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 when, with difficulty, the Negress persuaded the old lady to rise and come to the table. Mehitable shyly found her place and supper was served.

Only once did the taciturn hostess break her silence, and that was to inquire uninterestedly for the girl's mother. At last, when the words of the old lady had penetrated, the truth burst upon Mehitable. Mistress Hicks and her absent husband must be Tories!

At this thought the girl pushed her stool from the table and stared at Mistress Hicks. That lady piled her knife and spoon steadily and did not deign to notice her.

"Art not a patriot?" asked Mehitable, swept away from all tact.

Mistress Hicks looked up sourly. Then, at sight of the girl's expression she burst into a mirthless laugh.

"What dost mean by the word, patriot?" asked she at last, coolly.

"I mean, art a Tory?" inquired Mehitable steadily.

For a moment their two glances fenced, the girl's perfectly honest, the woman's inscrutable. But honesty prevailed.

"Aye," Mistress Hicks acknowledged sullenly. "I be a Tory. My husband is with 'Skinner's Greens' on Staten Island. But," she raised her head angrily, "no one asked ye here to insult us, young mistress!"

There was a crash as Mehitable leaped from her stool. The scene was the more uncanny for the fact that the little old lady kept on eating placidly.

"Oh," choked Mehitable, "I ate your food—your Tory food!"