“Well,” laughed Sally, who was plainly elated over the matter, “I was greatly frightened until we entered the Council chamber; but do ye know,” she broke off excitedly, “just as soon as I saw those men I knew that there was not one of them who would have refused Clifford shelter that stormy day? So I told them so. That’s all.”
A shout of laughter greeted this explanation. When it subsided Peggy spoke.
“Thee didn’t tell them about Brutus, Sally,” she chided. “’Twas that that first excited thy ire.” With that she related in detail all that had taken place.
“Hurrah for Sally! And hurrah for Uncle Jacob too,” cried Robert. “’Twas wonderful, as Peggy says. How did you happen to think of it, Sally?”
“’Twas high time that I did something to redeem myself,” answered Sally. “After all,” she continued a trifle wearily, for in spite of the petting and being made much of even her buoyant nature was beginning to feel the strain of events, “after all, I should not have been obliged to do it. Peggy and I are in our own city. It hath been a long war, and from the first we have shown our patriotism by doing what we could. Whenever anything of this sort occurs it should not be necessary to do aught but explain how the matter came about without fear of punishment.”
“War breeds suspicion, my child,” explained Mr. Owen gravely. “The purest patriots are open to it; for sometimes treason lurks where ’tis least suspected. Were it not that a close watch is kept we should have been betrayed to our undoing long since by traitors and spies. For greater security, therefore, Whigs submit to an espionage that at times is most irksome and unpleasant.”
“I see,” said Sally. “I see. I—— Oh, I’m so tired!”
And with that—here was Sally on the floor in a dead faint. With an exclamation of alarm Peggy bent over her.
“All this hath been too much for her,” she cried. “And ’tis my fault. Oh! I should not have let her help with Clifford.”