Myths and Legends of Our Own Land, vol 3 | Page 5

been riding far," said he. "Can you give me
some food and the chance to sleep for an hour, until the storm clears
up?"
Manheim says that he can, and shuffling into the next room, he
whispers, "Washington!" The girl is sent out to get refreshments. It is in
vain that she seeks to sign or speak to the man who sits there so calmly
before the fire, for her father is never out of sight or hearing. After
Washington has finished his modest repast he asks to be left to himself
for a while, but the girl is told to conduct him to the room on the left of
the landing on the next floor.
Her father holds the candle at the foot of the stairs until he sees his
guest enter; then he bids his daughter go to her own bed, which is in the
chamber on the right of the landing. There is busy whispering in the
room below after that, and the dice box is shaken to see to whose lot it
shall fall to steal up those stairs and stab Washington in his sleep. An
hour passes and all in the house appear to be at rest, but the stairs creak
slightly as Manheim creeps upon his prey. He blows his candle out and
softly enters the chamber on the left. The men, who listen in the dark at
the foot of the stair, hear a moan, and the Tory hurries back with a
shout of gladness, for the rebel chief is no more and Howe's reward will
enrich them for life.
Glasses are filled, and in the midst of the rejoicing a step is heard on
the stair. Washington stands before them. In calm, deep tones he thanks
the farmer for his shelter, and asks that his horse be brought to the door
and his reckoning be made out. The Tory stares as one bereft. Then he
rushes aloft, flings open the door of the room on the left, and gazes at
the face that rests on the pillow,--a pillow that is dabbled with red. The

face is that of his daughter. The name of father is one that he will never
hear again in this world. The candle falls from his hand; he sinks to the
floor; be his sin forgiven! Outside is heard the tramp of a horse. It is
that of Washington, who rides away, ignorant of the peril he has passed
and the sacrifice that averted it.

THE TORY'S CONVERSION
In his firelit parlor, in his little house at Valley Forge, old Michael
Kuch sits talking with his daughter. But though it is Christmas eve the
talk has little cheer in it. The hours drag on until the clock strikes
twelve, and the old man is about to offer his evening prayer for the
safety of his son, who is one of Washington's troopers, when hurried
steps are heard in the snow, there is a fumbling at the latch, then the
door flies open and admits a haggard, panting man who hastily closes it
again, falls into a seat, and shakes from head to foot. The girl goes to
him. "John!" she says. But he only averts his face. "What is wrong with
thee, John Blake?" asks the farmer. But he has to ask again and again
ere he gets an answer. Then, in a broken voice, the trembling man
confesses that he has tried to shoot Washington, but the bullet struck
and killed his only attendant, a dragoon. He has come for shelter, for
men are on his track already. "Thou know'st I am neutral in this war,
John Blake," answered the farmer,--"although I have a boy down
yonder in the camp. It was a cowardly thing to do, and I hate you
Tories that you do not fight like men; yet, since you ask me for a
hiding-place, you shall have it, though, mind you, 'tis more on the girl's
account than yours. The men are coming. Out--this way--to the
spring-house. So!"
Before old Michael has time to return to his chair the door is again
thrust open, this time by men in blue and buff. They demand the
assassin, whose footsteps they have tracked there through the snow.
Michael does not answer. They are about to use violence when, through
the open door, comes Washington, who checks them with a word. The
general bears a drooping form with a blood splash on its breast, and
deposits it on the hearth as gently as a mother puts a babe into its cradle.
As the firelight falls on the still face the farmer's eyes grow round and
big; then he shrieks and drops upon his knees, for it is his son who is
lying there. Beside him is a