_, I read my letter from Claudia Swift: "Oneida; Aug: 7th, 1777. "MY DEAREST JACK,