[Footnote 42: A letter written by Colonel Butler so designates the place where the ancient Butler house is still standing. The letter mentioned is in the possession of the author.] Down the steep hill I rode, careful of loose stone, and so came to the river and to Caughnawaga.[43] [Footnote 43: Now the town of Fonda.] All was peaceful and still in the noonday sunshine; the river wore a glassy surface; farm waggons creaked slowly through golden dust along the Fort Johnson highway; fat cattle lay in the shade; and from the brick chimneys of Caughnawaga blue smoke drifted where, in her cellar kitchen, the good wife was a-cooking of the noontide dinner. When presently I espied Douw Fonda's great mansion of stone, I saw nobody on the porch, and no smoke rising from the chimneys, yet the front door stood open. But when I rode up to the porch, a black wench came from the house, who said that Mr. Fonda dined at his son's that day, and would remain until evening. However, when I made inquiry for Penelope, I found that she was within,--had already been served with dinner,--and was now gone to the library to read and knit as usual when alone. The black wench took my mare and whistled shrilly for a slave to come and hold the horse. But I had already mounted the stoop and entered the silent house; and now I perceived Penelope, who had risen from a chair and was laying aside her book and knitting. She seemed very white when I went to her and drew her into my embrace; and she rested her cheek against my shoulder and took close hold of my two arms, but uttered not a word. Under her lace cap her hair glimmered like sun-warmed gold; and her hands, which had become very fine and white again, began to move upward to my shoulders, till they encircled my neck and rested there, tight linked. For a space she wept, but presently staunched her tears with her laced apron's edge, like a child at school. And when I made her look upon me she smiled though she still breathed sobbingly, and her lips still quivered as I kissed her. * * * * * We sat close together there in the golden gloom of the curtained room, where only a bar of dusty sunlight fell across a row of gilded books. I had told her everything--had given an account of all that had befallen my little scout, and how I had returned to Johnstown, and how so suddenly my fortunes had been completely changed. I told her of what I knew of the battle at Oriskany, of the present situation at Stanwix and at Saratoga, and of what I saw of the fight at the Flockey, where McDonald ran.