Jacky," said Becca, half-crying, "there are eight left, and you
take half."

"No, I won't," rejoined Jack. "I'd just like to walk over to Valley
Forge and see the soldiers enjoy turkey. Won't they have a feast! I
shouldn't wonder if they'd eat one raw."

"O, Jack!"

"Soldiers do eat dreadful things sometimes," he assured her with a
lofty air. And then they went into the house, and the door was shut.

The next year there was not a soldier left above the sod at Valley
Forge.

Now the soldiers are gone, the camp is not, the little girl has passed
away, the apple-tree is dead, and only the hills at Valley Forge are
left to tell the story, bitter with suffering, eloquent with praise,
of the men who had a hundred years ago toiled for Freedom there, and
are gone home to God.

HOW TWO LITTLE STOCKINGS SAVED FORT SAFETY.

"A story, children; so soon after Christmas, too! Let me think, what
shall it be?"

"O yes, mamma," uttered three children in chorus.

Mrs. Livingston sat looking into the fire that flamed on the broad
hearth so long, that Carl said, by way of reminder that time was
passing: "An uncommon story."

Then up spoke Bessie: "Mamma, something, please, out of the real old
time before much of anybody 'round here was born."

"As long off as the Indians," assisted young Dot.

"Ah yes; that will do, children. I will tell you a story that happened
in this very house almost a hundred years ago. It was told to me by my
grandmother when she was very old."

There was a grand old lady, Mrs. Livingston, at the head of this house
then. She loved her country very much indeed, and was willing to do
anything she could to help it, in the time of great trouble, during
the war for independence. My grandmother was a little girl, not so
old as you, Bessie. Her name was Lorinda Grey, and her home was in
Boston. The year before, when British soldiers kept close watch to see
that nothing to eat, or wear, or burn, was carried into Boston, Mr.
Grey contrived to get his family out of the city, and Lorinda, with
her brother Otis, was sent here. Afterward, when Boston was free
again, the two children were left because the father was too busy to
make the long journey after them.

Altogether, more than a dozen children belonging in some way to the
Livingstons had been sent to the old house. The family friends and
relatives gave the place the name "Fort Safety," because it lay far
away from the enemy's ships, and quite ou