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After he had eaten, she wrapped a cloak about
him, and together they stole up and out past the
sleeping, drunken sentinel, to the stables. She lead
out a white horse, her own horse, Arthur was sure,
for the creature caressed her with his head, and as
she saddled him she talked to him in low tones,
sweet, musical words of some foreign tongue. The
handsome horse seemed to understand the necessity
of silence, for he did not even whinny to the touch
of his mistress’ hand, and trod daintily and noise-
lessly as she led him to the mounting block, his small
ears pricking forward and backward, as though know-
ing the need of watchful listening.

Leaping to the saddle and stooping, she lifted
Arthur in front of her, and with a word they were
off. A slow walk at first, and then a rapid canter.
Arthur never forgot that long night ride with the
beautiful lady on the white horse, over the country
flooded with the brilliancy of the full moon. Once
or twice she asked if he was cold, as she drew the
cloak more closely about him, and sometimes she
would murmur softly to herself words in that silvery,
foreign tongue. As they drew near Hartland, she
asked him to point out his father’s house, and when
they were quite near, only a little distance off, she
stopped the horse.

“T leave you here, you brave, darling boy,” she

said. “Kiss me once, and then jump down. And
don’t forget me.” :
Arthur threw his arms around her neck and kissed
her, first on one cheek and then on the other, and
looking up into the beautiful face with its starry eyes,
said:

A HERO.

“T will never, never forget you, for you are the
loveliest lady I ever saw except—except mamma.”

She laughed a pleased laugh, like a child, then
took a ring from her hand-and put it upon one of
Arthur’s fingers. Her hand was so slender it fitted
his chubby little hand very well.

“Keep this,’ she said, “and by and by give it
to some lady good and true, like mamma.”

“Will you be punished?” he’ said, keeping her
hand. She laughed again, with a proud, daring toss
of her dainty head, and rode away.

Arthur watched her out of sight, and then turned
towards home. Mrs. Heath was still keeping her
lonely watch, when the latch of the outer door was
softly lifted —nobody had the heart to take in the
string with Arty outside—the inner door swung
noiselessly back, and a blithe voice said, “ Mamma!
mamma! here I am, and I didn’t tell!”

All that day, and the next, and the next, the Heath
household were in momentary expectation of the com-
ing of the red coats to search for the spy. Dorothy
and Arthur, and sometimes Abram, did picket duty
to give seasonable warning of their approach. But
they never came. In a few days news was brought
that the British forces, on the very morning after
Arthur’s return, had made a rapid retreat before an
advance of the Federal troops, and never again was
a red coat seen in Hartland. The spy got well in
great peace and comfort under Basha’s nursing, and
went back again to do service in the Continental
army, and Dotty used to say, “You did learn, didn’t
you, Arty, how a person, even a little boy, can be a

hero without fighting, just as mamma said?”

 

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