“Arrah, now, here’s a meeting, indeed,” cried Paddy, with a rollicking laugh. “I knew you were somewhere ahead of me, but sorra the sight did I hope to have of you to-night.”
“But how did you come here?” asked Ben, puzzled. “You are about the last person in the world I expected to see on the Germantown road to-night.”
“Why, then,” spoke Paddy, humorously, “it’s meself that did not expect to be here, either. But you see,” as their nags cantered ahead side by side, “I were sent on to Philadelphia, too, with dispatches; I asked for you at the inn across from the State House and was told that you had started for your home.
“‘Well,’ says I to myself, ‘you’ve only been there once, Paddy, my lad, but sure, I think you can find the way even at night, for never was there a place where you were made more welcome.’”
“It’s a lonely way, and I’m glad indeed to have your company,” said Ben, for he and the Irish boy had become the best of friends during the months of their acquaintance. There was no more merry soul in all the American force than Paddy; also, he was a daring rider and tireless. In the many fights in the Jerseys he had shown himself fearless and resourceful. During the day at Brandywine he had been with Sterling’s brigade, in the thick of the early onset, as Ben learned as they rode along.
“It was a great day, entirely,” declared Paddy, “and sorry was I that we couldn’t win it. But,” hopefully, “there are other days coming, and our day is among them, somewhere, I’m sure.”
After a little they fell into silence, and the Irish boy began to take note of the road.
“Why,” said he, “it is a lonely place, sure enough. A while ago, as I were coming along, I felt a bit down in the mouth, and that is why I took to the singing.”
“If it hadn’t been for that, I’d not have recognized you,” said Ben.
“Sure, then, that is lucky enough. But,” and Paddy looked back over his shoulder, “it’s not all good fortune me singing brought me to-night. Faith, a while ago it nearly got me a knock on the head.”