Peggy Owen at Yorktown
CHAPTER I—A LOYAL SUBJECT OF HIS MAJESTY, GEORGE THIRD, MAKES A SHIRT
| “Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved, And bright were its flowery banks to his eye, But far, very far were the friends that he loved, And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh.” —Thomas Moore. |
It was a fine winter day. There had been a week of murky skies and dripping boughs; a week of rain, and mud, and slush; a week of such disagreeable weather that when the citizens of Philadelphia awoke, on this twenty-first day of February, 1781, to find the sun shining in a sky of almost cloudless blue and the air keen and invigorating, they rejoiced, and went about their daily tasks thrilled anew with the pleasure of living.
About ten o’clock on the morning of this sunlit winter day a young girl was slowly wending her way up Chestnut Street. At every few steps she was obliged to pause to lift into place a huge bundle she was carrying—a bundle so large that she could just reach her arms about it, and clasp her hands together in the comfortable depths of a great muff. A ripple of laughter rose to her lips as, in spite of her efforts, the bundle at length slipped through her arms and fell with a soft thud upon the frozen ground.
“It’s lucky for thee, Peggy,” she cried addressing herself merrily, “that ’tis not yesterday, else thee would have a washing on thy hands. Oh, if Sally could only see me! She said that I’d not reach home with it. Now, Mr. Bundle, is thee carrying me, or I thee? Just lie there for a moment, and then we’ll see who is worsted in this fray.”
Removing her winter mask the better to inhale the bracing air, she disclosed a face flushed rosily from her exertions and dark eyes brimming with laughter just now at the plight in which she found herself. She stood for a moment breathing deeply then, readjusting the mask under the folds of her calash, managed with some difficulty to get the bundle once more within the circle of her arms, and again started forward. It was slow progress, but presently she found herself without further mishap in front of a large dwelling on the corner of Fifth and Chestnut Streets, standing in the midst of extensive grounds just across from the State House.
With a sigh of relief the girl deposited the bundle on the bottom step of the stoop, and then, running lightly up the steps, sounded the great brass knocker. The door was opened almost instantly by a woman whose sweet face and gentle manner as well as her garb bespoke the Quakeress.
“I saw thee coming, but could not get to the door before thy knock sounded, Peggy,” she said. “And did thee have a good time? Harriet hath missed thee, and in truth it hath seemed long since yesterday. And what is in that bundle, child? ’Tis monstrous large for thee to carry.”