“You are of the army?” he asked, very quietly.
“Yes,” replied Ben, “a courier and scout attached to the service of General Washington.”
“There are so many young officers,” said the old man, “that it is not likely that you have met with Lieutenant Claflin.”
Ben pondered a moment.
“He is in General Cadwallader’s brigade,” spoke the girl, her tone now as low as that of her father. “A fair-haired young man, not over large, but strong.”
“Claflin,” said Ben, thoughtfully. “Oh, yes, I recall him; he seems to be much thought of by General Cadwallader. I saw them riding side by side in the midst of the Pennsylvanians to-day.”
“After the battle?” The question was asked by the old gentleman and his daughter at the same instant.
“Why, yes, to be sure. The army was then well beyond Kingston, making for the hills.”
The old man cast his eyes upward, fervently; the girl put her arms about his neck.
“There, there,” she murmured, “what did I tell you? He is safe; perfectly safe.”