“‘And I know that whatever happens I must have a whole skin for the delivery of my despatches,’ I answered laughing.
“Enclosed please find the letter your brother hath writ, and permit me to thank you for the enjoyableness of this little frisk. If I have gained an enemy, you at least have found a brother; so honors are even. Whenever you have another service to perform you have only to call upon him who subscribes himself
“Your humble and devoted servant,
“John Drayton.
“To Mistress Harriet Owen,
“Philadelphia, Pa.”
“The wretch!” cried Harriet, throwing the letter to the floor in a pet. “How dare he act so? Oh, I wish that Clifford had run him through. ’Twere well for John Drayton that he had no sword. How dare he flout him in that manner?”
“Softly, softly, my child,” spoke Mrs. Owen mildly, with difficulty suppressing her smiles, while Peggy laughed outright. “Methinks both the lads were at fault, but John wished only to satisfy himself of the other’s identity. And he did serve thee in that, Harriet. But why should Clifford wish to conceal it?”
“I know not,” answered Harriet soberly. “I suppose ’twas because he feared father would make him withdraw from the service should he find him.”
“Mayhap he explains the matter in his letter,” suggested Peggy picking up the neglected enclosure, and handing it to Harriet.
“Oh, yes; the letter,” cried Harriet tearing it open eagerly. “Why!” she exclaimed casting her eye quickly down the page. “He’s angry! Just listen.