It was early on Christmas morning when John Reilly wheeled away from a
picturesque little village where he had passed the previous night, to
continue his cycling tour through eastern Pennsylvania. To-day his
intention was to stop at Valley Forge, and then to ride on up the
Schuylkill Valley, visiting in turn the many points of historical
interest that lay along his route. Valley Forge, his road map indicated,
was but a short distance further on. All around him were the hills and
fields and roads over which Washington and his half-starved army had
foraged and roamed throughout the trying winter of 1777-8--one hundred
and twenty-six years ago. It was a beautiful Christmas day, truly, and, as he wheeled along, young
Reilly’s thoughts were almost equally divided between the surrounding
pleasant scenery and the folks at home, who, he knew very well, were
assembling at just about the present time around a heavily laden
Christmas tree in the front parlor. The sun rose higher and higher and
Reilly pedaled on down the valley, passing every now and then quaint,
pleasant-looking farmhouses, many of which, no doubt, had been built
anterior to the period which had given the vicinity its history. Arriving, finally, at a place where the road forked off in two
directions, Reilly was puzzled which way to go on. There happened to be
a dwelling close by. Accordingly he dismounted, left his wheel leaning
against a gate-post at the side of the road, and walked up a wretchedly
flagged walk leading to the house, with the idea of getting instructions
from its inmates. Situated in the center of an unkempt field of rank grass and weeds, the
building lay back from the highway probably one hundred and fifty feet. It was long and low in shape, containing but one story and having what
is termed a gabled roof, under which there must have been an attic of no
mean size. On coming close to the house, a fact Reilly had not noticed
from the road became plainly evident. It was deserted. He saw that the
roof and side shingles were in wretched condition; that the window
sashes and frames as well as the doors and door frames were missing from
the openings in the side walls where once they had been, and that the
entire side of the house, including that part of the stone foundation
which showed above the ground, was full of cracks and seams. At first on
the point of turning back, he concluded to see what the interior was
like anyway. Accordingly he went inside. Glancing around the large dust-filled room
he had entered his gaze at first failed to locate any object of the
least interest. A rickety appearing set of steps went up into the attic
from one side of the apartment and over in one corner was a large open
fireplace, from the walls of which much of the brickwork had become
loosened and fallen out. Reilly had started up the steps toward the
attic, when happening to look back for an instant, his attention was
attracted to a singular-looking, jug-shaped bottle no larger than a
vinegar cruet, which lay upon its side on the hearth of the fireplace,
partly covered up by debris of loose bricks and mortar. He hastened back
down the steps and crossed the room, taking the bottle up in his hand
and examining it with curiosity. Being partly filled with a liquid of
some kind or other the bottle was very soon uncorked and held under the
young man’s nose. The liquid gave forth a peculiar, pungent and inviting
odor. Without further hesitation Reilly’s lips sought the neck of the
bottle. It is hardly possible to describe the pleasure and satisfaction
his senses experienced as he drank. While the fluid was still gurgling down his throat a heavy hand was
placed most suddenly on his shoulder and his body was given a violent
shaking. The bottle fell to the floor and was broken into a hundred
pieces. “Hello!” said a rough voice almost in Reilly’s ear. “Who are you,
anyway? And what are you doing within the lines? A spy, I’ll be bound.”

As most assuredly there had been no one else in the vicinity of the
building when he had entered it and with equal certainty no one had come
down the steps from the attic, Reilly was naturally surprised and
mystified by this unexpected assault. He struggled instinctively to
break loose from the unfriendly grasp, and when he finally succeeded he
twisted his body around so that he faced across the room. Immediately he
made the remarkable discovery that there were four other persons in the
apartment--three uncouth-looking fellows habited in fantastic but ragged
garments, and a matronly-looking woman, the latter standing over a
washtub which had been elevated upon two chairs in a corner near the
fireplace. To all appearance the woman had been busy at her work and had
stopped for the moment to see what the men were going to do; her waist
sleeves were rolled up to the shoulders and her arms dripped with water
and soapsuds. Over the tops of the tubs, partly filled with water, there
were visible the edges of several well-soaked fabrics. Too add to his
astonishment he noticed that in the chimney-place, which a moment before
was falling apart, but now seemed to be clean and in good condition, a
cheerful fire burned, and that above the flames was suspended an iron
pot, from which issued a jet of steam. He noticed also that the entire
appearance of the room had undergone a great change. Everything seemed
to be in good repair, tidy and neat; the ceilings, the walls and the
door; even the stairway leading to the attic. The openings in the walls
were fitted with window sashes and well-painted doors. The apartment
had, in fact, evolved under his very eyesight from a state of absolute
ruin into one of excellent preservation. All of this seemed so weird and uncanny, that Reilly stood for a moment
or two in the transformed apartment, utterly dumbfounded, with his mouth
wide open and his eyes all but popping out of his head. He was brought
to his senses by the fellow who had shaken him growling out:

“Come! Explain yourself!”

“An explanation is due me,” Reilly managed to gasp. “Don’t bandy words with the rascal, Harry,” one of the other men spoke
up. “Bring him along to headquarters.”

Thereupon, without further parley, the three men marched Reilly in
military fashion into the open air and down to the road. Here he picked
up at the gate-post his bicycle, while they unstacked a group of three
old-fashioned-looking muskets located close by. When the young man had
entered the house a few minutes before, this stack of arms had not been
there. He could not understand it. Neither could he understand, on
looking back at the building as he was marched off down the road, the
mysterious agency that had transformed its dilapidated exterior, just as
had been the interior, into a practically new condition.