Dr. Percival had so far recovered as to be considered able to lie in a hammock upon an upper veranda where he could look out upon the beauties of the lawn, the bayou, and the fields and woods beyond. Dr. Harold Travilla was still in attendance and seldom left him for any great length of time, never alone, seldom with only the nurse—Maud, one of Dick's sisters, or some other relative being always near at hand, ready to wait upon him, chat pleasantly for his entertainment, or remain silent as seemed best to suit his mood at the moment.

He was very patient, cheerful, and easily entertained, but did not usually talk very much himself.

One day he and Harold were alone for a time. Both had been silent for some moments when Dick, turning an affectionate look upon his cousin, said in grateful tones, "How very good, kind, and attentive you have been to me, Harold. I think that but for you and the other two doctors—Cousins Arthur and Herbert—I should now be lying under the sod; and I must acknowledge that you are a most excellent physician and surgeon," he added with an appreciative smile and holding out his hand.

Harold took the hand and, pressing it affectionately in both of his, said with feeling, "Thank you, Dick. I consider your opinion worth a great deal, and it is a joy to me that I have been permitted to aid in helping on your recovery; but I am no more deserving of thanks than the others. Indeed both Herbert and I felt it to be a very great help to be able to call Cousin Arthur in to give his opinion, advice, assistance; which he did freely and faithfully. He is an excellent physician and surgeon—as I know you to be also: knowledge which increases the delight of having been—by God's blessing upon our efforts—able to pull you through, thus saving a most useful life."

"Thank you," replied Dick in a moved tone. "By God's help I shall try to make it more useful in the future than it has been in the past—should he see fit to restore me to health and vigor. I feel at present as if I might never again be able to walk or ride."

"I think you need change of climate for a while," said Harold. "What do you say to going North with us, if Captain Raymond should give you and Maud an invitation to take passage in his yacht?"

"Why, that is a splendid idea, Harold!" exclaimed Dick, with such a look of animation and pleasure as had not been seen upon his features for many a day. "Should I get the invitation and Bob come back in time to attend to our practice, I—I really shall, I think, be strongly inclined to accept."

"I hope so indeed," Harold said with a smile, "and I haven't a doubt that you will get it; for I know of no one who loves better than the captain to do good or give pleasure. Ah! speak of angels! here he is with his wife and yours," as just at that moment the three stepped out from the open doorway upon the veranda.

"The three of us, Harold? Are we all angels to-day?" asked Violet, with a smile, stepping forward and taking Dick's hand in hers.

"Quite as welcome as if you were, cousin," said Dick. "Ah, captain! it was you we were speaking of at the moment of your arrival."

"Ah? a poor substitute for an angel, I fear," was the rejoinder in the captain's usual pleasant tones. "But I hope it was the thought of something which it may be in my power to do for you, Cousin Dick."

"Thanks, captain; you are always most kind," returned Dick, asking Harold by a look to give the desired explanation, which he did at once by repeating what had just passed between him and Dr. Percival in regard to a Northern trip to be taken by the latter upon his partner's return from his bridal trip.

Captain Raymond's countenance brightened as he listened and scarcely waiting for the conclusion, "Why, certainly," he said. "It will be an easy matter to make room for Cousins Dick and Maud, and a delight to have them with us on the voyage and after we reach home until the warm weather sends us all farther North for the summer."

"Oh, delightful!" cried Maud. "Oh, Dick, my dear, it will set you up as nothing else could; and you may hope to come back in the fall as well and strong as ever."

Dr. Percival looked inquiringly at Violet.

"Yes, cousin," she said with a smile, "I think we can make you very comfortable; and that without inconveniencing anybody; especially as Grandpa and Grandma Dinsmore decline to return in the Dolphin. They go from here to Philadelphia by rail, to visit her relations there or in that region. So you need not hesitate about it for a moment, and," glancing at her brother, "you will have your doctor along to see that you are well taken care of and not allowed to expose yourself on deck when you should be down in the saloon or lying in your berth."

