Peggy Owen Patriot Part 3

"Oh, Robert!" came in a reproachful chorus from the girls. "Thee is unmannerly."

"Your pardon," said the youth sweeping them a profound curtsey to hide his confusion. "I meant no offense to any present, but spoke of the s.e.x in general."

"Thee does not deserve forgiveness; does he, Peggy?" pouted Sally.

"If 'twere for aught else than the army, I should say no," answered Peggy laughing. "But because he would rather be in the field for the country we shall have to forgive him, Sally."

"Thank you, Peggy," said the lad gratefully. "I will try to make amends for my untoward speech at another time. Now I must attend my general.

Shall I bear your acceptance of his invitation, Mrs. Owen?"

"If thee will, Robert," answered she with a smile.

"Thee is routed, Robert," cried Sally saucily as he left them.

CHAPTER III-AN OLD TIME ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT

"Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad For plunder; much solicitous how best He may compensate for a day of sloth, By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong."

-"The Task," Cowper.

It was Thursday morning, and Mrs. Owen and Peggy had been very busy bringing the house and grounds into something like order. Now, however, both mother and daughter were surveying ruefully a pile of garments that const.i.tuted the remains of their depleted wardrobes. Presently the lady laid down a gray gown of tabby silk with a sigh.

"There is no help for it, my daughter. Thee must have a new frock. I see not how thou art to go to General Arnold's tea otherwise."

"Oh!" breathed Peggy a look of pleasure irradiating her face. Then as a thought came to her: "But are not goods very high, mother? How can we afford it?"

"We must, my child. Thou hast had no new frocks since Lexington, and 'tis quite time for others."

"But neither hast thou, mother. Does thee not remember that we covenanted together that whatever we had to spend on clothes should be given for garments for the soldiers? Now if I have a new gown, thee must also."

"We will see, Peggy. But a gown thee must have. We will go to the mercer's to-day; but stay! Did not Sally speak of coming for thee to go to see a tree of some sort? That will delay us for another day."

"How thee remembers, mother! She did, and 'tis nine of the clock now. If she is coming 'tis time she were here. Does thee not hear horses, mother? Perhaps that is she now."

She ran to the window just in time to see a party of youths and maidens draw rein before the door. Sally Evans dismounted and ran quickly into the dwelling.

"Art ready, Peggy?" she cried. "We are going now to see the aloe tree."

"What aloe tree is it, Sally?" queried Peggy. "I have lived in Philadelphia all my life, yet never before did I ever hear of one."

"'Tis because it hath only of late become remarkable," answered Sally.

"Mr. Dunlap hath an account of it in the last 'Packet.' This is the only one in the whole state, and every one is going to see it."

"But I don't understand, Sally. Why should every one go? How is it remarkable?"

"Oh, Peggy! Peggy! That comes from staying on a farm and not reading the papers. Know then," a.s.suming a didactic tone, "that the morning after the arrival of the French Amba.s.sador this tree shot forth its spire, which it never does but once in the course of its existence, and in some climates not less than a hundred years. This one has been planted about forty-five years in the neighborhood of this city, and heretofore has produced every year four leaves, but this spring early it spread forth thirteen. And the spire," concluded Sally impressively, "is thirteen inches round, and hath grown thirteen feet in thirteen days."

"But that is marvelous!" exclaimed the amazed Peggy.

"Is 't not? 'Tis regarded as a wonderful omen anent the French alliance and the thirteen states. Now do get ready, Peggy. Have Tom to bring Star around at once. The others are waiting."

"Shall I wear a loo-mask or a vizard, mother?" questioned Peggy, giving an anxious glance at her reflection in the mirror.

"The loo-mask, Peggy. 'Tis easier held in place. Not thy gray duffle riding frock, child. 'Tis o'er warm for that. Methinks that a safeguard petticoat over the gown that thee has on with a short camlet cloak will do nicely. I will tell Tom to bring Star around for thee."

"Sally, what does thee think? I am to have a new frock for General Arnold's tea," confided Peggy as her mother left the room. "I did not dream that we could spare money for furbelows, but mother insists that I shall have it."

"Oh, but that is _charmante_!" exclaimed Sally. "Would that my mother thought likewise, but I fear me that I shall have to wear the same muslin frock that I've been wearing. Hey day! Thee is a fortunate girl, Peggy."

"Am I not?" said Peggy gaily. "I have had no new one for so long that it quite upsets me. I think of nothing else, and long for the time to come to choose it."

"Yes; but do hurry now," cried Sally impatiently. "Thou art sufficiently smart for a country la.s.s."

"Thee is saucy, Sally," answered Peggy giving her a playful push. "Don't call me a country girl. Thou art not so citified."

"Well, I haven't spent a whole year on a farm," retorted Sally. "Peggy, if thee gives another stroke to thy hair thy cap will slip off. 'Tis as smooth as satin now."

"There! I am ready at last," declared Peggy adjusting her riding mask.

"Oh, Sally, 'tis so good to be home again!"

"And 'tis so good to have thee, Peggy," returned her friend. "Nothing is the same without thee. Why, when the city was under Sir William Howe--"

"Something hath happened," interrupted Peggy hastily, bending her head to listen. "Mother is calling, and she seems upset. Come, Sally."

They hurried out of the room, and went quickly to the eastern piazza where Mrs. Owen and Tom, the groom, stood.

"What is it, mother?" asked Peggy noting their disturbed looks.

"Peggy," said her mother going to her, "thee must be very brave, my child. Star is gone. She hath been stolen from the stable."

"Star! My pony stolen!" cried the girl as though unable to believe her ears. "My pony! Oh, mother, it can't be true!"

"I fear that it is only too true," answered the lady sorrowfully.

"But stolen? Who would steal Star? Tom,"-turning quickly to the negro groom,-"when did thee see her last? Didn't thee feed her this morning?

"No'm; I ain't seed her dis mo'nin'," answered Tom who seemed stupefied by the occurrence. "I fed her las' night, Miss Peggy, but when I k.u.m out dis mo'nin' she wuz gone. De back doah wuz open, an' I know'd she wuz stole, kase I fas'n'd dat doah my own sef las' night."

"Oh, but she can't be," cried Peggy with a sob. "Maybe she has just strayed away. Has thee looked in the garden, Tom? Or through the orchard?"

"I hab looked ebberwhar, Miss Peggy," declared the black with dignity.

"Torm warn't gwine ter take any chances ob not seein' dat are mare when she de onlyest piece ob hoss-flesh dat we has dat mounts ter a row ob pins. No'm; she stole. Dat's all dere is to it."

"Peggy, Peggy!" called Robert Dale who, grown tired of waiting, had come in search of the girls. "What keeps you so long?"