id fair to be one of those which Indian summer occasionally
gives in our northern climate. All around Fort George and the Battery
the British troops were making ready for departure; the ships for their
transportation to England lay out in the bay, for this was the 25th of
November in the year of our Lord 1783.

The streets in the upper part of the city were filled with a different
kind of crowd, but one equally eager to be off and away. Many of the
Tories and sympathizers with the Crown had found New York a most
unpleasant dwelling-place since the signing of the treaty in which "The
United States of America" were proclaimed to the world an independent
Power, and Sir Guy Carleton, the British commander, had more trouble in
providing transportation for this army of discontented refugees than for
his own soldiers. However, the day was fixed, the ships ready to weigh
anchor, and the Army of Occupation about to bid adieu to American shores
forever.

"Peter," said Miss Moppet, as she danced merrily out of the
breakfast-room, "you are sure, quite sure that the grand procession,
with General Washington at its head, will come past this door? Because
we are all cordially bidden to Mistress Kitty's and perhaps Betty may
prefer to go there."

"But it will be a far better sight here," returned Peter; "it is sure to
pass our door, for I heard Oliver tell Aunt Clarissa so last night just
as he was going out."

"Oliver has overmuch on his mind to-day," remarked Moppet shrewdly; "to
ride with his troop in the morning and be married at evening is quite
enough to make him forget the route of a procession. Do you think we
might go out on the doorstep and see if there be any sign of its
approach?"

"Why not? It will be royal fun to see the British soldiers come down
from the Government House, and hear the hoots and howls the Broadway
and Vly boys are bound to give them. For once all the boys of the city
are of one mind--except the Tory boys, and they don't count for much
hereafter."

"I wouldn't jeer at a fallen foe if I were you, Peter," said Moppet,
severely, as she took up a position on the stoop, and leaned her elbows
on the iron railing; "my father says that is not manly, and besides I do
suppose there may be some decent Britishers."

"I never knew but one," retorted Peter stoutly. "What knowledge have you
of them, I'd like to know?"

"Not much," evasively. "Who was the one you mention?"

"My! but he was a prime skater; how