The women of the family had already gathered near, some crying hysterically, others looking on with pale and frightened faces. The eldest, Mistress Neale as her words proved, said somewhat timidly:
“Yes, take him into the house, good sirs, and I’ll send one of the girls for her father, who is in the field. He will know just what to do.”
“Much as I regret it,” the leader of the squad replied gently, “I am forced to ask you to delay sending for Master Neale.” Then to Joe, he said, “Bring up the horses,” and to Late, “Keep guard here.”
Philip and Dan lifted the injured courier, carrying him up to the chamber, where he was laid on the bed.
“I trust, Master Preston, that you will not be overlong in recovering,” he said as he turned to leave the unfortunate fellow.
“A few weeks here will pass more pleasantly than months, perhaps, in the dungeon of a fort,” Preston replied. “You are kind to leave me with my friends.”
Before gaining the outer door, the boys heard him say to Mistress Neale, who was striving to relieve his suffering:
“There goes the smartest Yankee I have fallen in with since I came to this country. Burgoyne will be whipped, and it is largely due to him.”
“Who is he?” she asked.
“The son of General Schuyler,” was the answer.