"Yes," laughed Harold, "I shall do my best to keep my patient within bounds and see that he does nothing to bring on a relapse and so do discredit to my medical and surgical knowledge and skill."

"Which I should certainly be most sorry to do," smiled Dick. "If I do not do credit to it all, it shall be no fault of mine. Never again, cousin, can I for a moment forget that you stand at about the head of your profession—or deserve to, certainly—as both physician and surgeon. Captain, I accept your kind offer with most hearty thanks. I feel already something like fifty per cent. better for the very thought of the rest and pleasure of the voyage, the visit to my old home and friends, and then a sojourn during the hot months in the cooler regions of the North."

From that time his improvement was far more rapid than it had been, and Maud was very happy over that and her preparations for the contemplated trip, in which Grandma Elsie and Cousins Annis and Violet gave her valuable assistance.

At length a letter was received telling that the newly-married pair might be expected two days later. Chester brought the news to Viamede shortly after breakfast and all heard it with pleasure, for they were beginning to feel a strong drawing toward their northern homes.

"It is good news," said Grandma Elsie; "and now I want to carry out a plan of which I have been thinking for some time."

"In regard to what?" asked her father.

"The reception to be given our bride and groom," she answered. "I want it to be given here; all the connection now in these parts to be invited, house and lawn to be decorated as they were for our large party just after the wedding, and such a feast of fat things as we had then to be provided."

"That is just like you, mother," said Captain Raymond; "always thinking how to give pleasure and save trouble to other people."

"Ah, it seems to me that I am the one to do it in this instance," she returned with a gratified smile, "having the most means, the most room of any of the connection about here, abundance of excellent help as regards all the work of preparation and the entertainment of the guests; indeed everything that the occasion calls for. Dick and Maud are in no case to do the entertaining, though I do certainly hope they may both be able to attend—he, poor fellow, lying in a hammock on the veranda or under the trees. If they like they may as well come fully prepared for their journey and start with us from here."

"A most excellent and kind plan, cousin, as yours always are," said Chester, giving Mrs. Travilla a pleased and grateful look. "I have no doubt it will be accepted if Dr. Harold approves."

"As he surely should, since it is his mother's," remarked Violet in her sprightly way. "Suppose you drive over at once, mamma, see the three, and have the whole thing settled."

"A very good idea I think, Vi," was the smiling rejoinder. "Captain, will you order a carriage brought round promptly, and you and Vi go with me?—taking Elsie and Ned also, if they would care for a drive," she added, giving the little folks a kindly inquiring look.

Both joyfully accepted the invitation, if papa and mamma were willing;
Elsie adding:

"And if Cousin Dick is not well enough for us to go in, we can stay in the carriage or out in the grounds, till you and papa and mamma are ready to come back."

"Yes," said her father; "so there is no objection to your going."

"There will still be a vacant seat," said Grandma Elsie, "will you not go with us also, Grace? I have heard Harold say driving was good exercise for you."

"Oh, thank you, ma'am," said Grace. "I should like it very much, if papa approves," glancing with an inquiring smile at him.

"Certainly. I am quite sure that my daughter Grace's company will add to my enjoyment of the drive," was the captain's kindly response.

"And, Grandma Elsie, cannot you find some use for the stay-at-homes?" asked Max. "Chester and myself for instance. Would there be any objection to having 'Old Glory' set waving from the tree tops to-day?"

"None whatever," she returned with her sweet smile. "I, for one, never weary of seeing it 'wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.'"

"I think anyone who does isn't worthy to be called an American!" exclaimed Lucilla with warmth.

"Unless so unfortunate as to be only a South American," remarked Eva with a smile. "You would not expect such an one to care for our Old Glory."

"Oh, no, certainly not; it is no more to them than to the rest of the world."

"But I dare say it is a good deal to some of the rest of the world; judging from the way they flock to these shores," said Chester.

