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“Hide, hide, my children! Never mind the cow now,” she almost shrieked; her mind was running wild with all the scenes of terror she had ever heard of.

“Pshaw! pshaw! Mother Kull,” said her boy, assuringly. “They won’t come down here. Somebody’s guiding them around who knows just where every house is. You and Anna get into that thicket yonder and keep, whatever happens, as still as mice.”

“What’ll you do, bub?” questioned Anna, her sunburned face brown-pale with affright.

“Oh, I’ll take care of myself. Boys always do.”

As soon as Mrs. Kull and her daughter were well concealed in the thicket, the sounds began to die away. They waited half an hour. All was still. They crept out, gazing the country over. No soldier in sight. Down in the marsh again were boy and cow.

“I’ll run home now,” said Mrs. Kull. “I dare say ’twas all a trick of my ears.”

“But I heard it, too, Mother Kull.”

“Your ears serve you tricks, too, Anna. You wait and help Valentine home with the animals.”

Anna was glad to have her mother gone. She sped to the marsh. She threaded it, until by sundry signs she found the trio and summoned them forth.

The old Blazing Star Ferry was seldom used. A boat lay there. It was staunch. The tide with them, they might get it across. Had they been older, wiser, they would never have made the attempt.

A fresh water stream ran down to the sea. They passed it on their way thither. In it Sleet drank deep, and soothed for a moment the bites that tormented her; the children kneeled on the grassy bank, and drank from their palms; the calf frolicked in it, till driven out. An hour went by. They reached the ferry. It was deserted. Somebody had used the boat that day. It was at the shore. Grass was yet in it.

“Come along, Snow,” said Valentine, urging with the rope. “Go along, Snow,” said Anna, helping it on with a stout twig she had picked up. The calf pranced and ran, and before it knew its whereabouts was in the broad-bottomed boat. Sleet stood on the shore, and saw her baby tied fast. One poor cry the calf uttered. It went home to the motherly heart of the dumb creature. She went down the sand, over the side, and began, in her own way, to comfort Snow.

“Now we are all right!” cried Valentine, delighted with the success of his ruse; for he had slyly, lest Anna should see the deed, thrust a pin in Snow to call forth the cry and win the cow over to his side.

“Take an oar quick!” commanded the young captain.

His mate obeyed. They pushed the boat out, unfastened it from the pier. Before anybody concerned had time to realize the situation the boat was adrift, and they were whirling in the tide.

“Now, sis,” said Valentine, a big lump in his throat, “we’re in for it. It is sink or swim. It’s not much use to row. You steer and I’ll paddle.”

Sleet looked wildly around. She tossed her head, sniffed the salt, oystery air, and seemed about to plunge overboard.

Anna screamed. Valentine threw down his paddle and dashed himself on the boat’s outermost edge just in time to save it from overturning. Mistress Sleet, disgusted with Fourth of July, had made up her mind to lie down and take a nap. The boat righted and they were safe. Staten Island Sound at this point was narrow, scarcely more than a quarter of a mile in width, and the tide was fast bearing them out.

“Such uncommon good sense in Sleet,” exclaimed the boy. ” That cow is worth saving.”

At that moment a dozen Red Coats were at the ferry they had just left. The imperious gentlemen were in a fine frenzy at finding the boat gone.

They shouted to the children to return.