"'Thirty-nine for stealing and desertion.'
"Rogues are put in terror, lazy men are energized. The quarters are kept clean, the food is well cooked and in plentiful supply, but the British over in town are said to be getting hungry."
Early in August a London letter was forwarded to Jack from Philadelphia. He was filled with new hope as he read these lines:
"Dearest Jack: I am sailing for Boston on one of the next troop ships to join my father. So when the war ends--God grant it may be soon!--you will not have far to go to find me. Perhaps by Christmas time we may be together. Let us both pray for that. Meanwhile, I shall be happier for being nearer you and for doing what I can to heal the wounds made by this wretched war. I am going to be a nurse in a hospital. You see the truth is that since I met you, I like all men better, and I shall love to be trying to relieve their sufferings . . ."
It was a long letter but above is as much of it as can claim admission to these pages.
"Who but she could write such a letter?" Jack asked himself, and then he held it to his lips a moment. It thrilled him to think that even then she was probably in Boston. In the tent where he and Solomon lived when they were both in camp, he found the scout. The night before Solomon had slept out. Now he had built a small fire in front of the tent and lain down on a blanket, having delivered his report at headquarters.
"Margaret is in Boston," said Jack as soon as he entered, and then standing in the firelight read the letter to his friend.
"Thar is a real, genewine, likely gal," said the scout.
"I wish there were some way of getting to her," the young man remarked.
"Might as well think o' goin' to hell an' back ag'in," said Solomon. "Since Bunker Hill the British are like a lot o' hornets. I run on to one of 'em to-day. He fired at me an' didn't hit a thing but the air an' run like a scared rabbit. Could 'a' killed him easy but I kind o' enjoyed seein' him run. He were like chain lightnin' on a greased pole--you hear to me."