ade a lieutenant of him, on
father's account. I wonder what his game is."

"I make no doubt, to curry favour with his father."

"Maybe. But perhaps to get an excuse for leaving town, and a way of
doing so. I've heard some talk--they say poor Sally Roberts's
condition is his work."

"Very like. Your brother is a terrible Adonis--with ladies of a
certain kind."

"Not such an Adonis neither--at least the Adonis that Venus courted in
Shakespeare's poem. Rather a Jove, I should say."

We did not then suspect the depth of Mr. Ned's contrivance or
duplicity. He left New York with the rebels, and 'twas some time ere
we saw, or heard of, him again.

And now at last several loyalist brigades were formed as auxiliaries
to the royal army, and Tom and I were soon happy in the consciousness
of serving our king, and in the possession of the green uniforms that
distinguished the local from the regular force. We were of Colonel
Cruger's battalion, of General Oliver De Lancey's brigade, and both
were so fortunate as to obtain commissions, Tom receiving that of
lieutenant, doubtless by reason of his mother's relationship to
General De Lancey, and I being made an ensign, on account of the
excellent memory in which my father was held by the loyal party. Mr.
Faringfield, like many another father in similar circumstances, was
outwardly passive upon his son's taking service against his own cause:
as a prudent man, he had doubtless seen from the first the advantage
of having a son actually under arms for the king, for it gave him and
his property such safety under the British occupation as even his
lady's loyalist affiliations might not have sufficed to do. Therefore
Tom, as a loyalist officer, was no less at home than formerly, in the
house of his rebel father. I know not how many such family situations
were brought about by this strange war.

CHAPTER VIII.

_I Meet an Old Friend in the Dark._

I shall not give an account of my military service, since it entered
little into the history of Philip Winwood. 'Twas our duty to help man
the outposts that guarded the island at whose Southern extremity New
York lies, from rebel attack; especially from the harassments of the
partisan troops, and irregular Whiggery, who would swoop down in
raiding parties, cut off our foragers, drive back our wood-cutters,
and annoy us in a thousand ways. We had such raiders of our own, too,
notably Captain James De Lancey's Westchester Light Horse,