"Which I sincerely wish some of them wouldn't," said Lucilla; "the ignorant, idle, and vicious. To read of the great numbers constantly coming in often makes me tremble for our liberties."

"Honest and industrious ones we are always glad to welcome," said Chester, "but the idle and vicious ought to be kept out. And as our own native born boys must be twenty-one years old before being allowed to vote, I think every foreigner should be required to wait here that same length of time before receiving the right of suffrage."

"And I heartily agree with you in that," said Captain Raymond.

"But unfortunately we have too many selfish politicians—men who are selfishly set upon their own advancement to wealth and power and care little, if anything, for their country and their country's good—who, to gain votes for themselves, have managed to have the right of suffrage given those worthless, ignorant foreigners in order to get into place and power through them."

"I haven't a particle of respect for such men," exclaimed Lucilla hotly; "and not much, more for some others who are so engrossed in the management of their own affairs—the making of money by such close attention to business, that they can't, or won't look at all after the interests of their country."

"Very true, my dear sister," said Max, with a roguish look and smile, "so it is high time the ladies should be given the right of suffrage."

"The right! I think they have that already," she returned with rising color and an indignant look, "but domineering men won't allow them to use it."

"Why, daughter," laughed the captain, "I had no idea that you were such a woman's rights woman. Surely it is not the result of my training."

"No, indeed, papa; though you have tried to teach me to think for myself," she returned with a blush and smile, adding, "I am not wanting to vote—even if I were old enough, which I know I am not yet—but I do want the laws made and administered by my own countrymen, and that without any assistance from ignorant foreigners."

"Ah, and that is perhaps the result of my teachings. Are you not afraid, Chester," turning to him, "that one of these days she may prove too independent for you?"

"Ah, captain, if you are thinking of frightening me out of my bargain let me assure you at once that it is perfectly useless," laughed Chester in return.

"Ah, yes; I suppose so," sighed the captain in mock distress. "But I must go now and order the carriage," he added, rising and hastening away in the direction of the stables.

"And we to make our preparations for the drive and call at Torriswood," said Grandma Elsie, addressing Violet and the younger ones, expecting to be of the party. "Dick and Maud should have as early a report of our plans and purposes as we can well give them."

To that Violet and Grace gave a hearty assent, the little ones echoing it joyfully, and by the time the carriage could be brought to the door they were all ready to enter it.

They found Maud and Dick full of pleasurable excitement, the former already at work upon her packing. Grandma Elsie's plan and invitation were highly appreciated by both and joyfully accepted.

The arrangements were soon made. If all went well with Dr. and Mrs. Johnson they would reach Viamede the next afternoon, stay there in the enjoyment of its hospitality until toward bedtime of that evening, then come on to Torriswood, and a day or two later the others would start upon their northward journey; all going together to New Orleans, Grandpa and Grandma Dinsmore taking the cars there for Philadelphia, and the rest starting for home by water—along the Gulf of Mexico, around Florida, and up the Atlantic coast.

The whole plan met Dr. Harold's unqualified approval, while Dr. Percival was so charmed with it that he insisted that the very prospect of it all had nearly restored him to health and strength.

"Is that so, cousin?" exclaimed Violet with a pleased laugh, "why, you will be another Samson by the time we reach our homes."

"Ah, if I can only recover the amount of strength I had before my accident I shall be satisfied," said he, "and I shall know how to appreciate it as I never did in the past."

All the necessary arrangements having now been made, the Viamede party presently returned to their temporary home, which they found looking very gay and patriotic with flags fluttering from tree tops, gables, windows, and verandas; for the young folks left behind had been very busy in their work of adornment. The result of their labors met with warm approval from Grandma Elsie, the captain, and Violet. Grace and Elsie Raymond, too, expressed themselves as highly pleased, while Ned quite went into raptures at the sight of so fine a display of the "Star-spangled Banner."

