Years after, when Ruth was really “grown up,” she often recalled the wonderful night when she sat at General Howe’s dinner-table. For Major Andre had lifted her to a seat beside the General; with a friendly word he untied the bonnet-strings and put the bonnet on a side table; and Ruth began to think that it was all a dream from which she would soon awaken to find herself safely at home. She wondered if it really were Ruth Pernell who was answering the General’s questions about the missing Hero.

“I can do no less than try to find your dog, little maid,” he said, “for when my own dog wandered away to General Washington’s camp, in the Germantown fray, the General sent him back to me under the protection of a flag of truce; so, as you tell me your father is with Washington, I must see to it that Hero is found. That is, if one of my soldiers has so far forgotten orders as to have taken him,” for the English General took every care that his soldiers should do no harm to the residents of the city.

Ruth was sure that she knew the very house where she had heard Hero’s bark; and now that General Howe had promised that a search should be made she was eager to go home, and slid out of the chair just as a servant set a plate before her.

“I must go home. I-I-ran away,” she said a little falteringly, looking up at the tall General. “Will you please find Hero the first thing to-morrow?”

“Here, Andre! the young lady wishes to return home,” said the General, “and see to it that you take her there safely, and that you find the lost Hero. And find a better plot for your next comedy,” the General added, as the young officer came forward.

Ruth wondered what “comedy” meant. She did not know that Major Andre, whose gay good humor and charming manner made him a favorite with all, was depended upon to furnish amusement for his brother officers; or that they had at first believed that Ruth, stumbling into the dining-room dressed as a woman, was the first act of some amusing play of Andre’s contriving.

Now that it proved she was only a runaway little girl looking for a lost dog they found it amusing that the young officer should have the trouble of taking her home.

Ruth could never quite remember the manner in which the General bade her good-bye, or if she make her curtsy, or even thanked him for promising that Hero should be found.

Major Andre tied on her bonnet, and opening a door that led to a side entrance, led her to the street.

“Now tell me the way, and I’ll have you home in a jiffy,” he said pleasantly.

But it was no easy matter for Ruth to walk as rapidly as her companion; she stumbled over the skirt; the strings of her bonnet had slipped so that it kept bobbing over her eyes and had to be pushed back; and she was now so frightened at the thought of what Aunt Deborah would say that she hardly knew in what direction they were going until the young officer stopped at her own door and lifted the knocker whose rap was sure to bring Aunt Deborah hastening to answer it.

“You will not forget about Hero?” Ruth said as they stood on the steps.

“Indeed, I shall not. Be very sure I will do my best to find your dog. I will go to the house on Second Street early to-morrow,” responded Andre, and the door swung open and Aunt Deborah, holding a candle in one hand, stood looking at them.

“Here is your little girl, madam; she has done no harm, I assure you. She did but make a friendly call on General Howe, who sent me to bring her safely home,” said the young officer, hat in hand, and making his best bow.

“I thank thee for bringing the child home, sir,” responded Aunt Deborah, drawing Ruth firmly over the threshold and closing the door before Major Andre could say another word. The young officer hurried back to the General’s dinner-table, a little vexed that he had made so much needless trouble for himself by introducing the queer little girl to General Howe.

“Slip off thy mother’s dress at once, before you do it further harm,” said Aunt Deborah; and Ruth, not daring to look up, hastened to obey, as she stood in the dimly-lit hall.

“I-I-only went to look for Hero,” Ruth tried to explain, after a moment’s silence.

“So thee had to put on thy mother’s very best gown; one that she does not wear herself save on great occasions,” responded Aunt Deborah, taking up the silk dress out of which Ruth had just stepped. “It is probably ruined. Go straight to bed. Thou art a willful and unruly child,” she continued, as Ruth started toward the stairway.

Aunt Deborah followed her, the dress over her arm, but she said no more until they reached Ruth’s chamber.

“I believed thee safe in thy room. When thee did not come to supper I thought thee ashamed and sorry, because of the manner in which thou spoke to me; so I did not open the door. But no; thee was playing at being some one beside thy rightful self; and going to the house of an enemy against whom thy father is fighting. I know not what to say to thee, Ruth, nor how to make thee realize that thee has brought shame upon us,” said Aunt Deborah.

Ruth was crying bitterly, and could make no response. Aunt Deborah took the candle and left the room, leaving Ruth to find her way into bed in the dark. She wished with all her heart that she had not worn her mother’s silk gown and pretty bonnet. If they really were ruined she knew it would be a long time before her mother could replace them; for there was no extra money in the little household while America was fighting for her rightful liberties.

“None of them, not even General Howe, believed that I was really grown up. They were just laughing at me,” she thought. “It would have been just as well if I had waited, and had asked Aunt Deborah if I might not go. Oh, dear! And now I have spoiled Mother’s dress.”

Ruth was so unhappy that she had quite forgotten that Hero might soon be restored to her.