“They’re surely gentle folk, Jonas,” Mistress Benson had declared. “The sweet child is a little lady--see how proud she holds herself. Law! it’s been a long day since we served real gentles here.” Jonas snorted disdainfully; he suspected that at heart his good wife had royalist tendencies. As for him, the American officers who sometimes made the Three Oaks their headquarters for a few days were fine enough folk. “I tell ye what, woman,” he said, “they may be great folk or not; one thing I do know. They possess great influence or they’d never gotten through the Britishers with them fine nags. And if the outposts weren’t so far away, I’m blessed if I believe they’d get away from here without our own lads having a shy at the horses.” But the Bensons were too busy making their guests comfortable to discuss them--or their horses--to any length. Colonel Creston Knowles was the name the gentleman gave, and the girl was his daughter, Miss Lillian. The driver of the carriage, who served the colonel as valet as well, was called William, and a more stony-faced, unemotional individual it had never been the fate of the Bensons to observe. It was utterly impossible to draw from this servant a word regarding his master’s business between the lines of the opposing armies. These visitors were not desired by Jonas. He kept a public house, and, for the sake of being at peace with everybody, his Tory neighbors included, he treated all guests who came to the Three Oaks with unfailing cordiality. But the presence of Colonel Knowles at this time was bound to cause trouble. The inn was on the road usually traversed by those in haste to reach Philadelphia, where, while Washington’s army was posted nearby, Congress held its session. Many a time in the dead of night there was the rattle of hoofs on the road, as a breathless rider dashed up to the door, and with a loud “Halloa” aroused the stable boy. Then in a few moments, mounted afresh, he would hurry on into the darkness. These dispatch-bearers of the American army knew they could trust mine host of the Three Oaks, and that a ridable nag could always be found somewhere in his stable. The very night Colonel Knowles arrived at the tavern there was an occurrence of this kind. And after the dispatch-bearer had gone, and Jonas and Hadley Morris, the stable boy, stood in the paved yard watching him disappear on the moonlit road, they saw a night-capped head at the colonel’s window. “We’ll have no peace, Had, while yon Britisher’s hereabout,” muttered the old man. “I wonder why he has come into this country, so far from New York?” was the boy’s observation. “He can’t be upon military service, though he be a colonel in his majesty’s army.” “He’s here for no good, mark that, Had,” grumbled Jonas. “I’d rather have no guests at the Three Oaks than men of his kidney.” “His daughter is a pretty girl, and kindly spoken.”