"Now, Cousin Ronald," he exclaimed, turning to Mr. Lilburn, "don't you think it is the very prettiest flag that floats?"

"As bonny a one as ever I saw, laddie," responded the old gentleman with a genial smile. "And don't you know that having adopted this as my country, I now consider it as truly my ain banner as it is yours?"

"Oh, yes, sir, and I like you to," returned Ned with a pleased look.
"I like this to be your country as well as mine."

"It's a grand country, laddie," was the pleasant-toned response, "and the native land of my bonny young wife and the dear little bairns of my son Hugh; so I may well give it a share of my affection."

The weather continued fine, all the preparations were carried forward successfully, and by noon of the next day the Percivals were ready to enjoy a brief stay at Viamede and gaining strength, but carefully attended and watched over by his cousin Harold, and Maud full of life and gayety because of his improvement and the pleasant prospect before them. It would be so delightful, she thought and said, to see her old home and friends and acquaintances about there, Dick taking his ease among them all for a time; and then to spend some weeks or months, farther north, enjoying sea breezes and sea bathing.

All the cousins, older and younger, from Magnolia Hall and the Parsonage were gathered there before the hour when the boat bringing their bride and groom might be expected, and as it rounded to at the wharf quite a little crowd could be seen waiting to receive them.

The Johnsons had not been apprised of the reception awaiting them and were expecting to go on immediately to Torriswood, but the boat was hailed and stopped by Chester, and at the same time seeing the festive preparations and the assemblage of relatives, they understood what was going on and expected, and stepped quickly ashore, where glad greetings were exchanged; then all moved on to the house where Dr. Percival lay in a hammock on the front veranda.

"Oh, Dick, dear fellow, are you still unable to move about?" asked Dr. Johnson, grasping his hand and looking down into his thin, pale face with eyes that filled with tears in spite of himself.

"Oh, I'll soon be all right, Bob; though if it hadn't been for Harold here," giving the latter a warmly affectionate glance, "I doubt if you would have found a partner in your practice on your return."

"In that case I am certainly under great obligations to you, Harold," Robert said with feeling, as he and Harold grasped hands with cousinly warmth. "You could hardly have done me a greater service."

"Don't talk of obligations," said Harold with emotion. "Dick and you and I are not only all members of the same profession, but all near kinsmen; so that Dick had a double and strong claim upon me and my services."

"And we all think he needs a change," said Maud, standing near, "and so, by Cousin Elsie's kind invitation, we are going with her and the rest, in the captain's yacht, to visit them and our old homes; then on farther North to the seashore."

"The very best thing that could be done, I think," said Robert; "it certainly is Dick's turn to have a holiday while I stay and attend to our practice."

The mirth, jollity, and feasting that followed, filling up the rest of the day, were very similar to those of the day of the wedding, weeks before.

Dr. Percival was still feeble, and Mrs. Travilla had some arrangements to make in regard to the conduct of affairs at Viamede after her departure, which together made it best to delay for a few days. But at length all was ready, the good-byes were said, and the return journey to their northern homes was begun.

As had been planned Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore took the cars at New Orleans, while the Dolphin, bearing the remaining members of their party, passed from west to east along the Gulf of Mexico, around the southern coast of Florida and up its eastern coast and that of the Carolinas. Quite a voyage, but neither tedious nor tiresome to the passengers, so pleasant did they find each other's society and the variety of books and sports provided for their entertainment.

During the greater part of the voyage the weather was pleasant enough to allow them to spend the most of their days upon deck, where they could walk about or sit and chat beneath an awning.

"Grandma," said little Elsie, coming to Mrs. Travilla's side one morning as she sat on deck busied with a bit of fancy work, "would it trouble you to talk to Ned and me a little while?"

"No, dear," was the smiling reply, "but what is it that you wish to hear from me?"

"Something about General Marion, grandma, if you please. I know a little about him and admire him very much indeed. He was a South Carolina man, I know, and when I heard papa say a while ago that we were on the South Carolina coast, it made me think of Marion and that I should be very glad to hear something more of what he did in the Revolution."

