Peggy Owen Patriot Part 10

Look behind you! They're afire!

And, before you, see Who have done it!-From the vale On they come!-And will ye quail?"

-John Pierpont.

In an instant Peggy was out of the stable and running to the house.

"Mother," she cried bursting in upon Mrs. Owen so suddenly that the lady started up in alarm, "the lad that mended my saddle is in the stable. He hath brought Star back, and I fear he hath fainted. Come quickly!"

"Fainted?" exclaimed the lady rising hastily. "And Star back? Tell Sukey to follow with Tom, Peggy."

Seizing a bottle of cologne and a vinaigrette she went quickly to the barn followed by Peggy and the two curious servants.

"'Tis lack of nouris.h.i.+ng food more than aught else that ails him," was Mrs. Owen's comment as she laved the youth's forehead with vinegar, and bade Sukey burn some feathers under his nose. "Peggy, get the guest-chamber in readiness. We will carry him in as soon as he hath regained his consciousness."

The girl hastened to do her bidding, and presently the lad, by this time recovered from his swoon, was put to bed, and the household all a bustle with preparing gruel and delicacies. Shortly after partaking of food, he gave a sigh of content and fell into a deep sleep. And then Peggy turned to her mother.

"Are we to keep him?" she queried.

"Surely, my daughter. Why dost thou ask? The lad is not strong enough to depart now. There is naught else to be done."

"But he is in truth a deserter, mother."

"I surmised as much, as thee remembers," observed Mrs. Owen quietly.

"And a thief," continued the maiden with some warmth. "Mother, he acknowledged that 'twas he who stole Star."

"And it was also he who brought her back," reminded her mother.

"But to desert," exclaimed Peggy a fine scorn leaping into her eyes. "To leave when his country hath such need of him!"

"True, Peggy; but the flesh is weak, and when subjected to the pangs of hunger 'tis p.r.o.ne to revolt. Our soldiers are so illy cared for that the wonder is that more do not forsake the army."

"Mother, thee does not excuse it, does thee?" cried Peggy in so much consternation that Mrs. Owen smiled.

"Nay, Peggy. I only suspend judgment until I know all the circ.u.mstances.

Did he tell thee aught of his reasons for deserting?"

"I fear," answered Peggy shamefacedly, "that I gave him no opportunity.

In fact, mother, I discovered some warmth in speaking anent the matter."

Mrs. Owen smiled. Well she knew that in her zeal for the country Peggy was apt to "discover warmth."

"Then," she said, "we will bring naught into question until he hath his strength. Yon lad is in no condition for fighting or aught else at the present time."

"But once he hath his strength," broke in the girl eagerly, "would it be amiss to reason with him?"

"Once he hath his strength I will say nothing," answered the lady, her mouth twitching. "Thou mayst reason with him then to thy heart's content."

And so it came about that the young deserter was attended with great care, and none was so a.s.siduous in attention to his comfort as Peggy.

For several days he did little but receive food and sleep. This soon pa.s.sed, however, and he was up and about, though he still kept to his chamber both as a matter of precaution and as though enjoying to the full the creature comforts by which he was surrounded.

"Friend," remarked Peggy one day after she had arranged his dinner daintily upon a table drawn up by the settle upon which he was lying, "thee has not told thy name yet."

"'Tis Drayton. John Drayton," he returned an apprehensive look flas.h.i.+ng across his face. "You would not-would you?-betray me?"

"I did not ask for that purpose," she replied indignantly. "Had we wished to denounce thee we would have done so long since. Why shouldst thou think such a thing?"

"I cry you pardon," he said with something of his old jauntiness. "I have heard that a guilty conscience doth make cowards of us all. 'Tis so in my case. In truth I should not tarry here, but--"

"Thee is welcome to stay until thy strength is fully restored, friend,"

she said. "My mother and I are agreed as to that. And then--"

"Well? And then?" he questioned sharply turning upon her.

"Friend, why did thee desert?" asked she abruptly.

"Why? Because the thought of another winter took all the spirit out of me. Because I am tired of being hungry and cold; because I am tired of being ragged and dirty. I am tired of it all: the long hard marches with insufficient clothing to cover me by day, and no blanket but the snow at night. I made the march to Quebec through all the perils of the wilderness. Through sleet and driving snow it hath always been my fortune to serve. Last winter I spent among the dreary hills of Valley Forge, enduring all the miseries of that awful time. And then, after all that, for three such years of service what does an ungrateful country bestow upon me? The rank of ensign." And he laughed bitterly. "But every foreign adventurer that comes whining to Congress may have the highest commission that is in their power to bestow. And what do they care for us who have borne the burden? Why, nothing but to let us starve."

"True," said Peggy troubled. "True, Friend Drayton, and yet--"

"And yet when we have given so much to an ungrateful country if we desert we are hounded like dogs, or runaway slaves," he continued pa.s.sionately. "And you, Mistress Peggy, who have known neither hunger nor cold, nor what it is to be in battle, stand there accusingly because I, forsooth, who have known all these things have tired of them. A summer soldier, you called me. A winter soldier would have been the better term."

Peggy's face flushed.

"Now," he continued, "I am seeking to follow the precepts of the great Declaration which doth teach that every man hath the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness after his own fas.h.i.+on."

"Still," remarked the girl, who was plainly puzzled by his reasoning, "if the British should succeed in defeating us what would become of the Declaration? Methinks that 'twould be the part of wisdom not to accord thy life by such precepts until they were definitely established."

"You are pleased to be sharp, mistress," he said pus.h.i.+ng back from the table. "I-I am in no condition to argue with you. I am weak," he added reclining once more upon the settle.

Peggy made no reply, and silently removed the dishes. A sparkle came into her eye as she noted their empty condition.

"Mother," she said as she entered the kitchen where that lady was, "does thee not think that our friend is able now to stand being reasoned with?

He said but now that he was still weak."

Mrs. Owen laughed quietly as she saw that nothing had been left of the meal.

"'Tis but natural that he should feel so, Peggy," she said. "When one hath been without food and a proper place to sleep the senses become sharpened to the enjoyment of such things, and he but seeks to prolong his delight in them. Be not too hard on the lad, my child."

"But would it harm him, mother, to reason with him?" persisted Peggy.

"If he can eat so, can he not be brought to see the error of his ways? I would not injure him for the world."

"Set thy mind at rest upon that point, Peggy. Naught that thou canst say to him can work him injury. Hath our friend told thee why he deserted?"

"He feared another winter," answered Peggy. "And perhaps he hath cause to; for he hath been through the march to Quebec under General Arnold, and last winter he spent at Valley Forge. And so he ran away to keep from pa.s.sing another such season in the army."

"Poor lad!" sighed the lady. "'Tis no wonder that he deserted. Yet those who endure such hards.h.i.+ps for so long rarely desert. 'Tis but a pa.s.sing weakness. Let us hope that he will return when he is well enough. He is of too good a mettle to be lost."

"I mean him to go back," announced Peggy resolutely.