There large-eyed, hungry men lay on the cold ground, with only poor, wretched blankets to cover them. She caught a glimpse of a youth--he did not seem much older than her own Jack--with light, fair hair, such big blue eyes, and the thinnest, whitest hands, reaching up for the mug of milk her mother was offering to him. Then, when Jack came to her, he was wiping his eyes on his jacket sleeve. He said "If I was a soldier, and my country didn't care any more for me than Congress does, I'd go home and leave the Red Coats to carry off Congress. It's too bad, and he's a jolly good fellow. Wish we could take him home and get him well." "Who is he, Jack?" "O, a soldier-boy from one of the New England colonies. He's got a brother with him--that's good." The drive home, over the crisp snow, was a very silent one. More than one tear froze on Mrs. Blackstone's cheek, as she remembered the misery her eyes had beheld, and her hands could do so little to lighten. The next day Mr. Blackstone reached home from Philadelphia. He had seen the Britons in all the glory and pomp of plenty and red regimentals in a prosperous city. He returned a confirmed Tory, and wished--never mind what he did wish, since his unkind wish never came to pass--but this is that which he did, he forbade Mrs. Blackstone to give anything that belonged to him to a soldier of General Washington's army. "What will you do now, mamma, with all the stockings and mittens you are knitting?" questioned Becca. "Don't ask me, child," was the tearful answer that mother made, for her whole heart was with her countrymen in their brave struggle. Three nights after that time Mr. Blackstone entered his house, saying: "I caught a ragged, bare-footed tatterdemalion hanging around, and I warned him off; told him he'd better go home, if he'd got one anywhere, and if not to join the army, of his king at Philadelphia." "What did he say, pa?" asked Jack. "O some tomfoolery or other about the man having nothing to eat but hay for two days, and his brother dying over at the Forge. I didn't stop to listen to the fellow, but sent him flying." Jack touched his mother's toe in passing, and gave Becca a mysterious nod of the head, as much as to say: "He's the soldier from our hospital over there," but nobody made answer to Mr. Blackstone. Becca's eyes filled with tears as she sat down at the tea-table, and sturdy Jack staid away until the last minute, taking all the time he could at washing his hands, that he might get as many looks as possible through the window in the hope that the bare-footed soldier might be lingering about, but he gained no glimpse of him. Farmer Blackstone had the rheumatism sometimes, and that night he had it worse than ever, so that an hour after tea-time he was quite ready to go to bed, and his wife was quite ready to have him go, also to give him the soothing, quieting remedies he called for.