“Henry Egan, I’m ashamed of you! Ain’t we in North Carolina? When did her people ever refuse to aid each other?”
“You’re right,” he acknowledged humbly. “North Carolina is all right—but the Tories. I don’t take no stock in that part of her population.”
“And neither do I,” she rejoined grimly. “From this time on I am a Whig out and aboveboard. They have done us all the harm they can, I reckon. What you got in that bag, Henry?”
Egan smiled.
“It’s gold, Mandy. I reckon they didn’t find all the pickings.”
“For mercy sake, Henry Egan, we can’t get through the country with that,” exclaimed the good woman. “Bury it, or do something with it.”
“Yes,” he said. “That will be the safest. Wait for me while I do it.” He was with them again in a short time. “We will go to Hampton’s and get something to eat,” he said. “I kept a little money, and maybe Mis’ Hampton will let us have some horses.” He turned as he spoke and his wife started after him, but Peggy lingered.
“Come, child,” said Mistress Egan. “It’s a right smart way over to Hampton’s. We must get along.”
“But,” hesitated Peggy, “won’t I be a burden now? I ought not to add to thy trouble.”
“Why, honey, you have nowhere to go. What would you do? Now don’t worry about trouble, but just come right along. We will all keep together. What’s ourn is yours too.” And gratefully Peggy went with them. It was indeed a “right smart way” to Hampton’s, which proved to be a large plantation lying some ten miles from the cottage. It was a cloudless day in August, and excessively warm. When they at length reached the place they were footsore and weary.