—“Spanish Friar,” Dryden.
“Let them sleep, Hannah. I make no doubt but that they are greatly fatigued.”
“Yet methinks they would not care to be left behind if we go to the meeting-house, Mary. Both maidens have regard for the Sabbath. First-day, they call it.”
Peggy sat up quickly as the foregoing words penetrated her drowsed consciousness, and parting the curtains of the bed looked out. The door leading into the adjoining chamber was ajar, and through it the voices of the two women sounded distinctly. A flood of bright sunshine filled the little room with dazzling light, and she uttered an exclamation of dismay at the lateness of the hour.
“Sally,” she called, bending over her still sleeping friend and shaking her gently, “’tis time to get up. I fear me that we have over-slept.”
Sally stirred protestingly between the lavender-scented sheets, then opened her blue eyes sleepily.
“Did mother call?” she murmured. “Oh, dear! I don’t want to get up.”
“Thy wits are wool-gathering, Sally,” laughed Peggy slipping from the high bed without touching the small flight of steps generally used for descending. “Thee is not at home, but in Freehold. We must dress with speed, for the friends wish to go to the meeting-house.”
“Heigh-ho!” yawned Sally rubbing her eyes. “Methought I was in Philadelphia, and here we are in—— Is it East or West Jersey, Peggy?”
“Neither. ’Tis New Jersey, Sally.”