hington's face.

"Why, Tom," he said at last, "I have seen so little of him that I may
misjudge him. He is at least brave and honest, two great things in a
commander. As for the rest, it is yet too soon to judge. But you have
told me nothing about your affairs. How did you leave them all at
Riverview?"

"I left them well enough," I answered shortly.

Washington glanced keenly at my downcast face, for indeed the memory of
what had occurred at Riverview was not pleasant to me.

"Did you quarrel with your aunt before you came away?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," I said, and stopped. How could I say more?

"I feared it might come to that," he said gravely. "Your position there
has been a false one from the start. And yet I see no way to amend it."

We walked on in silence for some time, each busy with his own thoughts,
and mine at least were not pleasant ones.

"Tom," said Washington suddenly, "what was the quarrel about? Was it
about the estate?"

"Oh, no," I answered. "We shall never quarrel about the estate. We have
already settled all that. It was something quite different."

I could not tell him what it was; the secret was not my own.

He looked at me again for a moment, and then, stopping suddenly, wheeled
me around to face him, and caught my hand.

"I think I can guess," he said warmly, "and I wish you every
happiness, Tom."

My lips were trembling so I could not thank him, but I think he knew what
was in my heart.

CHAPTER III

IN WHICH I INTRODUCE MYSELF

I doubt not that by this time the reader is beginning to wonder who this
fellow is that has claimed his attention, and so, since there is no one
else to introduce me, I must needs present myself.

It so happened that when that stern old lion, Oliver Cromwell, crushed
the butterfly named Charles Stuart at Worcester in the dim dawn of the
third day of September, 1651, and utterly routed the army of that unhappy
prince, one Thomas Stewart fell into the hands of the Roundheads, as,
indeed, did near seven thousand others of the Royalist army. Now this
Thomas Stewart had very foolishly left a pretty estate in Kincardine,
together with a wife and two sturdy boys, to march under the banner of
the Princeling, as he conceived to be his duty, and after giving and
taking many hard knocks, here he was in the enemy's hands, and Charles
Stuart a fugitive. They had one and all been declared by Parliament
rebels and traitors to the Commonwealth, so the mos