"It will be a — of a sight, to my mind," said Colonel von Falkenstein, using a German adjective neither elegant nor complimentary. "We haf been fooling away time all dis vinter, and now ve are fooling away money; dat is shoost the truth, Major André. De Yankees will make demselves fun for us, and vith goot reason; and old Steuben—yes, I know what he will say. No, I shall not go to see your pasteboard knights and painted ladies. I shall stay at home and write to mine frau—my wife—for I believe we shall move from here before long." "But you will let me have the smith?" said André, who had no mind to quarrel with the old soldier. "Oh yes, to pe sure you can haf the smit, and a goot workman he is, and a goot soldier, though he will never speak one word he can help. But he can speak English shust so goot as I myself can." "That leaves nothing to be desired," said Major André, gravely. "But I must hasten back to my work." "Very goot; I will send Reinhart after you." And thus it happened that Caspar Reinhart was engaged on some of the ornamental wirework of the tilt-yard, as it was called. Colonel von Falkenstein had not over-praised him when he called him a good soldier, though a very silent one, and an admirable workman. Caspar listened to the instructions of the major, now and then suggesting a slight improvement or respectfully pointing out a difficulty. He then informed Major André that he should want such-and-such things—an anvil and forge and a man to help him. "How very well you speak English!" said Major André. "I have taken pains to learn it," was the answer. "You would do famously on secret service," said the major, struck with a sudden thought. "Nobody would know you from one of the Germans born in the country. You would make a capital spy." Caspar made no answer to this remark, which was not to his taste, if one might judge by the sudden darkening of his brow, but set himself at once to work moving things out of his way and preparing for his undertaking. It was not long before one of the portable army-forges was set up, the charcoal furnished, and the fire kindled, but an assistant seemed to be lacking. "Here is a man to serve your turn, Reinhart," said Major André, presently reappearing with a tall, somewhat countryfied-looking man, whose broad-brimmed hat and butternut-coloured clothes seemed to mark him for one of the Society of Friends. "Nathan here understands your trade.—Did you say your name was Nathan or Nathaniel, my Quaker friend?" "Neither, friend," answered the new comer, quietly. "My name is Jonathan Elmer; and having come to this place about my own business, I have no objection to earn an honest penny before I leave it. Neither am I a Friend or Quaker, as thee calls them, but my wife's folks are of that persuasion, and I have caught their ways."