"And so would I, grandma; ever so much," added Ned, who was close at his sister's side.

"Then sit down, one on each side of me, and I will tell you some things that I have read about General Francis Marion, one of the boldest, most energetic, and faithful patriots of the Revolution. He was born in South Carolina in 1732, and it is said was so small a baby that he might have been easily put into a quart pot."

"He must have had to grow a good deal before he could be a soldier, grandma," laughed Ned.

"Yes, but he had forty-three years to do it in," said Elsie.

"That many years before the Revolutionary War began," said her grandma, "but he was only twenty-seven when he became a soldier by joining an expedition against the Cherokees and other hostile Indian tribes on the western frontier of his State. When the Revolution began he was made a captain in the second South Carolina regiment. He fought in the battle at Fort Sullivan, on Sullivan's Island, in the contest at Savannah, and many another. He organized a brigade and became brigadier of the militia of South Carolina. After the battle of Eutaw he became senator in the Legislature, but soon went back into the army and remained there till the close of the war."

"Grandma, didn't he and his soldiers camp in the swamps a good deal of the time?" asked Elsie.

"Yes; and often had but little to eat—sometimes sweet potatoes only, and but a scant supply of them. A story is told of a young British officer from Georgetown coming to treat with him respecting prisoners, when Marion was camping on Snow's Island—at the confluence of the Pedee River and Lynch's Creek. The Briton was led blindfolded to Marion's camp. There for the first time he saw that general—a small man—with groups of his men about him, lounging under the magnificent trees draped with moss. When they had concluded their business Marion invited the Englishman to dine with him. The invitation was accepted, and great was the astonishment of the guest when the dinner was served; only some roasted potatoes on a piece of bark. 'Surely, general,' he said, 'this cannot be your ordinary fare?' 'Indeed it is,' replied Marion, 'and we are fortunate on this occasion, entertaining company, to have more than our usual allowance.'

"It is said that the young officer gave up his commission on his return, saying that such a people could not, and ought not to be subdued."

"Marion and his men must have loved their country and liberty to be
willing to live in swamps with nothing but potatoes to eat," said
Elsie; "it makes me think of the stories I've read and heard about
Robin Hood and his merry men."

"Yes," said her grandmother, "and Lossing tells us Marion's men were as devoted to him as those of Robin Hood were to their leader. Our poet Bryant has drawn a telling picture of that noble band in his

"SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

"Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us
As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass;
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

"Woe to the English soldiery,
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear;
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.

"Then sweet the hour that brings release
From danger and from toil;
We talk the battle over,
And share the battle's spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout,
As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gather'd
To crown the soldier's cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of oaken leaves.

"Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads—
The glitter of their rifles.
The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlight plain;
'Tis life to feel the night wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp—
A moment—and away
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.

"Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
With tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton
Forever from our shore."

"And we did drive the British away—or Marion and his men, and the rest of our brave soldiers did," exclaimed Ned when the recitation of the poem was finished, "didn't they, grandma?"

"Yes, Neddie boy, God helped us to get free and become the great nation which we are to-day; and to him let us give all the glory and the praise."

"Yes, grandma, I know that even those brave and good fighters couldn't have done it if God hadn't helped them. Did Marion live long after the war was over?"

"About a dozen years. He died on the 29th of February, 1795. We are told his last words were, 'Thank God, since I came to man's estate I have never intentionally done wrong to any man.'"

"And is that all the story about him?" asked Ned regretfully.

"Enough for the present, I think," replied his grandma; "when you are older you can read of him in history for yourself. However, some of his work will come in incidentally as I go on with some other historical sketches. I want to tell you something of Mrs. Rebecca Motte—one of the brave and patriotic women living in South Carolina at that time—and the doings of the British and Americans on her estate.

