Just before she reached her goal she saw a mounted Continental officer. His back was turned to her and she debated the advisability of speaking to him. Before she reached a conclusion he had twisted about in his saddle and looked in her direction. The recognition was mutual. He was a young American officer of her acquaintance, Lieutenant Colonel Craig of the light horse. He was evidently amazed at seeing her in such a place, and, riding over, touched his hat.
LYDIA DARRAH AND LIEUTENANT-COLONEL CRAIG
“Have you lost your way?” he asked, and before she could answer he added, “and how did you get through the British lines?”
She smiled sweetly in spite of her fatigue.
“I came to get flour at the mill in Frankford. General Howe was good enough to give me a pass.”
“But you are beyond Frankford,” he protested.
“Perhaps,” she said hesitatingly, “I may be in search of my son who is an officer in the American army.”
“Perhaps,” retorted Lieutenant Colonel Craig, doubtfully.
By this time several soldiers on foot came in the direction of the speakers. Lydia became nervous and ill at ease. She plucked at his coat.