Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved.

"YOU ARE A SOLDIER AND A GENTLEMAN," SAID WASHINGTON.

FOR KING OR COUNTRY.[1]

A Story of the Revolution.

BY JAMES BARNES.

CHAPTER VI.

IN THE FIELD.

The war was on. No longer was America composed of rebellious colonies. It was a country in arms.

The British troops had been withdrawn from the city of New York to Boston, upon the evacuation of which they had retired to Halifax. General Lee, of the Continental Army, had entered New York, and the streets were filled with motley groups of rustic soldiery. There was no uniform proscribed, and much discord prevailed amongst the rank and file. Here would be a company from Connecticut in threadbare homespun, and here a crack company from New York with red coats, much like the Lobster Backs themselves. Pennsylvania regiments and a few from New Jersey were clad in hunting-shirts and fringed leather gaiters. The officers knew little of military tactics, and drill-masters were in great demand.

On a certain day in the spring of '76 there was held a review of the patriot troops in the open common to the north of the city. At the order to present arms the muskets had snapped into position with a sound that brought a smile of pleasure to the face of the young Colonel who commanded a new regiment that held the right of line. Many of the officers and most of the privates were very young, scarcely more than boys.

Soon the group of officers approached. Their uniforms were almost as various as those of the newly enlisted troops. Some wore blue coats with yellow facings, buttoned tightly across the chest; others had gold embroidery, with torrents of lace pouring over their waistcoats and dangling from their wristbands. They scrutinized carefully the rather ragged line, and as the reviewing party came down the front they were now headed by a tall commanding figure, whose martial step and bearing proclaimed him to be a leader of men. He appeared to glance particularly at the faces in the ranks, but his eye took in every detail. He passed along slowly. Two whispered words came down before him, and passed from lip to lip—"General Washington!"

The Commander-in-Chief had stopped at New York on his way to obey the summons of Congress to come to Philadelphia.

The commanding presence asked questions of the men in the front rank as he proceeded.

"Your name, sir?"

"Jones."

"And your enlistment?"

"For three months, General."

"Three months?" the stern lips had repeated, and then the tall figure stopped again.

"Your name, sir?"

"Frothingham, your Excellency."

"A good patriot name," was the response, "Have you relatives in Boston?"

"No, General," answered George, the blood tingling to his fingers' tips. "My relatives are all in England, except an aunt and sister."

"Ah!" was the answer. The gray eyes had gleamed brightly. "Your enlistment, sir?"

"For the war, General."

"Your hand, my lad," said the Commander-in-Chief.

The butt of George's musket rang on the ground. George thought he had never grasped so large and firm a hand before.

"You are a soldier and a gentleman," said Washington, with a kindly smile. "We have need of such." He passed on.

At that moment a great surge of