"Mrs. Motte was a rich widow. She had a fine large mansion occupying a commanding position on the road between Charleston and Camden. The British, knowing that she was a patriot, drove her and her family from their home to a farmhouse which she owned, upon a hill north of her mansion, into which they put a garrison of one hundred and fifty men under Captain M'Pherson, a brave British officer.

"Early in May he was joined by a small detachment of dragoons sent from Charleston with despatches for Lord Rawdon. They were about to leave when Marion and Lee, with their troops, were seen upon the height at the farmhouse where Mrs. Motte was now living. So the dragoons remained to give their help in the defense of the fort.

"Lee took position at the farmhouse, and his men, with a fieldpiece which General Greene had sent them, were stationed on the eastern slope of the high plain on which Fort Motte stood. Marion at once threw up a mound and planted the fieldpiece upon it in a position to rake the northern face of the parapet of the fort against which Lee was about to move.

"M'Pherson was without artillery. Between Fort Motte and the height where Lee was posted was a narrow valley which enabled his men to come within a few hundred yards of the fort. From that they began to advance by a parallel—a wide trench—and by the 10th of the month they were so far successful that they felt warranted in demanding a surrender. They sent a summons to M'Pherson, but he gallantly refused to comply.

"That evening our men heard that Lord Rawdon had retreated from Camden, was coming in that direction, and would relieve Fort Motte. The next morning beacon fires could be seen on the high hills of Santee, and that night the besieged were greatly rejoiced to see their gleam on the highest ground of the country opposite Fort Motte. They were delighted, but soon found that they had rejoiced too soon.

"Lee proposed a quicker plan for dislodging them than had been thought of before. Mrs. Motte's mansion, in the center of their works, was covered with a roof of shingles now very dry, as there had been no rain for several days and the heat of the sun had been great. Lee's idea was to set those shingles on fire and so drive the enemy out. He had been enjoying Mrs. Motte's hospitality and her only marriageable daughter was the wife of a friend of his, so he was very loath to destroy her property, but on telling her his plan, he was much relieved to find that she was not only willing, but desirous to serve her country by the sacrifice of her property.

"He then told his plan to Marion and they made haste to execute it. It was proposed to set the roof on fire with lighted torches attached to arrows which should be shot against it. Mrs. Motte, seeing that the arrows the men were preparing were not very good, brought out a fine bow and bundle of arrows which had come from the East Indies, and gave them to Lee.

"The next morning Lee again sent a flag of truce to M'Pherson, the bearer telling him that Rawdon had not yet crossed the Santee, and that immediate surrender would save many lives.

"But M'Pherson still refused, and at noon Nathan Savage, a private in Marion's brigade, shot toward the house several arrows with lighted torches attached. Two struck the dry shingles and instantly a bright flame was creeping along the roof. Soldiers were sent up to knock off the shingles and put out the fire, but a few shots from Marion's battery raked the loft and drove them below. Then M'Pherson hung out a white flag, the Americans ceased firing, the flames were put out, and at one o'clock the garrison surrendered themselves prisoners of war.

"Then Mrs. Motte invited both the American and the British officers to a sumptuous dinner which she had had made ready for them."

Grace Raymond had drawn near and was listening in a very interested way to the story as told by Mrs. Travilla.

"Grandma Elsie," she said as that lady paused in her narrative, "do you remember a little talk between the American and British officers at that dinner of Mrs. Motte's?"

"I am not sure that I do," was the reply. "Can you repeat it for us?"

"I think I can give at least the substance," said Grace. "One of the prisoners was an officer named Captain Ferguson. He was seated near Colonel Horry, one of our American officers. Addressing him, Ferguson said, 'You are Colonel Horry, I presume, sir?' Horry replied that he was and Ferguson went on, 'Well, I was with Colonel Watson when he fought your General Marion on Sampit. I think I saw you there with a party of horse, and also at Nelson's Ferry, when Marion surprised our party at the house. But I was hid in high grass and escaped. You were fortunate in your escape at Sampit, for Watson and Small had twelve hundred men.'

