CHAPTER XXI.

WHAT LED TO IT.

When George had left Rivington seated in his chaise on the Paulus Hook Turnpike, he walked on down the narrow lane to which the path had led him. A number of small houses stood there close together.

An old man was chopping wood in the back yard of the fifth house. Although it was cold, he was in his shirt sleeves, and the blows of his axe were sharp and lusty.

George, coming along the fence, observed him for some time before he spoke. Then he cleared the rails with a left-handed vault, and approached closer. The old man had stopped his chopping, and George saw that he had but one leg.

"Good-morning!" George said, quietly. "God save our country!"

"Amen!" was the answer.

It was the patriot greeting.

"Will you help me?" went on George. "I have escaped from prison in New York."

"You are blunt in the telling of it," said the kindly voice--there was a twinkle in the sharp black eyes--"and I will be blunt in my answer. _I will._ But come into the house. The door-yard is no place for the discussion of state secrets."

When the door had closed behind them, the old man had looked at George's clothes with interest.

"Were you in the hulks?" he asked. "I should judge not."

"No," returned George; "I was in the sugar-house prison, on Vine Street, and was treated fairly well."

"Friends at court, eh?" suggested the old man, bobbing quickly over to a window and letting the light into the room.

"Ay," said George, "and they helped me to escape. I will talk bluntly again. I am a Lieutenant in the Thirteenth New Jersey Infantry, and was despatched to New York on special business. I was captured, held prisoner, and would now return to my command at Morristown."

"What's the news in town?" asked the old man.

"You hear but little in prison, but there are rumors that General Howe is lazy," George answered.

"'Tis a frightful scandal," chuckled his host, who had now bobbed to the other side of the room, and was taking down some cold meat and a loaf of bread from the cupboard.

A door opened, and a young girl came from an inner room. She gave a little exclamation as she saw that her grandfather had some one with him.

"Another defender to assist," said the old man, briskly.

"Oh!" said the girl, smiling. "And what can we do for him?"

"Send him on his way rejoicing," was the answer. "Come, sir," he added; "break bread with us, and I will drive you out of the Debatable District and start you on your journey."

George murmured his thanks.

"No need of that," said the old man; "you are giving us a privilege. Harness the old mare, Minnie, lass," he said. "No, don't move. She's as handy as a whip about a stable," he added, as George had arisen.

The young girl flushed, and patted her grandfather on the shoulder as she passed.

"It will be ready in a minute," she said, glancing at George out of the corner of her eye.

"Put her to the sledge, and toss some hay in the bottom of it," called the old gaffer after her. "I am afraid I shall have to take you part of the way as cargo," he said, turning, and at the same time filling a pewter mug full of cool fresh milk. "There's the drink that keeps one young," he added, pouring out another for himself.

The sledge was waiting in the wood-shed, and George was soon covered with the light load of hay.

"We have some suspicious neighbors hereabouts," said the girl, as she lightly tossed the cover so as to conceal the young officer's form. "Good-by, and an easy journey to you."

"Good-by, and a thousand thanks," came the answer from the depths of the hay.

"G'long, Molly," said the old man, and the sledge slipped over the shavings into the snowy road.

They jogged along for an hour or so, when it became evident to George that they had left the beaten track and were going through deeper snow.

"Whoa up, old sweetheart! Back! back! 'Sh! 'sh!" called the driver, reining in. "Jump out," he said. "Here's where we change."

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.

"Dot and go one," was the answer. "Hop, skip, and a jump. There's no one can beat me at it. Come, lad, into the saddle."

As George settled himself and reached forward for the reins old Peter struck the mare a slap on the flank.

"G'long, Molly," he said. "Take good care of him."

Then he turned and started back at a furious pace along the drifted road. It would have taken a good walker to have caught up with him.

If George had known the adventures that were soon to befall him his heart might have failed him. He had ridden on for some hours, when he thought he heard the sound of distant shots ahead. It was past noonday when he came in sight of Lyons Farms.