"The thing I can’t figure out," said Henry, "is what the Englishman is mixed up in it for! Do you reckon England is joining hands with Germany?" "No, I doubt anything of that nature," answered Mr. Comstock. "The interests of England and the United States are too closely allied for her to risk rupturing them by any such hazardous undertaking." "I would not trust an Englishman as far as I could see him! I cannot bear them!" exclaimed Ursula, vehemently. "Why do you feel so bitter against our mother country?" asked Henry, who was surprised at her outburst. "Is that the general feeling up North? For I am quite certain it is not in the South." "Ursula’s feeling is largely due to local influences," answered her father. "In our home town the English have never been popular since the day during the Revolutionary War one of their officers, a major, after having received the surrender of our brave Colonel Ledyard at the Battle of Groton Heights, took that officer’s proffered sword and ran him through the heart and then commanded his troops to massacre the surviving gallant defenders of the fort, who were drawn up, unarmed, in one of the bastions. That same day our city was burned to the ground by the traitor, Benedict Arnold." "The brute! Why! I’d rather be Benedict Arnold than that Englishman," and Ursula’s pretty face looked very stern and her hands clenched in anger. "It was fortunate you both understood German," said Henry a little later in the evening. "I never could bear the study of languages, though I did struggle along for a year or two with Latin at school." "We neither of us have studied German, merely picked it up as children, and we always use it talking to the cook. But I like French and had it three years at school, but really no practise in it," said Dick. They were at the theatre and Dick sat next to his father, which afforded the two many opportunities to converse during the vaudeville acts. "I am glad, Dick, that you keep writing to your mother regularly," said Mr. Comstock; "it is a fine habit to form and to stick to. If every boy wrote home at least once a week, I believe the world would be a better place. So many boys grow careless and after a while lose touch with the home ties and associations. Then, too, besides being a good thing for you personally, you have no idea what those letters mean to your mother." "I like to get letters, and unless I wrote them on my part my mail would be pretty slim," replied Dick. "I have seen already how the men welcome the sight of the mail orderly, and some who never get mail envy those who do. Some of our boys never receive home news, and they must be homesick and heart-sick at times the way they sort of hang around and listen when some fellow happens to read out a few of the things that happen back in the home town. I know I’d be, were I in their place."