“But they are King George's soldiers; that ought to make it all right in your eyes, Miss Hazel.”
“Oh, the men are not to blame; they have to do as the officers tell them; but I hate that old Captain Wadsworth. Sometimes I think I'll write and tell King George what a dreadful man he is, for I don't believe he knows. But, after all, they say it's an American, our own Colonel Hamilton, that's most to blame.”
“Alexander Hamilton! Why, how's that?” exclaimed Joe, knowing well enough, but wishing to hear Hazel grow eloquent on the subject.
“Well, this is how it is, Mr. Ainsworth,” and Hazel folded her hands and composed herself for what promised to be quite a long story. “You know the Starlights. Well, they've lived right on that same piece of land ever since Job's great-great-grandfather, who was an Englishman, married a Dutch wife and came to live in New York. Why, there weren't more than half-a-dozen houses here when they came, and if anybody has a right to their land and their house, they have. They used to be a very big family, the Starlights did, but now there's only Job left and his Aunt Frances. She's the loveliest lady, Joe, and so very fond of Starlight (that's Job), and Starlight is just as good to her as a boy can be. Well, one night, nearly two years ago, a party of English soldiers (some of them were awful bad fellows, Joe, even if they were the King's men) went about the street doing just about as they pleased, and Miss Avery—that is, Aunt Frances—was very much frightened, as well she might be, and the next day she packed up and took the ferry to Paulus Hook, to stay with some friends of hers, who live over there and own a big farm.”
“You mean the Van Vleets, don't you?” questioned Joe, now wisely dividing his attention between Hazel's narrative and his horses, who were only too quick to detect any lack of vigilance on his part.
“Yes, do you know them, Joe?”
“Know 'em like a book, Miss Hazel. Old Jacob Van Vleet has been over the road with me scores of times.”