mbers. The land was asleep, under the
spell of the white touch. To knock at one of those houses would have
been, as it seemed, to call its occupants from their winter trance.

We traveled slowly, for the roads were sticky, and there were many
hills. We could not ask Lord Beaconsfield to do more than walk, which he
did sturdily enough, tugging up the long hills, though they were
probably the first he had ever seen, for his part of Long Island had
been level ground. What must he have thought of that chaotic desolation,
where most of the woods and a good many of the fields were set up at
foolish angles against other woods and fields and where there was no
sign of food for man or beast?

But if we were timid about making inquiries, His Lordship was not. When
his appetite became urgent he forgot that he had come of a proud race,
and soon after noon-time began to trumpet his demands, and his alarm,
like an ordinary horse. His stable at home must have been red, for at
every barn of that friendly color--and most of them were of that hue--he
sent a clarion neigh across the echoing hills. The Joy, bundled warmly,
munched her crackers and made little complaint. Her elders diverted
themselves by admiring the winter scenery--the bared woods, lightly
dressed with snow, the rocky cliffs and ledges, the tumbling black river
that now and again came into view.

As the afternoon wore on and we arrived nowhere, we became disturbed by
doubts as to our direction. It was true that we seemed to be following
the general course of the river, but was it the right river? Hadn't we
gone trailing off somewhere on a second-class tributary that had been
leading us all day through a weird, bedeviled territory that probably
wasn't on the map at all? The brief daylight was fading and it was
important that we arrive somewhere, pretty soon. We must make inquiry.
It would be better to rouse even one of the seven sleepers than to
wander aimlessly into the night. At the next house, I said, we would
knock.

But at the next house we actually discovered something moving--something
outside. As we came nearer it took the form of a man, a sad man,
dragging a crooked limb from a wood-pile. I drew up.

[Illustration: _"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we
are?"_]

"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we are?"

"Why, yes," he grunted, as he worked and pulled at the limb. "You're at
Valley Forge."

Valley Forge! Heavens! We were with