They were drawn up alongside of an old log barn in the midst of a clearing in the woods.
George struggled from his hiding-place.
Searching in the hay, his benefactor drew forth a saddle.
"It is impossible for you to walk, and you must take old Molly and jog along as best you can. You will have to accept a loan of her, Mr. Lieutenant. Fifteen miles from here you will find Lyons Farms. Ask for the house of Pastor Hinchley. You can be as blunt with him as you were with me. Leave the old mare there. Mr. Hinchley will set you on your way, and you can proceed on foot. If I am not mistaken, there are some of our gallant lads not many miles to the westward of Short Hills."
"To whom should I be thankful?" inquired George, quite overcome.
"To the Lord Almighty and His humble servant Peter Wissinck, very much at your service. My ancestor it was who settled the island of Manhattan."
The old man had said this proudly.
"That is an honor indeed," replied George, lifting his hat.
"Yes," said the old man, "I am as Dutch as blue china plate. Dutch backbone and Yankee heart—that's a good combination for you!"
"Good indeed," said George. "But pray tell me how you are going to return?" he continued, loath at first to accept the kind offer of the horse.