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They fought it out, with many a sting and smart, another hour, and then declaring that “cow or no cow they couldn’t stay another minute,” they strove to work their way out of the beautiful green of the sedge.

On the meadow-land stood their mother. She had brought dinner for her hungry children,–moreover, she had brought news.

The Yankee troops–the Jersey militia–had gone, but the British soldiers had arrived and demanded beef–beef raw, beef roasted, beef in any form.

The tears that the fiercest mosquito had failed to extort from Anna came now. “I wish I’d let her go,” she cried, fondly stroking Sleet. “At least she wouldn’t have been killed, and we’d had her again sometime, maybe; but now–I say, Valentine, are you going to give up Snow?”

“No, I ain’t,” stoutly persisted the lad, slapping with his broad palm the panting side of the calf, where mosquitoes still clung.

“But, my poor children,” said Mother Kull, “you will have to. It can’t be helped. If we refuse them, don’t you know, they will burn our house down.”

” If they do, I’ll kill them! ” The words shot out from the gunpowdery temper of Anna Kull. Poor innocent girl of thirteen! She never in her life had seen an act of cruelty greater than the taking of a fish or the death of a chicken; but the impotent impulse of revenge arose within her at the bare idea of having her pet, her pretty Sleet, taken from her and eaten by soldiers.

“You’d better keep still, Anna Kull,” said Valentine. “Mother, don’t you think we might hide the animals somewhere?”

“Where?” echoed the poor woman, looking up and looking down.

Truly there seemed to be no place. Already six thousand British soldiers had landed and taken possession of the island. Hills and forests were not high enough nor deep enough; and now the very marsh had cast them out by its army of winged stingers–more dreadful than human foe.

“I just wish,” ejaculated the poor sunburned, mosquito-tortured, hungry girl, who stood between marsh and meadow,–“I wish I had ’em every one tied hand and foot and dumped into the sedge where we’ve been. Mother, I wouldn’t use Sleet’s milk to-night, not a drop of it,–it’s crazy milk, I know: she’s been tortured so. Poor cow! poor creature! poor, dear, nice, honest Sleet!” And Anna patted the cow with loving stroke and laid her head on its neck.

“Well, children, eat something, and then we’ll all go home together,–if they haven’t carried off our cot already,” said the mother.

They sat down under a tree and ate with the eager, wholesome appetite of children. Mrs. Kull kept watch that the cow did not wander far from the place.

As they were eating, Valentine said to Anna, nodding his head in the direction of his mother: “I’ve thought of something. We must manage to send her home without us.”

” I’ve thought of something,” responded Anna. “Yes, we must manage.”

“I should like to know what you could think of, sister.”

“Should you? Why, think of saving the cow and calf, of course; though, if you’re very particular, you can leave the calf here.”

“And what will you do with the cow?”

“Put her in the boat–“

“Whew!” interrupted Valentine.

“And ferry her over the sound,” continued Anna.

“Who?”

“You and me.”

“Do you think we could?”

“We can try.”

“That’s brave! How’s your arm?”

“All right! I jerked it back, slapping mosquitoes.”

“Give us another hunkey piece of bread and butter. Honey’s good to-day. I wonder mother thought about it.”

“I s’pose,” said Anna, “she’d as leave we had it as soldiers. Wouldn’t it be jolly if we could make ’em steal the bees?”

The wind blew east. Up came martial sounds mingled with the break and the roar of the ocean.

“Oh, dear! They’re a coming,” gasped Mrs. Kull, running to the spot. “They’re coming, and your father is not here.”