"'If so,' said Horry, 'I certainly was fortunate, for I did not suppose they had more than half that number,' Then Ferguson said, 'I consider myself equally fortunate in escaping at Nelson's Old Field.'

"'Truly you were,' Horry returned sarcastically, 'for Marion had but thirty militia on that occasion,' The other officers at the table could not refrain from laughing. General Greene afterward asked Horry how he came to affront Captain Ferguson, and Horry answered that he affronted himself by telling his own story.'"

"Ah, I think our soldiers were the bravest," was little Elsie's comment upon that anecdote.

"Yes," said her grandma, "probably because they were fighting for liberty and home."

"Please, grandma, tell us another Revolutionary story," pleaded Ned.

"Did you ever hear the story of what Emily Geiger did for the good cause?" asked Grandma Elsie in reply.

"No, ma'am; won't you please tell it?"

"Yes. Emily was the daughter of a German planter in Fairfield District. She was not more than eighteen years old, but very brave. General Greene had an important message to send to Sumter, but because of the danger from the numbers of Tories and British likely to be encountered on the way none of his men seemed willing to take it; therefore he was delighted when this young girl came forward and offered to carry his letter to Sumter. But fearing she might lose it on the way, he made her acquainted with its contents.

"She mounted a fleet horse, crossed the Wateree at the Camden Ferry, and hastened on toward Sumter's camp. On the second day of her journey, while passing through a dry swamp, she was stopped and made prisoner by some Tory scouts, who suspected her because she came from the direction of Greene's army. They took her to a house on the edge of the swamp and shut her up in a room, while they sent for a woman to search her person.

"Emily was by no means willing to have the letter found upon her person, so as soon as left alone she began tearing it up and swallowing it piece by piece. After a while the woman came and searched her carefully, but found nothing to criminate the girl, as the last piece of the letter had already gone down her throat.

"Her captors, now convinced of her innocence, made many apologies and allowed her to go on her way. She reached Sumter's camp, gave him Greene's message, and soon the British under Rawdon were flying before the Americans toward Orangeburg."

"Is that all, grandma?" asked Ned, as Mrs. Travilla paused and glanced up smilingly at Captain Raymond, who now drew near.

"All for the present, Neddie," she replied. "Some other time I may perhaps think of other incidents to give you."

"Ah, mother, so you have been kindly entertaining my children, who are great lovers of stories," remarked the captain. "I hope they have not been too exacting in their entreaties for such amusement?"

"Oh, no," she replied; "they wanted some episodes in the history of the State we are passing, and I have been giving them some account of the gallant deeds of General Marion and others."

"He was a brave, gallant man, was Francis Marion, thoroughly patriotic, and one of the finest characters of that time; a countryman of whom we may well be proud," remarked the captain, speaking with earnestness and enthusiasm; "and with it all he was most humane; a great contrast to some of the British officers who burnt houses, robbed and wronged women and children—rendering them shelterless, stripping them of all clothes except those they wore, not to speak of even worse acts of barbarity. Bancroft tells us that when the British were burning houses on the Little Pedee, Marion permitted his men of that district to go home and protect their wives and families; but that he would not suffer retaliation and wrote with truth, 'There is not one house burned by my orders or by any of my people. It is what I detest, to distress poor women and children.'"

"I am proud of him as one of my countrymen," said Grace. "He was sometimes called 'The swamp Fox,' was he not, papa?"

"Yes; the swamps were his usual place of refuge and camping ground."

"I admire him very much and like to hear about him and all he did for our country," said little Elsie; "but I am glad and thankful that I didn't live in those dreadful war times."

"As you well may be, my dear child," said her father. "We cannot be too thankful for the liberty we enjoy in these days and which was largely won for us by Marion and other brave and gallant patriots of those darker days. They, and our debt of gratitude to them, should never be forgotten or ignored."