Mrs. G. To Albany? Why, no; on Thursday. You are bewildered, Helen! surely you could not have forgotten that.
Helen. I wish it was to-day. I do.
Mrs. G. My child, yesterday, when the question was debated here, and wishing might have been of some avail, 'tis true you did not say much, but I thought, and so we all did, that you chose to stay.
Helen. Did you? Mother, does the road to Albany wind over a hill like that?
Mrs. G. Like what, Helen?
Helen. Like yonder wooded hill, where the soldiers are stationed now?
Mrs. G. Not that I know of? Why?
Helen. Perhaps we may cross that very hill,—no—could we?
Mrs. G. Not unless we should turn refugees, my love; an event of which there is little danger just now, I think. That road, as indeed you know yourself, leads out directly to the British camp.
Helen. Yes—yes—it does. I know it does. I will not yield to it. 'Tis folly, all.