“It’s just as I say,” I said, “and as the first proof of it, I am going to take the prisoner as a present to Burgoyne.” Turning my back on the worthy sergeant, I entered the tent, and found Albert reclining on a blanket, the expression of chagrin still on his face. To tell the truth, I did not feel at all sorry for him, for, as I have said before, Albert had been a great care to me. “Get up,” I said with a roughness intended, “and come with me.” “What are they going to do with me?” asked Albert. “They can’t hang me as a spy; I was taken in full uniform.” “Nobody wants to hang you, or do you any other harm,” I said. “In your present lively and healthful condition you afford us too much amusement. We do not see how either army could spare you. Put your hat on and come on.” He followed very obediently and said nothing. He knew I held the whip hand over him. “Sergeant,” I said to Whitestone, “you need not watch any longer, since the tent is empty.” Then I took Albert away without another word. I had it in mind to punish Whitestone, who was presuming a little on his age and experience and his services to me. I really could not help laughing to myself as I went along. This would make the third time I had entered Burgoyne’s camp as an escort--once with Chudleigh, once with Albert’s sister and mother, and now with Albert. I was fast getting to be at home in either camp. I began to feel a bit of regret at the prospect of Burgoyne’s speedy surrender, which would break up all these pleasant little excursions. Albert showed surprise when he saw us leaving our camp and going toward Burgoyne’s. “What are you going to do?” he asked. “Nothing, except to take you back where you belong,” I said. “We don’t care to be bothered with you.” “You hold me rather cheaply,” he said. “Very,” I replied. The return of Albert was an easy matter. I met a colonel, to whom I delivered him and also the message from our council. The colonel did not seem to know of Albert’s intended mission, for the message puzzled him. I offered no explanations, leaving him to exaggerate it or diminish it in the transmission as he pleased. When I turned away after our brief colloquy, I saw Kate Van Auken, which was what I had hoped for when I asked the privilege of bringing Albert back. Her paleness and look of care had increased, but again I was compelled to confess to myself that her appearance did not suffer by it. There was no change in her spirit. “Have you become envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary between the two camps, Dick?” she asked in a tone that seemed to me to be touched slightly with irony. “Perhaps,” I replied; “I have merely brought your brother back to you again, Mistress Catherine.” “We are grateful.” “This makes twice I’ve saved him for you,” I said, “and I’ve brought Chudleigh back to you once. I want to say that if you have any other relatives and friends who need taking care of, will you kindly send for me?”