“My daughter!” she cried. “Oh, Peggy, Peggy! I have feared for thee.”
And Peggy crept into her arms, feeling that no harm could come to her in such loving shelter. It was long before she was calm enough to tell all that had happened, but at length sitting by her mother’s side with her head on her lap, she related what had occurred.
“The poor boy!” sighed Mrs. Owen. “It is too dreadful to think about it. And his mother! I read of it, Peggy, in the paper. Thee can imagine my feelings knowing that thou wert in the midst of such occurrences. And Sally’s mother hath been well-nigh crazed. Ah, my daughter! I am thankful to hold thee in my arms again, but my heart bleeds for that other mother who will nevermore clasp her son.”
“And he was such a dear fellow,” said Peggy brokenly. “And so brave! Thee should have seen how he fought the pine robbers. In just the short time that he was in Monmouth County he had made a reputation. And he was as modest as he was brave, mother.”
Mrs. Owen stooped suddenly so that she could look into her daughter’s eyes.
“Was thee very fond of him, Peggy?” she asked softly.
“So fond, mother.” Peggy met her mother’s look frankly. “Sally and I both were. Thee would have been too had thee been with him long.”
The anxious gleam which had shone for a second in Mrs. Owen’s eyes faded at Peggy’s answer, and she said quietly:
“I liked him very much as it was, my daughter. The matter hath created quite a stir in the city. Nothing but retaliation is talked of. Report hath it that General Washington expects a speedy adjustment of the matter when the new British commander comes. They expect him in a few days. It is a sad affair. But oh, Peggy! I am glad thee is home!”
“And I never want to leave Philadelphia again,” cried Peggy. “It seems so hard to get back when I do go away. No; I never want to leave it again.”