The children’s bedtime had come and they had gone to their sleeping quarters for the night. Grandma Elsie was holding the new baby while having a bit of chat with its mother; most of the other grown people were enjoying themselves together in the parlor, but Lucilla and her father were pacing the front porch, as they so often did, while Mamma Vi put the younger ones to bed.

“Have you had a pleasant time to-day, daughter?” asked the captain.

“Oh, yes, sir,” she replied. “I paid Eva a visit and enjoyed holding and looking at the darling little newcomer—Baby Mary. I like the name; don’t you, father?”

“Yes, both the name and the one who bears it. What else have you been doing?”

“Sitting out here with a bit of needlework while Grandma Elsie gave us some interesting passages from the history of our country in Revolutionary days—of Putnam and his services, and the sad story of poor Jane McCrea. I have been thinking, father, that you could give us interesting facts concerning other actors in the thrilling scenes and experiences of those dark days for our country.”

“Perhaps so,” he answered, “though I doubt if I should equal mother as a narrator.”

“A doubt I don’t in the least share, father,” laughed Lucilla. “You always speak the truth, but are a good story teller for all that.”

“That is in the judgment of my very partial daughter,” the captain responded, with an amused look and smile. “There are other Revolutionary heroes,” he continued, “the facts concerning whom would make very interesting tales—Morgan and Schuyler, for instance.”

“And you will tell them to us, father? Oh, that will be fine.”

“And I shall be glad indeed if I can add to the information and enjoyment of my own young people and the others,” he returned. “Evelyn has quite a library here, collected by her father, in which are a number of encyclopÆdias and historical works—those of Lossing and others. I shall refresh my memory in regard to Morgan and Schuyler, and perhaps tell you something of one or both to-morrow evening, should mother feel indisposed for such work.”

It was settled at the tea table the next day that the captain was to be the narrator for the little company for that evening, Grandma Elsie saying she would greatly prefer being a listener. All gathered about him on the front porch directly upon leaving the table, and he began the story at once.

“Daniel Morgan was born in New Jersey about 1737. There is little or nothing known of his parents except that he had a pious mother and that he was of Welsh extraction. When about seventeen years old he went to Virginia, where he worked as a farmer for some years. Early in 1754 he removed to Charlestown, Va., and the next year he began his military career, going with Braddock’s army in the expedition against Fort du Quesne.

“He seems to have been a teamster, and in the rout did good service in bringing away the wounded after the defeat. Washington, you will remember, was there as aid-de-camp to Braddock, and doubtless he and Morgan became acquainted then.

“It is said that Morgan was unjustly punished with five hundred lashes for knocking down a British officer who struck him with the flat of his sword.

“Afterward he was attached to the quartermaster’s department, and his duty was to haul supplies to the military posts along the frontier.

“About that time, at the head of a few backwoodsmen, he defeated a small force of Frenchmen and Indians, and received from Governor Dinwiddie an ensign’s commission.

“Afterward, while on his way to Winchester with despatches, he and others engaged in a fierce woodland fight with the Indians, in which nearly all Morgan’s companions were killed and he was severely wounded, being shot through the neck with a musket ball. At the moment he supposed the wound to be fatal—he was almost fainting—but resolved not to leave his scalp in the hands of the Indians. He fell forward with his arms tightly clasped about the neck of his horse, and though mists were gathering before his eyes, he spurred away through the forest paths, until his foremost Indian pursuer, finding it impossible to come up with him, hurled his tomahawk after him with a yell of baffled rage and gave up the chase. That was the only wound he ever received.”

“And it didn’t hinder him from doing great service to his country in the Revolutionary War,” remarked Eric Leland.

“Some few years later,” continued the captain, “Morgan obtained a grant of land, took to farming and stock-raising, and married a farmer’s daughter, Abigail Bailey, who is said to have been a woman of rare beauty and lofty character. He named his home the ‘Soldier’s Rest,’ but was soon called away from it by Pontiac’s war. In that he served as a lieutenant. He prospered with his farming and acquired considerable property. But the calls to war were frequent. In 1771 he was commissioned captain of the militia of Frederick County, and two years later he served in Lord Dunmore’s war on the frontier.”