ble. There had
been sad news from the highlands of the Hudson. A troop of British had
made their way almost to one of the camps, expecting to surprise and
capture the Federal soldiers. There had been a sharp skirmish, spirited
and fateful enough to be called a battle. The Federals had won in the
end and taken a number of prisoners, while many British soldiers were
among the killed and wounded.

"Andrew Henry sent the word to my father, who means to apply for passes
and go at once," and there Polly broke down.

"But that is not the worst of it. Something has happened to Allin! Oh,
Polly!" and the soft arms were about Polly's neck, while she was kissing
the tear-wet cheek, her own eyes overflowing.

"Yes, it is Allin!" sobbed the girl. "They thought when they first
brought him in that he was dead. But it seems now he is badly wounded
and may live. They wanted to take his leg off, but Lieutenant Henry
would not let them. Oh, poor Allin! And he begged that father would come
or send, for the regiment may go on to Virginia."

"Oh, if he could be brought home!"

"It comes so near now." Polly wiped her eyes. "But oh, Primrose! I had
nigh forgotten. Forgive me that I put my own sorrow first. Colonel--I
believe he is that now--Colonel Nevitt led the men and was wounded also,
and is captured."

Primrose stood up very straight, and contradictory emotions struggled in
her fair face. Her rosy lips faded and quivered, and she swallowed over
a great lump in her throat.

"It seems strange," said Polly, "that the cousins should have been
pitted against each other. And, though I am desperately sorry about
Colonel Nevitt, I am proud of Andrew Henry. Oh, dear Primrose!"

"I am always torn in two. I wonder if there was ever such a girl!" and
the slow tears beaded the bronze lashes of Primrose Henry's eyes.

"Think of poor Peggy Shippen being banished from her family and forced
to follow a traitor! For, after all, it was the fortune of war, and
Colonel Nevitt was doing his duty as he saw it in all good faith."

"Thou art so generous, Polly. He should have been some connection to
thee; oh! what am I saying? Surely thou wouldst not want a redcoat
Britisher tacked to thy family! I hope he is not sorely wounded, but
just enough to keep him from fighting against my country until we have
won our independence."

"Thou dost make cunning wishes, Primrose," and in spite of her sorrow,
Polly Wharton smiled.

Madam Wetherill came home from